Rachel Johnson’s raillery is reminiscent of Beatrice and Benedick, in the early phase, but with no danger of a predestinate scratched face. The Johnson family are not egalitarians. When it comes to morals, there is no equal distribution. But to be fair to Rachel, she has never tried to become prime minister.
That charming fellow William Sitwell would be a good Benedick. He is always worth reading, but it appears he has recently been unlucky with some customers in his restaurant. They insisted on sauvignon blanc to the exclusion of all other grapes. Yet, and especially in this weather, there’s plenty of good sauvignon blanc, from the Loire, New Zealand – though one can have too much Cloudy Bay – and Bordeaux, where, alas, the best growers charge accordingly.
‘I’d forgotten all about these and they may be undrinkable, even by that necrophiliac Anderson,’ said our host
Apropos Bordeaux, I had a delightful tasting recently, though it required me to overcome a prejudice. I am always wary of very young wines, especially whites, which can give one an acidy tummy. I know: there’ll be a spittoon, but I am not a natural spitter.
Anyway, we were drinking 2025 Barsacs and Sauternes. The owner merely wanted to be sure that they were on the right track, a proposition hailed with thunderous agreement. Thereafter, they were returning to his cellar for at least a decade. (We agreed that humans should try hard to rival bottles in longevity.) These wines were all delicious – and, as the heat faded and the evening lengthened, they were life-enhancing. We had a Rieussec, which was my favourite but only just; also a Coutet, a Doisy-Daëne and a Lafaurie-Peyraguey.
A further treat awaited. Our host disappeared cellar-ward and returned with two dusty bottles. ‘I’d forgotten all about these and they may be undrinkable, even by that necrophiliac Anderson,’ said he. Undrinkable? 1976 Rieussecs, they were both magnificent. We stretched for adjectives. Leonine was my choice. If you should have the sort of cellar where treasures hide away, hope to find a bottle of that.
Age and treasure: 20 years ago this month, the then Prince Charles opened the Jameel gallery in the V&A. It is one of the finest collections of Islamic art in the world. The Jameel family are not just benefactors in the arts, design, health and other endeavours. They are exemplars of Islamic civilisation. Looking at the objects, one has a sense of the glorious era when Islamic scholars brought classical learning to the West. In two decades when it has often seemed that anything which can go wrong has done, the Jameels are a triumphant exception. Long may they flourish.
Health: as I’m sometimes reminded, and not only by naughty minx Johnson, I have been promising to lose weight through many vintages. But there may be a solution. Two friends of mine, Jason and Justin Drummond, are public-spirited scientists. They are already involved in health care and also in social care, one of the country’s most difficult problems, which is why no one wants to face it.
They have now made a breakthrough with an oral anti-fat pill, GLP-1. It has been widely and successfully used in the States and of course does not require an injection. Though I would never claim to have any grasp of science, those qualified to opine have done so favourably. I’ve made my contribution to knowledge by volunteering to be a guinea pig. Do I hear Rachel saying ‘drop the guinea?’ I shall report progress.
Another report: I have temerariously decided to launch a website, bruceanderson.org, which will not confine itself to politics. It, at least, will try to gain weight.
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