My work room (I hesitate to call it an office because it doesn’t have a leather chair, in fact it barely has a chair at all, most work being done lying face down on the floor as if I was bloody 8 years old or something) is… Uh, where was I? Oh, yeah, my work room and my living room are both strewn with empty bottles of mineral water. Empty bottles of no mineral water. Funny, really, I remember as an idealistic, furious and above-all penniless man in his early 20s, pouring scorn on the idea of pre-packed sandwiches and bottles of mineral water. “I could make that sandwich for about 15 pence, get the water out of the tap for free, and make a killing”, I might have said; note that I did neither of these things. A moaner I am, an entrepreneur I am not.

Anyway, I like to think that I’ve become something of a bottled water connoisseur. Such a thing probably exists, there probably are people who tip small amounts into crystal goblets, swirl, sniff, sip, swill and spit. Me, I don’t know a lot about water, but I know what I like. Around me I see 5 empties. I know which is my favourite, and I know which I only bought because I was desperate. I thought about doing some kind of in-depth review / taste-test, but then I read this and thought, well, I don’t really want to be bracketed with Susan, even if I was unlikely to say “It comes in a clear bottle as most mineral waters do. It has a label with Buxton in large black letters on the front and a picture of a green landscape, probably supposed to be the peak district.“

So let’s just have a chart run down, perhaps:

5. Volvic. I actually wince slightly when I drink this. I feel like I’m knocking back some medicine that’s probably very good for me, but leaves me feeling upset and violated. It’s not as bad as the incredibly soft water that comes out of taps in South Wales, which makes me gag. But I don’t like it, although many people clearly do. If Volvic were a band, it would be The Doors.

4. Highland Spring. The cheapest of our selection, to be found in cut-price Asian supermarkets near my flat. You can’t deny it quenches your thirst, but to be honest it’s found to be wanting as a main meal of the day. A budget choice. If Highland Spring were a dwelling, it would be a terraced house in a run-down area of Bristol.

3. Buxton. I note with interest that it’s made by Nestlé, which would normally, and quite rightly, elicit howls of protest from the environmentally astute. Quite why a multinational corporation is allowed to rape the Peak District for this clear, refreshing liquid, I’m not sure. But it’s good stuff. Goes well with a KitKat, Shreddies and Winalot. If Buxton were a Hollywood actor, it would be Ben Affleck, god knows why, I’m making this up as I go along.

2. Evian. This used to be my favourite. I was loyal to evian, evian was loyal to me. We trusted each other. The Frenchness of it gave me an air of sophistication as a swigged it on the 57 bus and then belched approvingly. But water can be a fickle mistress. And I found myself distracted. If Evian were a mode of transport, it would be really weird, wouldn’t it?

1. Vittel. The choice of cocktail barmen, apparently, and although I don’t use it to let down a peaty single malt, I have to say that I’d choose it above all others. Even when I’m in a motorway service station and it costs 3 quid or something. Oh damn, I’ve just noticed it’s also made by Nestle. Maybe I’ll go back to good old Thames Water. After all, I did go to the effort of getting it piped directly into my kitchen. Hm.