A re-bottled champain rip-off

When a local pub charges through the nose for its house wine on a Saturday night, it’s not normally somewhere that’s likely to attract me back, unless it’s the desperation stakes and everywhere else is closed. So be it. I’ll walk the extra few blocks … it’s easier going rather than coming home sometimes, but that’s another story … to find a quiet pub that sells decent plonk at a reasonable price. Good food helps, too.
But I was told a disturbing story that has sealed the issue once and for all.
The sister of a mate was at a noisy local a week or so ago and she ordered a glass of the house bubbles. Can’t recall whether I was told what she paid for it, but I’m guessing it was top dollar.
Anyway, she got her glass and headed back to join her friends.
One sip was all it took. It was off. Gone to God. Not even suitable for dousing a stove-top fire.
She went back to the bar and politely said to the barman: “Sorry, but this is off.” And handed the glass to the said barman.
Get this … he had a mouthful from her glass and indignantly said: “No it’s not. It’s all right.”
“No, it’s off,” she persisted. “Can I have a fresh glass from a newly opened bottle?”
The debate went to and fro until the barman finally relented and opened a new bottle and poured her a glass.
She thanked the barman and was about to return to her friends when he picked up the “off” bottle and she watched in horror as he topped up the fresh bottle with it.
Surely a joint that charges like a bank hell bent on bleeding us for ATM fees … isn’t that all of them? … can cover spoilage and send the offending piss (that’s what it was) to a new life at the bottom of the sink.
Sheesh.

Q&A leaves questions unanswered

After I blogged last night (thanks to the Charlotte Sound pinot for the assistance) I headed for the sanctuary of the couch and a bit of teev.
Why, I don’t know, I opted for Q&A still has me flummoxed. Don’t like the show much although the Jones fella is OK … but it seems to be a conversation must at work each Tuesday morning and it’s (sometimes) good to have an input.
I suffered through it and the suffering stayed with me until the morning when I hooked into the interweb thing and posted the Crikey word of the day. (Check out @mickthesub1 on Twitter each morning if you can be buggered.)
I thought I may as well have a crack at Q&A, so I tweeted “suffered thru Q&A last night. boring, contrived. i'd forgotten what shouting '60s-'70s rallies were like. good reason not to watch next week”.
I dunno whether it made me feel better … OK it did. It’s always good to get that sort of crap off your chest early before you get on with the real issues of the day.
Got some support too, suggesting that “Writers believing they were saving lives with their moral superiority, err sorry we have doctors to do that!”
I was feeling liberated on the way to work. I’d inadvertently left my phone at home. Shit it’s a good feeling, and besides, it was just too far to walk back to get it.
Then the first story I did for the morning at Crikey was a behind-the-scenes look at Q&A. I felt vindicated, although the executive producer poured some cold water on the yarn.
It was still a win for me.

Try, try and try again

Talking of wins, tomorrow night it will be good to get back into the swing of a night with some mates, some pizzas and some decent plonk or whatever and the best footy played anywhere in the country … Collingwood versus Adelaide at the weekend notwithstanding … when Queensland takes on New South Wales in state-of-origin one. I’ll be donning the Maroons shirt.
And flying the flag. I’m still keen to see just which team Age footy legend Rohan Connolly supports … one way or the other it could lead to some heated conversations … probably one-way because young Connolly is the most passionate supporter of anything that I’ve ever met.

In one ear and straight out the other

I watched and listened a bit this morning to a Gillard presser. I know it’s wrong in every way to be judgmental, but listening to the politically-dead-PM-walking (and talking) is something (I imagine) akin to an aural laxative. I'm not particularly enamored sometimes of either side of the political spectrum, but there is just something lacking in the Ranga-In-Chief's delivery.
Anyway, bugger this, it’s time for some crusty bread and some slow-cooked beef and vegetable casserole. At least that won’t go straight through.
I hope, anyway.

A wine to whine about

Oh, and some last-minute breaking news ... the fantastic chablis I ordered after tasting it last Wednesday night is not on. There's not a bottle to be had anywhere. The advice is to wait for next year's vintage.
Double sheesh.