As we drove towards the Park, on what might well prove a long Christmas Eve, Charlie was attempting to get her ducks in a row; ‘I realise how it works now.’
‘How what works?’
‘The Park, the club, the whole thing. You have what seems a modest role as chair of the dining committee, but when you add-on your various placemen, Cat on the membership committee, Barmy on finance, me at the spa. Then realise that all the action happens in the food and drink areas.’
‘But life is not made up of active or conscious conspiracies. For a start, people can’t keep secrets.’
‘What I still don’t understand is...’
‘As the innocent bystander said to the great detective!’
‘Just what do you hope to resolve with this blind tasting, if they can’t agree about what to order, this will just confirm that. What does it actually resolve?’
‘A little learning is a dangerous thing, as the poet said. Their problem, I suspect, is over confidence, they think they know wine.’
‘Oh, right. The novice knows he doesn’t know, so does the genuine expert, but the blokes in between.’
‘Right, and were a Master of Wine to walk into the room and tell everyone that quality is all a matter of personal taste, just order variety, they’d be disappointed and inclined to object. This test is the best I can do, to demonstrate they don’t know their own minds.’
‘Gentlemen, let me remind you of why we are all gathered here today. We are, alas, in dispute over what to reorder, so be it. We will proceed blind, in the scientific manner, and accept the biases of our own responses. Charlie, aided and abetted by bar steward Steppings here, has laid out the five most popular bottles from the cellar and the four we’ve bought in over the last twelve mouths, all have their labels covered and with a number assigned, each has a scale of approval on your answer sheets with optional comments section. All bottles were brought up yesterday so are at room temperature, the true measure of a wine. The spittoon is located in our special “expectoration corner” over there. Do not, I repeat do not swallow. Examine first the colour against the white table cloth or shirt cuff, inhale deeply the bouquet, taste, spit, pause and consider any aftertaste. Write it all down. Pencils with rubbers on their ends, are provided. All will be anonymous. Proceed gentleman.’ It was if I’d fired the starting pistol at the school sports. I began to circle the table, determined to exert a firm hand. ‘We are of course all, merely gentlemen, women have been scientifically tested and found to have a more sensitive sense of smell and taste. Slowly Tuffy, take your time.’
‘Remind me Tony, what are we looking for?’ Said someone.
‘Look at the depth of colour at the edge, a browning or rust like hue in a red is a reliable test of age, a more golden appearance in the whites.’
‘I’m getting a suggestion of autumn leaves.’ Said another.
‘With smell we’re looking for a remembrance of fruit, the distinct blackcurrant essence of a classic Bordeaux Red for example. Beware of nutty smells or tastes, suggestive of lower quality.’
There was much fevered activity for about fifteen minutes. Then they began to hesitate, amend their answers, and slowly come to a halt. I started collecting the paperwork before too many changed their minds or worse, realised they may have contradicted their previous publicly-stated preferences; ‘I’ll crunch these numbers over the holidays, the results will be posted on the notice board in the new year. Now, let us proceed to lunch.’
‘I think, that may be the most disgusting sight I’ve been forced to witness in a long time.’ Said Charlie as we moved to the dining area.
‘No one knows how to spit anymore.’
The first person we encountered was Julia; ‘Your Uncle has asked me to tell you, not to take offence at anything he says in his speech.’
‘Oh, righty ho!’
As in previous years, the Christmas lunch was principally a thank you, during which we observed the military tradition of officers serving other ranks. In our case, officials entertaining the paid staff. The climax was the Earl’s speech.
‘Once again it falls upon me to say a few words about the last twelve months. A year ago, my message had to be a digital one. Now, whilst the rest of the world wrestles with a new normal, we can proudly boast a return to, normal! Much of this has only been possible due to the efforts of my nephew Anthony in securing the summit meeting in the early summer, boosting our coffers whilst others were shut down. Equally, the ability to enjoy the club digitally has been much appreciated by all. At this very moment, members unable to attend in person, are able to watch me via the new security cameras we’ve all seen being installed. I also understand, that a virtual walk in the park, is currently in development. Our future plans also include an extension of the spa and the possible provision of a courtesy bus service between here and town. But however, a word of caution.’ Uncle hesitated slightly, I braced myself for whatever barbed comments might follow. ‘We live, alas, in an increasingly surveillance society. Remarkably, so far, this is not the imagined Orwellian nightmare, but we have each voluntarily agreed to carry upon our persons, the most sophisticated surveillance device ever conceived. Now it seems the geeks and nerds of the Web, rule. Anthony, I know is one of them. And he is, despite the restraining influence of Charlotte, somewhat prone at times to, overenthusiasm. Now I don’t know how many copies of Carry-On Prime Minister actually exist, a thirty-minute video of highlights from the Park’s security footage, covering the various visits of Buffy Trumpton - I think my favourite moment is his shadow-fencing using the antique toasting fork during the summit. However; I trust the only copies are those lodged in the hard drives of our and Anthony’s computers. But nonetheless, let us never forget, the Queen in parliament is sovereign. A loyal toast then, to Her Majesty and the late Duke, may he rest in peace.’
I was feeling less than one hundred per cent, as Charlie drove us through the winter evening towards Checkley and another Christmas lunch in less than twenty-four hours. ‘You look a little pensive, is there anything to be worried about?’ She asked.
‘No, not really. Interesting solution to his problem.’
‘But it was no mistake, you backing it up to their machines?’
‘Yes. Legitimately acquired security footage, property of the Park and the club. Those who may be concerned, can now consider themselves informed, especially since his annual speech will remain archived within the club portal. But he was covering his own back.’
‘How so?’
‘Wait and see.’
Uncle and Julia could only have arrived home about thirty minutes before us, but we found them, relaxing in the library. ‘Merry Christmas, one and all,’ began Uncle, before outlining the annual delights he had in store for us. ‘However, this year we have an additional, special treat, something to fill the gap tomorrow between the Queen and the cake!’ What fresh hell is this I thought to myself? ‘I shall be hosting a wine tasting.’ Oh my god. ‘A chance to compare our own two thousand and eighteen, with the nineteen and the twenty. What do you think of that?’
‘I trust there will be an expectoration corner?’
‘Very well, if you think you’ll need one, let’s say the sink in the old pantry, tomorrow, three-thirty sharp.’
‘What did you think of my solution to your home movie problem?’
‘Covering your back by putting it in the public domain - just!’
‘Absolutely. I felt a slight unease when I viewed it first, couldn’t work out why for a while, then I realised it wasn’t our footage that was the problem. It struck me the aerial footage was remarkably good and could not have been obtained through normal media.’
‘Then you realised it was also the solution, if all those responsible were also club members.’
‘Quiet so. Brandy?’
‘No, no.’
‘You know Charlotte is quite sceptical about all your talk of Buffy being your arch enemy, she sees you cooperating with him, and wonders what all the fuss is about.’
‘That is because it is a mad situation, as in M.A.D, mutually assured destruction. We each have enough on the other, to guarantee that we both work together to avoid both of us going down with the ship.’
‘It’s your expert opinion we require Tony.’ So pronounced Uncle as we contemplated the bottles under question; ‘What to drink, and when?’
The room fell silent. I took the situation as seriously as I could, tasting all three in turn, then a second time. ‘I have no doubt your wine making gets better over time, but alas that’s not the point. You have a unique terroir. However, conditions vary from year to year. The two thousand and nineteen is the best and will improve, it should be set aside and left. The two thousand and twenty is okay, will improve slightly, okay to serve to impressionable guests. The two thousand and eighteen however, should be drunk now, it won’t improve, indeed I should move it to the coolest part of the cellar and store the bottles upright, in time this carbonisation will increase and it may pop it’s corks.’
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