It’s January again, which means ‘Dry January’ for a certain number of people. As consumption ‘wines down’, I thought of addressing this social phenomenon in the form of a play, with an imaginary exchange between a group of iconic characters associated with wine.
As I wrote last year, “Perhaps we are all prone to excess and controlling that unbridled appetite is for some, a challenge that can only be met by an extreme response. Cutting out alcohol altogether for a month in the hopes the much put-upon liver will recover its optimum functionality is certainly laudable. But do we really need to go that far?”
Setting: Paris, early evening in January. The streets are wet, slaked with rain, and the sky, dark and grey. The streets are empty, a few lonely wine bars and shops line the avenue. Neon signs flicker, advertising “Dry January Special” and “No Wine, No Worry!” The city’s skyline gleams, but there's a cold, sterile feeling to it, as though something vital is missing. At the centre of the stage, a small wine bar with an open door, barely anyone inside. A wine shop nearby, the lights dim. A noticeable absence of wine drinkers in the streets.
Characters:
Dionysus – The god of wine, revelry, and ecstasy. He appears in modern, hipster attire with a touch of regal flair. Slightly mischievous but wise.
Hebe – His cupbearer, youthful, graceful, but practical. She’s seen it all and carries a sense of gentle authority.
John Barleycorn – The personification of the grains that make alcohol. Earthy, rough around the edges, but with a good heart.
Falstaff – The quintessential bon-vivant, over-weight, jolly, drunkard who embodies excess, vulgarity, and occasional bouts of eloquence.
Onda Wagon – A devout Dry January defender. A bit self-righteous yet earnest, passionate about health and sobriety.
The Natural Wine Maker (Gaya) – A woman of the earth, connected to the soil and the land. She’s all about authenticity, purity, and balance.
The Wine Shop Owner (Vincent) – A charming, slightly disillusioned shopkeeper. He loves wine but is increasingly frustrated by the decline in its popularity.
John Barleycorn and Falstaff, a couple of old drinking buddies are reeling down the street, a bottle of whiskey in hand, singing incoherently.
John Barleycorn: (staggers, grinning through rain-drenched whiskers) Ah, Falstaff, my good friend! Have you ever noticed how the rain tastes better when one’s lips have been kissed by Ceres’ grains?
Falstaff: (laughs heartily, slapping his belly) Kissed? Why, lad, I’ve been devoured by Ceres, and I’ve no complaints! You see, Barleycorn, the rain’s like life itself: a brief splash, a fleeting sip. Best enjoyed drunk, of course.
John Barleycorn: (wobbles, raises a bottle) Aye, fleeting as a sober man’s wisdom! It’s a fool’s errand, Dry January. Why deny the body’s rightful joy? What’s the use of a liver if it’s not put to work?
Falstaff: (leans on Barleycorn, winking at the bottle) Aye, and what’s the use of a man if he can’t feel the earth move beneath him after a good whiskey? (hiccups) The world’s a stage, Barleycorn, and I—am the drunken fool!
John Barleycorn: (chuckling, steps through a puddle) A fool’s dance is always the most honest, though, isn't it? The sober are too afraid to trip, too wary to fall.
Falstaff: And the drunk? Ah, we fall—and rise! But what is life if not the art of rising from the mud with a song and a belly full of joy?
John Barleycorn: (swigs and sings off-key)
Oh, the sky's in my cup and the world full of cheer,
Let the rain pour down—hic—for we’ve naught to fear!
Falstaff: (stumbling in rhythm, voice fading as he leans against the stoop) Aye, drink to the heavens, and to the earth, too! Let both drown in whiskey!
Both: (slurring now, drunkenly, as they sit on the stoop beneath a meagre awning, rain streaming off their hats) Oh, drown in whiskey, drown in cheer—
'Til morning’s light appears so near,
And we, we slumber—hic—without a care...
(Their voices trail off as the rain continues to fall. They both pass out, their heads lolling in peaceful oblivion.)
The rain stops.
Dionysus and Hebe walk down the same wet street, which is emptier than Paris during the Olympic Games in the month of August. Everything seems a little too clean, too organised. The flickering lights of television (or computer) screens can be seen from windows. No laughter, no clinking glasses, no conviviality. Just a disquieting emptiness in the air.
Dionysus
(looking around)
Ah, the city of restraint. Dry January, they call it. I’ve heard of such things, but to see it—such a solemn, desolate sight. Where have all the revellers gone, Hebe?
Hebe
(looking around, concerned)
If they’re not nestled in to their couches binge-watching television series, most often alone, they’ve gone off to their health clubs, spas, and meditation rooms. But it’s not just January. It’s a movement. People have become so obsessed with eliminating the things they love, trying to purify themselves… It’s like they’ve forgotten how to savour life.
Dionysus
(sighing)
The joy is gone, the laughter… the dance, the festivity. All of it, drained like the last drop from a wine glass. This is a catastrophe! I am the life of the party, the spark of joy, the divine indulgence… And yet, here we are—nobody wants to taste the wine.
Hebe
I don’t think they understand, Dionysus. At least, not all of them. They’ve misunderstood the way to enjoy what you give them. It’s not about abstinence; it’s about balance. Moderation.
Dionysus
(chuckling)
Moderation? Ah, moderation… a word that’s as dry as their January. I think the world needs a little persuasion, a bit of ‘ivresse’. Come, let’s talk to the one they call Onda Wagon. I’ve heard she’s the champion of all things sober.
Onda Wagon, a yoga mat strapped to her back, is gazing at the window of a wine shop, browsing the bottles with a look of mild disdain.
Dionysus
(inquiring)
Found anything you like?
Onda Wagon
(short)
I’m not looking to buy anything. I don’t drink in January. I’ve been observing Dry January for several years. I’m just waiting for someone, and so am only looking.
Dionysus
(encouraging)
Intriguing. Well, why don’t you come in out of the cold and the wet and tell me all about it.
The Wine Shop Owner, Vincent, stands behind the counter with a bored expression. They go into the shop, Hebe drawing Onda in as if by magic.
Vincent
(looking up, tired)
Ah, Dionysus, Hebe, what brings you to my lonely den of despair?
Dionysus
(grinning)
I’ve come for a drink, of course! But I suspect… there’s not much of a drinking crowd these days, eh?
Vincent pours a glass of wine for Dionysus and Hebe and the tendrils of a grape vine suddenly appear, winding around their heads in wreathes.
Vincent
(sighs)
No, not really. Business has been slow. People are more interested in tea than in Tempranillo. It’s like the world has forgotten about pleasure.
Onda Wagon
(stepping forward, arms crossed, suddenly recognising Dionysus and Hebe)
What’s this? A god of indulgence and a cupbearer? Here to tempt us back into the grip of excess? You should be ashamed!
Dionysus
(raises an eyebrow)
Ashamed? Of what? A glass of wine? Mirth and merriment around the table? A little sweetness in life? My dear Onda, I’m not here to lead anyone astray. I bring balance—the joy of wine in its rightful place.
Onda Wagon
(sceptical)
Balance? Tell me, does your idea of balance include liver disease, addiction, and loss of control? Isn’t that also what you’re about, Dionysus!?
She looks over to the other side of the street where we see John Barleycorn and Falstaff slouched in a heap.
Dionysus
(smiling)
Ah, but that’s just it! People think wine is the same as all the other spirits, the ones that drag you down to oblivion. But wine—real wine—is the gift of the earth. Fermented from grapes, kissed by the sun, loved by the soil. It’s not just a drink; it’s a connection to the land, and to life itself.
Hebe
(gently)
It’s not about drinking until you’re lost. It’s about drinking in moderation, Onda. Wine, drunk mindfully, has health benefits—powerful antioxidants, heart health, gut health, reduced risk of cognitive decline, longevity, and it encourages you to slow down, to savour life.
Onda Wagon
(raising an eyebrow)
I’ve heard all the arguments, and though I admit there can be health benefits, I also think it’s dangerous. You drink wine, you lose control. That’s the truth of it.
Gaya
(Entering from the back of the wine shop, carrying a basket of wine bottles. She’s earthy and grounded)
It’s not the wine that’s the problem—it’s the intention behind it. (to Onda Wagon) I’m Gaya, a natural wine maker. I grow my own vines, I let the earth do the work. My wines are made with care, not chemicals. They reflect the land. If you drink my wine, you drink the sun and the soil—and in moderation, that’s a gift to your body. Not a curse.
Onda Wagon
(sceptical but intrigued)
I’m still not convinced. Even natural wine can be addictive. People use it to hide, to numb themselves, to forget.
Gaya
But that’s not the wine’s fault. That’s the fault of the drinker. Wine doesn’t numb—it awakens. When you drink it with respect, it connects you to yourself and to the world.
Dionysus
(nodding)
Exactly. Wine is not an enemy. It’s a companion. When you enjoy it mindfully, it can open the door to clarity, to joy, to true connection. I’m not here to make you drink until you’re stumbling in the streets, Onda. I’m here to remind you that wine, like life, is meant to be enjoyed—with the right balance.
Onda Wagon
(softening)
I still think people are better off without it, at least for a month. I mean, don’t you think it’s worth it to take a break and cleanse?
Hebe
(smiling)
A break, yes. A month off, sure. But not forever. The golden mean is the key. Take a break when you need to, but don’t shut yourself off from something beautiful. A little wine, in the right moment, can be the spark you need to appreciate life, not escape from it.
Dionysus
(grinning)
I agree. Maybe not every day. But let there be days when you let the wine flow, when the earth’s gift sings in your veins. Not for excess, but for enjoyment. For the joy of living.
The conversation shifts as the characters sit down together, the mood lightening. Mara pours a small amount of wine from one of the bottles she carries. Dionysus raises a glass, and Hebe follows suit.
Dionysus
(to Onda Wagon)
Here’s to balance. To joy, to laughter, to life—may it flow as freely as wine in our hearts.
Onda Wagon
(softening)
I’ll take a sip. Just one. But… just to savour it.
The group raises their glasses, and the lights begin to fade. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses grows faint, and the street outside appears to come back to life.
The End
Thank you for letting me into your world and for reading the Paris Wine Walks Substack. Your support is invaluable as are your comments, suggestions, critiques, dreams, thoughts and remembrances. A little encouragement goes a long way, so please consider a paid subscription, which need cost no more than (a cheap) glass of wine per week. Or, book a wine walk!
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I love the name Onda Wagon!!! Very nice play. hope to see it performed in a park one of these days!