Is it possible to feel remote in a city centre? I think it is. I am not talking about loneliness, or feeling culturally distant from people stood next to you. I am talking about sitting in silence whilst the world goes on several floors below. This is what the atmosphere is like at The Modern in Manchester.
There are occasional tiny slivers, splinters of darkness in my life, that give me a sharp reminder of what I am giving up for my work. It’s not that I resent it, entirely my own choice after all. When I started the company in 2001, I went in with my eyes open. I realised it would mean sacrifices.
This afternoon I took my 10 year old god-daughter to see Man City. The look of delight on her face when City beat Spurs 2-1 was matched only by my relief at the end of an awful run of games that had put us on a snake track slithering down the league table.
Kellie came over from Dublin for the weekend with her sisters, Rebecca and Chloe – all gorgeous girls, well behaved, entertaining, polite, model children. Kellie is obviously my favourite and she is the footie fan, tomboy, fitness fanatic, make-up-rejecting bundle of energy.
And now they have all gone and I am alone in the flat. It’s strange how lonely you can feel when sudden mayhem is suddenly replaced by a sudden quantum of solace.
So to cheer me up, apart from consoling myself that City are back on the ladder of success, I have dragged out my notes from a bottle of Shampoo I sampled last weekend.
In deepest Evian-les-Bains I found one of the best wine shops ever. La Cave à Paul had such a wide range of Armagnacs going back to the year dot. But they had none from 1964 (year of my birth), so I settled for second best 1966 (last time England won the World Cup).
And when I got home I discovered that I had also (sort of) unknowingly bought some duty free Armagnac by Sempé (we flew from Geneva, Switzerland). It was time for a taste test. But hang on! There is more complication because I had also invested in Riedel glasses. The Cognac glass is a small tulip (on the left of the photo below), whereas a traditional Cognac or Armagnac glass is a bowl (shown on the right). An interesting experiment was to ensue….Â
Tomorrow I have to place 44 candles on a birthday cake, light them and blow them out. What will I wish for? While I deliberate, my body decays albeit slowly, and I am enjoying a glass of fizz before heading out for dinner.
Scottish shortbread, grapefruit notes and possibly a little lime. I find this a little too acidic to be truly memorable.
I have to admit that I know very little about champagne. I enjoy drinking it but I need to learn more about what makes one better than another. So whilst I did not get on greatly with Waitrose Vintage, this should not put you off trying it for yourself.
Have to dash – off to eat and yes, I am taking my notebook.
As for my birthday wish? It won’t be for another bottle Waitrose Vintage Champagne.
Forget the preamble. This Corbières is the most interesting and, frankly, gorgeous wine I have tried in ages.
I found it at Laithwaites (although it was sadly out of stock at time of writing). I cannot remember the price, but it was definitely not expensive. I fear that it is absolutely necessary to stick to the 2003 due to the freaky hot summer that year. It killed several hundred French people so one can only imagine the effect it had on shrivelling (er….I mean concentrating) the grapes, and this wine is an amalgamation of several.
Funky. The French don’t do funky well. So Café Le Brummels must be owned by a Belgian then. Did you spot the Belgian beer influences in the photo?
Was Lausanne really so boring? We must have thought so, because our only full day there was spent in Evian, courtesy of the excellent and frequent ferry service across Lac Léman. We were looking for the Riveraine Café for lunch, a place we had visited several years ago and enjoyed many a French laugh (he haw he haw he haw) with the owners. Sadly the place had closed down.
Searching along the lake front for another resto proved fruitless. It being October already, the saison de tourisme was already over. Fortunately, even locals need to eat, so there were some places open on the Rue Nationale (main street). Le Muratore took my fancy because it actually had customers – always a promising sign.
What a great sporting weekend. The English winning at cricket (handsomely defeating India), and promptly, but not all that convincingly, despatching the USA at rugby in the World Cup.  Even the hapless Steve McClaren had his moment in the sun sending the Israeli football team packing having thrice, without reply, rubbed their noses in the excrement of their sloppy defence.
But the résultat du jour was on Friday. The French were humbled by Argentina in the opening game of the Rugby Union World Cup - a triumph of gritty Malbec over refined claret? So in my own personal campaign to cheer up the old wine nation I nipped down to a British supermarket (Tesco) and bought some French produce – a can o’ wine to be precise.
I have never been to the Ritz. This maybe because I can’t afford it, or it could equally be because, to enjoy the Ritz fayre, I would have to bypass The Wolseley, right next door at 160 Piccadilly. This is something I have not yet achieved.
England were playing India at Trentbridge so I thought I’d pop along with my mate Alan. We spent the first half of the day waiting to see if any play was possible. Even though we were in the ground, the only news was coming from the BBC website via my mobile phone. By lunch we were fed up waiting so went outside to find a place to eat.
On Radcliffe Road we found a Greek-Cypriot eaterie – Pappas. Founded by the fantastically named couple Christodoulos and Carol Papachristodoulou, surely this was going to be authentic and it was.
Stumble It!