When I was at university, whenever I partook in that most sacred of further educational rituals (that is, pre-drinks), my tipple of choice was an entire bottle of prosecco. More times a week than I feel comfortable disclosing here, I’d trundle down to the Tesco Express in Durham to score a bottle of Plaza Centro prosecco for the sublime price of £5.50 (it’s now a princely £7). While many other wine writers’ careers begin with a unicorn bottle from a relative’s cellar, I’m proud to say that mine started here.

Why am I telling you this? Well, not only did I feel cool sipping my fizz from a plastic flute while my friends drank rum and orange juice mixed and swigged direct from the carton, but I also loved prosecco. Today, however, I’m more indifferent, which is not to say that prosecco has got any worse or changed in any way over time. But I have.