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Simon Hoggart's week: TV guilt and swanupmanship at Vintners' dinner Simon Hoggart's week: TV guilt and swanupmanship at Vintners' dinner
(4 months later)
✒ Do other readers suffer from TV guilt? I have seen only three episodes of The Wire. Admit this to friends, and they look as if you had given up driving lessons after a fortnight. Pathetic and useless.✒ Do other readers suffer from TV guilt? I have seen only three episodes of The Wire. Admit this to friends, and they look as if you had given up driving lessons after a fortnight. Pathetic and useless.
We have seven episodes of Borgen II recorded but not viewed. People say things like: "You're not watching Game of Thrones? Ohmigod! Well at least there'll be the box set."We have seven episodes of Borgen II recorded but not viewed. People say things like: "You're not watching Game of Thrones? Ohmigod! Well at least there'll be the box set."
We didn't see Treme. Nor a single episode of Spiral. Or Dexter. We stopped watching Mad Men about two years ago. I wouldn't know how to access Netflix. We are up with The Fall (brilliant – makes Belfast appear to be full of delightful people and a lot of homicidal maniacs, so no change there) and we did manage all of Broadchurch. But we lost The Politician's Husband, and still have a Foyle's War to watch.We didn't see Treme. Nor a single episode of Spiral. Or Dexter. We stopped watching Mad Men about two years ago. I wouldn't know how to access Netflix. We are up with The Fall (brilliant – makes Belfast appear to be full of delightful people and a lot of homicidal maniacs, so no change there) and we did manage all of Broadchurch. But we lost The Politician's Husband, and still have a Foyle's War to watch.
Life was so much simpler in pre-video days when everyone refused invitations because the Forsyte Saga was on. Now we all just have a long list of unwatched shows, all of which, it seems, our friends are raving about. I feel as outdated as if I wore a Fair Isle sweater, ate Pot Noodle and had a two-bar electric fire in the sitting room.Life was so much simpler in pre-video days when everyone refused invitations because the Forsyte Saga was on. Now we all just have a long list of unwatched shows, all of which, it seems, our friends are raving about. I feel as outdated as if I wore a Fair Isle sweater, ate Pot Noodle and had a two-bar electric fire in the sitting room.
✒ We had an idyllic trip to Cornwall, where I was plugging my Guardian book House of Fun at the admirable Fowey festival. We had drinks with Guardian reader Bob Lindo, who runs "Britain's number one winery" – Matthew Jukes – and sipped his superb wines while admiring the vines that slope down the sunbaked Camel Valley. It would be great if his wines were widely available. Sadly, they all go to posh restaurants and the finest branches of Waitrose; possibly they have one in Buckingham Palace.✒ We had an idyllic trip to Cornwall, where I was plugging my Guardian book House of Fun at the admirable Fowey festival. We had drinks with Guardian reader Bob Lindo, who runs "Britain's number one winery" – Matthew Jukes – and sipped his superb wines while admiring the vines that slope down the sunbaked Camel Valley. It would be great if his wines were widely available. Sadly, they all go to posh restaurants and the finest branches of Waitrose; possibly they have one in Buckingham Palace.
✒ We had lunch at Rick Stein's Seafood Restaurant in Padstow, which was terrific, even if Mr Stein himself seems to have cleared off to Australia. Booking was a palaver. They demanded a phone number, and a credit card, so they could charge you if you didn't turn up. They warned you to come soon enough to find parking, but not more than 15 minutes early. Or late. It was like eating with Ryanair. And the place was at least three-fifths empty. Mind you, it was a changeover day, so potential customers were probably fuming in jams on the A303 instead of scoffing the ragout of turbot with scallops in a veloute sauce.✒ We had lunch at Rick Stein's Seafood Restaurant in Padstow, which was terrific, even if Mr Stein himself seems to have cleared off to Australia. Booking was a palaver. They demanded a phone number, and a credit card, so they could charge you if you didn't turn up. They warned you to come soon enough to find parking, but not more than 15 minutes early. Or late. It was like eating with Ryanair. And the place was at least three-fifths empty. Mind you, it was a changeover day, so potential customers were probably fuming in jams on the A303 instead of scoffing the ragout of turbot with scallops in a veloute sauce.
✒ The other big thrill was being invited to the 650th anniversary dinner for the Vintners' Company. 650 years! Chaucer's father was a founder member. They even have a plaque commemorating the time in the 14th century when five kings came to dine: of England, Scotland, France, Denmark and, for some reason, Cyprus.✒ The other big thrill was being invited to the 650th anniversary dinner for the Vintners' Company. 650 years! Chaucer's father was a founder member. They even have a plaque commemorating the time in the 14th century when five kings came to dine: of England, Scotland, France, Denmark and, for some reason, Cyprus.
The whole British wine world plus celebrated international winemakers were there, so heaven knows why I was asked. But I'm very glad I was. The Vintners also own many of the swans on the Thames, along with the Queen, making the background to my all-time favourite Sun headline, "Illegal immigrants eat the Queen's swans". (As Jeremy Hardy says: "The Queen can break a swan's wing with a single blow of her arm.")The whole British wine world plus celebrated international winemakers were there, so heaven knows why I was asked. But I'm very glad I was. The Vintners also own many of the swans on the Thames, along with the Queen, making the background to my all-time favourite Sun headline, "Illegal immigrants eat the Queen's swans". (As Jeremy Hardy says: "The Queen can break a swan's wing with a single blow of her arm.")
In July they will take part in the annual swan-upping, which is basically a census. The company's swan uppers take to the river and lift the swans to see how many rings they have on their legs, which tells you who owns them. It might make the start of a new crypto-Nordic thriller for me to miss, since when you see a stretch of water in those shows, there is invariably a body floating in it, usually of a teenage girl. "Looks like she's been pecked to death, inspector." "No, it's worse. Forensics say she had half a bottle of Château Lafite '61 in her stomach – and it was corked!"In July they will take part in the annual swan-upping, which is basically a census. The company's swan uppers take to the river and lift the swans to see how many rings they have on their legs, which tells you who owns them. It might make the start of a new crypto-Nordic thriller for me to miss, since when you see a stretch of water in those shows, there is invariably a body floating in it, usually of a teenage girl. "Looks like she's been pecked to death, inspector." "No, it's worse. Forensics say she had half a bottle of Château Lafite '61 in her stomach – and it was corked!"
✒ The Audience, the play in which Helen Mirren plays the Queen at her weekly sessions with the prime minister of the day, is huge fun, though sadly there were no gay drummers for Ms Mirren to abuse. It's very funny, though perhaps a bit broad: John Major is a sort of Ernie to her Eric, and Harold Wilson is an ee-bygum chippy Yorkshireman. He was an Oxford don, for heavens sake.✒ The Audience, the play in which Helen Mirren plays the Queen at her weekly sessions with the prime minister of the day, is huge fun, though sadly there were no gay drummers for Ms Mirren to abuse. It's very funny, though perhaps a bit broad: John Major is a sort of Ernie to her Eric, and Harold Wilson is an ee-bygum chippy Yorkshireman. He was an Oxford don, for heavens sake.
Of the dozen prime ministers the Queen has seen, only four don't appear, presumably for dramatic reasons. I was sorry to miss Heath, who was probably the strangest of the lot.Of the dozen prime ministers the Queen has seen, only four don't appear, presumably for dramatic reasons. I was sorry to miss Heath, who was probably the strangest of the lot.
The late Lord Lambton, the former minister whose vast estate is now the subject of a bitter battle between his children, told me a curious, rather sad story. He had lost his job amid much publicity after the tabs ran a picture of him in bed with a prostitute, and the police found some cannabis in his flat.The late Lord Lambton, the former minister whose vast estate is now the subject of a bitter battle between his children, told me a curious, rather sad story. He had lost his job amid much publicity after the tabs ran a picture of him in bed with a prostitute, and the police found some cannabis in his flat.
He told me that the security services had known about his liaisons all along, and had informed the then prime minister.He told me that the security services had known about his liaisons all along, and had informed the then prime minister.
"If Heath had called me in and told me, I would have stopped immediately and none of this would have happened. But he couldn't face telling me. He would have died of embarrassment." Proof again of my theory that personality is overwhelmingly the most important motivator in politics."If Heath had called me in and told me, I would have stopped immediately and none of this would have happened. But he couldn't face telling me. He would have died of embarrassment." Proof again of my theory that personality is overwhelmingly the most important motivator in politics.
✒ I've been enjoying the journalism cliches on the Guardian letters page. My own peeve is "jetting off", which dates from the late 1950s, when glamorous people flew to glamorous places on glamorous planes, such as the new Boeing 707. But virtually all scheduled flights are now on jets. The alternative would be: "the runaway financier turbo-propped to Brazil, which has no extradition treaty" or "the Beckham family will biplane to Mustique for their luxury holiday …" It's not just wine that gets the absurd write-ups. Chris Arnot read this about a beer: "Characterised by hop notes giving way to buttery toffee, which washes over a basket of red and green apples, bananas and plums … a hint of cracked vanilla pods." And that's M&B's Brew XI, the basic beer in thousands of pubs in the Midlands.✒ I've been enjoying the journalism cliches on the Guardian letters page. My own peeve is "jetting off", which dates from the late 1950s, when glamorous people flew to glamorous places on glamorous planes, such as the new Boeing 707. But virtually all scheduled flights are now on jets. The alternative would be: "the runaway financier turbo-propped to Brazil, which has no extradition treaty" or "the Beckham family will biplane to Mustique for their luxury holiday …" It's not just wine that gets the absurd write-ups. Chris Arnot read this about a beer: "Characterised by hop notes giving way to buttery toffee, which washes over a basket of red and green apples, bananas and plums … a hint of cracked vanilla pods." And that's M&B's Brew XI, the basic beer in thousands of pubs in the Midlands.
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