Wine
Tales of war and lockdown
We were celebrating the end of lockdown by talking about war and deer stalking — over a business lunch, naturally.…
Ghosts of Christmas pissed
I feel like a prisoner, making daily marks on the cell wall to chart the approach of freedom. But will…
Johnson’s turnip bogle
At least in London, midwinter spring has not been entirely vanquished, and the trees are still a couple of strong…
A toast to Tim
I am in an Eliot mood, not a Keatsian one. ‘Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness’ is a surprisingly… mellow…
Memories of Perry
I had known Perry Worsthorne for several years before I went to work for him in 1986 (horrifying how time…
Viva España
It had been a long and no doubt fractious sea voyage. The crew would have signed up for a variety…
Right up my alley
I suspect, though this may be romanticising, that if a French lorry driver with hitherto suppressed culinary tastes won France’s…
A taste of the continent
Is it safe to visit the continent? On the one hand, abroad is likely to be less crowded this August…
Low life
Provence-Alpes-Côte D’Azur Until January the foreign correspondent lived in a late-18th-century house with a vineyard, olive grove and vegetable garden…
Beauty, brutality, cricket and wine
In one respect, there has been a reassertion of normality, though this is nothing to do with the virus. Although…
The best wine since incarceration
The woodpecker jinked across the lawn like an especially cunning partridge. Its goal was a skilfully constructed bird table with…
Peaty giant, Tuscan flower
The virus is in retreat, the lock-down is crumbling, the sherbet dispensaries will shortly reopen and there is a second…
Hops and dreams
It is enough to drive a man to drink. The most glorious weather, so suitable for white Burgundy on a…
Wine to lock down
I was once invited to the Cheltenham races and found the experience underwhelming. Everything was too respectable: not nearly Hibernian…
Cavalier approach
This April was indeed the cruellest month, at least for those of us banged up in cities. From the country…
Sacrifice and resurrection
I cannot remember a prettier Easter, or a more frustrating one. This was no time to be in town. But…
Blind wine-tasting
The cellar room is almost silent save for the sound of slurping and spitting and the odd gentle sigh. One…
No more Spanish eggshells
It is time to begin with an apology, and hope. In the course of these columns, I have already admitted…
My recipe to cure a hangover
Journalists exaggerate, often reaching for superlatives to chronicle mildly interesting events. Even so, there are times when it is necessary…
Politics of a certain vintage – and wine to match
I wonder how they do things now at Tory headquarters. For the ’79 election, the preparations had been completed weeks…
Wine that puts politics in its place
In the era of vinyl, lost in one of Bruckner’s longueurs, it could be hard to tell what was stuck,…
A vintage tale of Thatcher, Reagan and some truly great wines
Poor Old Girl. The final act may not have been sanglante, but as the third volume of Charles Moore’s life…
Claret, dogs and nothing to grouse about
What do you get if you cross a dyslexic, an insomniac and an agnostic? Someone who wakes up at 4…
When did ‘big girl’s blouse’ become an insult?
Fotherington-Thomas was introduced by Nigel Molesworth, the narrator of Down with Skool!, in 1953: ‘As you see he is skipping…
Like Team Boris, I’m staying in London this summer
Foolish me. I could have been writing this by the shore of Lake Trasimene, with only one problem: how to…
