Ah, those heady days of Barolo and Amarone! Almost reddish brown in the glass was the Barolo we stocked at the restaurant I played in as a student long agos and worlds apart. The Aussie Wolf Blass President's Selection was always popular and we stocked a particularly fine Fleurie but the Chateauneuf-du Pape was to die for.
If it were me, however, I'd reject the despicable foreign grape and plunge my senses into three pints of each of the following: Timothy Taylor's Landlord, Ruddles County & Gale's HSB. But then being me, I wouldn't be able to stop and the quaffing would continue probably involving several malts or luxury blends, more beer and perhaps a sloe gin or five until I was either bereft of funds or consciousness, usually both.
However, I have managed to make a good case for nothing stronger than tea these last ten years so would heartily advise that course as well as continuing with the water. Especially since then I won't need to imagine your sheer delight as those first genteel sips of amber nectar trickle deliciously down.