" I'm a Leonard. Our family has this curse. It's kind of like Murphy's Law- things are always going to go wrong, before they come right. "

Twenty Something. Born and raised in Africa, lived in the sweltering summers of Melbourne, Australia, and then the freezing winters of Halifax, Canada. On the endless journey to find a place to call home again. Traveling the world, with nothing but the money in my pocket and an ice cold glass of wine. This is where I write travel advice, musings and the occasional angry vent. Feedback is always welcome. Drop me a line if you have any queries.

email: rogzleonard@gmail.com pinterest.com/prestikgremlin

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On Friday I had the opportunity to attend the Melbourne Taste Food and Wine Festival. We got to taste some amazing canapés, drink some delicious wines, and meet some pretty impressive chefs and cocktail makers.

The highlight of the night was a little unexpected, though. We attended a wine-tasting class, divulging in the wonders of Australian Pinot Noir’s. While I am a fan of such tasty wines, and I enjoyed the class, my favourite moment might be somewhat… frowned upon. Along with my amazing friend, Fi, I took a seat amidst a group of other smartly dressed wine tasters. As they swivelled their glasses and the instructor blabbed on about notes and fruit and wood and the scent, Fi sniffed her glass and exclaimed: “I do detect a hint of…. hangover, with a mild taste of what could be a 3am trip to McDonalds. Classy? Not in the least. Hilarious? No doubt about it. 

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