I DON’T like change. I don’t like change and I particularly despise change that might be good for me, my fellow earthlings or the universe as a whole.

Therefore, I have always found the concept of organic wine to be abhorrent, I have treated it with such a violent apathy usually reserved for such terrors as London, drawn-out break-ups and stylish bars. It was with much trepidation I agreed to attend a tasting event featuring solely organic plonk. It wasn’t just the wine I was worried about but I was quaking at having to deal with a sandal-wearing beardmonger, twittering away from a soap box of self-righteous doom.

Now, before the inevitable turnaround, allow me to clarify – there is never an excuse for a man of any social standing to wear sandals, I repeat, never.

I arrived at the hub of all things wonderful, Yuet Ben, Upper Duke Street, to be greeted not only by the ever charming proprietor, Terry Lim, but a chuckling gang of well groomed mad hatters, offering some decent banter before insisting that I had a firm gargle with around eight wines from the tree-bothering universe of Organia. For the first time since that certain night in Istanbul, I found myself utterly flabbergasted. The swag on offer from these lovely nut jobs at Vintage Roots was astounding, all of it.

There was an outrageously decadent sparkler from the biodynamic vineyards at Champagne Fleury; a stunning, Spanish, white, Xarel Lo, from Albet I Noya, that tasted like liquid jelly tots and a blinding red blend from the same producer, Lignum Negre, which sat so well alongside Terry’s phenomenal crispy duck I almost wanted to give up all my worldly goods and join a commune. I said almost.

The evening was rounded off by three cheeky little blighters from French genius, Jean Bousquet who had discovered a few acres of perfection in Argentina and decided to knock out some seriously orgasmic laughing water.

At some point during this smart little love-fest, we were informed that, due to the lack of wacky chemicals in our booze, we could look forward to a mild or even non-existent hangover the following morning – a rude claim that needed some serious consideration. Ever the trouper, I risked life and limb to fully investigate this wild theory, I tested it to its harshest possible limit and am chuffed to say I awoke at the cock’s crow and could have run a mile, on stilts, blindfolded – magic.

So, it seems that this organic lark might have a thing or two going for it. The juice was definitely helped along by some of the finest food you’ll eat in this lovely old city of ours, but I am not ashamed to admit that I am converted. As long as I don’t see a sandal, a rucksack or a water-powered moped within a hundred miles of the stuff, I’ll heartily recommend it till the end of time, or thereabouts.

I DO my utmost in this monthly rant of mine to throw in the odd bit of useful information with all the shouting but I feel there may be some of you out there who’d actually like to learn some actual gubbins about the old vino.

A very nice lady, Caroline, is running a boss little wine school down at Vinea, Albert Dock. Log your inquisitive selves onto www.vinealiverpool.co.uk and have a sneaky peek at the course on offer.

Mention this fantastic publication and they may even sort you out with a bit of a discount, you never know.