Found in a friend’s cellar — the wines of a lifetime
In longevity, great wine can march with human life. Creating (better still, maintaining) a fine cellar really is a compact…
Glad tidings from a parish in Burgundy
Advent: I am sure that all readers deplore the vulgarly commercial aspects of the pre-Christmas season as much as I…
Gender comes in fluid form
I have lost faith in British boyhood. In mixed schools, young males have failed to seize an opportunity that previous…
We discussed wine, horses and painting at Franco’s in Jermyn Street
An artist ought to draw on broad human sympathies and an intense commitment to his craft. In both respects, Charles…
A Dutch treat from Bordeaux
In 1995, a young Dutchman completed an MBA. Banking beckoned. An internship was arranged. But Alexander van Beek thought that…
The pride of Australia
When she graduated from university in Australia, Sarah Crowe decided to travel. So she sold her car, raised whatever other…
All’s fair in love and Waugh
I was reminded of Wild West films from boyhood. Then, the beleaguered garrison scanned the horizon; would the US cavalry…
Thank Evans for good wine
There was an entirely forgotten leftist called Allen Ginsberg, a so-called beat poet (surely an oxymoron) who once produced a…
The countryside’s eternal youth
I once witnessed a rarer spectacle than Halley’s Comet. I heard Ted Heath tell a funny story. It related to…
The romantic king of clubs
We were discussing romanticism, with me arguing that it should be confined to the boudoir, the bedroom, the library or…
My beef with David Cameron
Insufficient attention has been paid to the history of naughty girls, who deployed allure to prosper in a male-dominated world.…
I nourish my dream of a fat pill
As good conversation should, the talk meandered from the serious to the playful. One of the serious topics was overseas…
A toast to the new Scottish dawn
‘Stands Scotland where it did?’ As the bottles circulated, we were able to answer Macduff’s question in much more optimistic…
Uncorking the past
I have been thinking about the Dark Ages. This has nothing to do with Theresa May or Jeremy Corbyn. A…
Rosé-tinted glasses
It was a typical bank holiday. Usual English weather: glorious, until you leave home without a brolly. Then fickleness supervenes…
French fancies
‘That sweet enemy, France.’ It takes a poet to summarise centuries of military and diplomatic history. On a prosaic level,…
A very British bildung
Over the long weekend I read a couple of bildungs-romans; one a revisit after many years, the other a recent…
A glimmer of hope
I argued that it was unnecessary to have made sacrifices during Lent in order to celebrate its conclusion. It is…
A toast to unsung heroes
We were talking about war, the desert and God. In the early Seventies, one of our number, Christopher James, had…
The fall of Paris
Paris used to be the most self-confident city in the world. Brash, assertive, boastful: Manhattan claimed to be the best.…
A vintage that tastes of Old Possum
Eliot. After 50 years trying to make sense of his verse, and at the risk of admitting to rampant philistinism,…
A vintage that tastes of Old Possum
Eliot. After 50 years trying to make sense of his verse, and at the risk of admitting to rampant philistinism,…
Cats and clarets
Call me a sentimental old whatever, but watching a four-year old hearing The Tale of Samuel Whiskers for the first…
Cats and clarets
Call me a sentimental old whatever, but watching a four-year old hearing The Tale of Samuel Whiskers for the first…
Bloody Marys and glorious Jean
To the Western Isles, or at least to its embassy in Belgravia. Boisdale restaurant always claims to be extra-territorial. There…
