Always Read the Label Chapter 16 Lets Do Lunch

I'm cutting it fine taking this train after spending ages wondering what to wear. It's not like there was a lot of options, just that they all seemed wrong in some way; tatty, uncoordinated or simply inappropriate. What I ended up choosing became immediately unsuitable as the sun peeped from behind the clouds leaving me more hot and bothered. I didn't have time to think what had come over me fussing about choosing what to wear, even when the train sat for what seemed like hours next to the familiar high rise which always left me wondering what was happening in each flat whenever I passed.

At the other end I have to run to make up some of the lost time, stopping only when I spot an off-licence. I've become used to the mini-markets that sell cheap and crude booze, but this is a real one selling more than just affordable oblivion. Which I'm guessing doesn't include Thunderbird wine. This is confirmed when I get looked up and down when the bell above the door rings to introduce a grudging 'how can i help you?'

'I'm looking for a bottle of red and a bottle of white to go with Sunday lunch please'.
'I'm not quite sure we carry what you're looking for, what price range did you have in mind'.
If I say a fiver, I'll just get an even more disinterested point towards the bargain bins that line the middle and a quick ushering out of the shop. Fuck it, I'll play the snob too.

'I was thinking around the £50 mark, more if there's a particularly good wine available'
There's a pause while he reappraises his judgement of this initially unwanted but now valued customer which allows me to get more into character and continue:
'I do find the new world wines so boringly overrated. Lets go for something with a bit of history'.

I'm now steered towards the French section with a muttered, but more pleasant, 'Quite. Very good idea'.
The Italian section looks a lot smaller so it's my turn to do the steering in this direction with a 'Well i haven't seen this one for a while' directed at a bottle I can see from the handwritten tag is the most expensive. I can also spot the words 'mature, lively, Piedmont and single estate' which I include in a sentence along with introducing my own 'rustic' and 'chocolate' which seems to impress the gullible wine snob.

'I've drunk a lot of this wine while actually in Piedmont and fancy doing so again. Ha ha. I love this stuff so much it's worth abandoning the boring old red and white of Plan A and getting half a dozen of these as a Plan B. Looks like you've only got a few bottles. Any more in stock?

'We should have yes. Let me go and have a look out the back.'

Before he sets off I spot another wine I can't believe I've managed to find again.
'You know it might be worth filling a case while I'm here. The cars just around the corner'.
'Let me see if I've got any more of that one as well'.

As soon as he's through the door at the back of the shop, I prove how much I like the two wines by grabbing them and heading out of the door at a jog, turning into the first side road I spot. If he'd have been a bit more welcoming when I walked in I'd have been walking up the road with a few bottles of wine in a carrier bag. Not 50 quid bottles admittedly, but some I'd paid for.

I start walking again a few streets from where I'm heading, noticing that the houses are getting bigger further from the station. The gravelly path I eventually walk down is met at the end by a double fronted house which looks like the ones you see in films about London. That style with 3 storeys, yellow bricks and sash windows. I check in the window next to the door to make sure I don't look like I've been running. Before I can knock, someone spots me gazing in and jumps up from a sofa I hadn't seen. Looking like an older version of Emma, it has to be her mum. There's a shout then the door opens.

'Hello. Do come in'.
'I see you've met Mummy then' says Emma as she hits the last step and leans forward to give me a peck. I suspect Daddy is listening to cricket in his study, I'll give him a shout'.

'No need. I'm here darling. Hello, nice to meet you'.

I have to hand him one of the bottles to shake the pudgy hand offered. The other one I give to her mum, which brings a 'what do I get' and a hidden wink from Emma.
'Do come through. We were sitting outside'.
This is obviously not true, but outside is set up to look like they intended to sit here at some point. There's some awkward talk about my journey until the now open wine is brought through with some clinking glasses. Her dad examines it approvingly, telling me he was in Piedmont recently on business. He takes a sip and declares it lovely. He's right, it is; delicious. Without my asking i get told all about his job in the City, heading up a firm that specialises in funding takeovers. There's apparently a lot of these at the minute and he reels off a list of what I guess are companies I should have heard of. Whether I've heard of them or not, they've bought him a garden big enough to get lost in which looks gorgeous in the sunshine. From the kitchen I can hear her mum clanking about and can tell as the sounds get more frequent we'll be eating soon. Which is lucky as I'm starting to feel the effects of the wine I've been gulping nervously.

'What do you do?'
I knew this was coming, but haven't prepared in any way.
'I'm in a band. It's only just started to get serious, but seems to be going well'.

I can actually see the strain to hide his distaste and disappointment behind an 'Oh'.
'Daddy loves music, don't you. Did you see his jukebox in the hall?'
I hadn't, but it was a big hall. And it turns out a big jukebox when we go through to admire it.

'It's an original Wurlitzer I rescued and had restored'.
He seems to have missed out paid to have restored, but it's still truly impressive. Unlike the music which is all early Rock 'n' Roll. I'm saved a few songs in by a 'dinners ready' which has us all heading to the dining room.

The foods lovely and I start to actually relax.
'Thought this might go a bit better with chicken' as a loud pop announces the arrival of her Dad's champagne 'this was a particularly wonderful year, see what you think'.
I have no way to judge it so stick with the safety of simple nodding approval before carrying on eating. Emma's mum notices me looking at the much smaller portion her husband's been served.

'The doctor wasn't too happy with Daddy's eating habits. Especially his cheese sandwiches. So he's been put on a strict diet'.
'Bloody stupid load of nonsense. What's the point of working so hard when you can't enjoy yourself?'
I have to agree and laugh before asking what's wrong with having a cheese sandwich?

'Well Daddy loves his cheese sandwiches and often gets caught sneaking them in when he thinks no one's looking. But we've all been put on red alert by the doctor because of the way he insists on making them. The cheese is an inch thick which is bad enough, but it's the butter that's the real culprit. He refuses margarine, preferring to slice butter straight from the fridge onto the bread. So what should be an innocent little sandwich becomes a health risk'.
'I don't pay much notice to bloody quacks anyway. I feel as fit as a fiddle. Or perhaps a cello. I'm allowed a few indulgences. More champagne anyone? Lets see if there's another one already chilled'

It always goes right to my head bubbly, so I really should slow down. I'm nodding a lot which is a bad sign, but I'm sure no one else has spotted anything amiss. Pudding's accompanied by a few bits of gossip from the City about people I've never heard of and Emma's mum declaring her love and faith in yoga. The dishes are cleared away leaving just the tempting champagne and glasses. Oh, and my big mouth.

'What I've never understood is how it got to be that 99 percent of the wealth is owned by just 1 percent of the population'.
It's a showstopping statement that does it's job.
'Well I've never really thought about it like that'.
'You've probably never had to though have you? It's something you're immune from. But not everybody is. You probably don't see the repercussions'.
'I suppose I don't, no. But does that matter? I'm not sure where you're getting your figures from or if they're correct'.
'You only have to look around to see they're correct. It's a struggle out there for most people. Just getting by is hard enough. Drive out of the suburbs sometime, it's a mess out there'.
'We do have an annual charity fundraiser'.

I have no answer for this so reach for the bottle and as I'm pouring realise I'm a drinking this man's champagne while waffling on critically about some vague socialist principles and have no idea what provoked this attack. Or how everyone is remaining so restrained while under it. I think the term's dignified silence. I'm damned if I'm apologising though; there's some sort of truth hidden in what I've said. It was the wrong time to say it to the wrong target; solving nothing and just leaving an embarrassed silence to fill the room. I think I've given him food for thought but it's more likely indigestion. That's Champagne Socialism for you.

'Think I'll catch the end of the cricket if that's OK with everyone?'
'Yes of course darling. I really should get on with filling that dishwasher'.

Which leaves just me and Emma in the room. I expect her to be furious and tell me to leave.
'You know I've never had the guts to question my dad about his politics. I know a lot of what he does leaves loads of people without jobs. Streamlining he calls it. It lines his pocket, which keeps it out of everyone elses. It was interesting to see how he reacted. He probably hasn't ever thought about it beyond making a profit'.
'I wish I'd kept my mouth shut. I feel dreadful now. Champagne always makes me act stupid'.
'Best keep drinking then. Here, finish it. I talked to Josh last week'.
'Your boyfriend?'
'Ex-boyfriend actually. So, I was wondering if you fancied taking me to yours and finishing what we started or just going back over what we'd already done?'

Before we left I managed to get a terse goodbye from her Mum as I thanked her for a lovely meal, but her Dad didn't even bother to come out of his study just mumbled 'Adios' through the door. Emma grabbed the unopened bottle of wine and we set off to the station. I had to make an excuse about the route we took so we didn't walk past the off licence, but within an hour we were back at mine.

Five minutes later we were naked and facing each other again with only a stolen 50 quid bottle of wine for company.