Donald Grump

You couldn't make it up, could you, and life is indeed stranger than fiction sometimes. What follows is, of course, pure fiction and could not possibly be based on actual people, real or imagined.

Once upon a time there was a man named Donald. He was a man on whom all the wealth of the world had been showered, at least according to the way he told it. The Donald loved to tell anyone who would listen about his great wealth, his intelligence and how great he was generally, and would get really upset if people doubted him and his talents. If the people going anywhere near him were women he would even show his appreciation by groping or kissing them to make them feel better, for he was a kind man, and because he could, for he was rich and famous.

One day a genie appeared in front of the Donald and said: 'I am here to reward you for your intelligence and kindness, as obviously wealth is not enough, so I will grant you one wish that will allow you to fulfil your role on this earth. So what will it be, bubba?'

The Donald thought long and hard, for he was a very smart guy; was this a trick offer? Was somebody trying to pull a fast one and trick him into a bad deal? Or had any of the bad people he had shafted in one way or another over business dealings set him up to make a fool of himself?

This thinking made the Donald tired, but any way he looked at this it seemed good to him. He had a free wish and no obligation to this strange immigrant-looking dude in the exotic clothing standing in front of him, so why the hell not do it? This was a win-win deal if ever he saw one and he, being a smart guy (worth repeating to make a point), was going to do it; he was, after all, a well-known deal artist!

'I'd like to be the most powerful man on earth' said the Donald, 'and I'd also like an amazing head of hair to go with this to complete my happiness'. The genie tried to protest that this was more like two wishes rather than one, but the Donald was having none of it. 'You give me what I asked for, or I'm suing' cried the Donald, clearly exasperated and impatient, for he was a man who knew his own mind and a master deal-maker, a good hombre.

The genie sighed, smiled and shook his head in amusement and disappointment, as only genies in fairytales can, then spoke solemnly. 'Very well, you may have your wish, but to my specifications' and waved his magic wand this way and that, before disappearing in a puff of smoke; this made the Donald worried, for not only did it prove the genie to be real, but his words were also difficult to explain - what precisely did he mean? And could you sue anyone who could disappear like that?

He soon discovered the answer to all his worries and gained the reward that he had earned: power beyond his wildest dreams and an amazing head of hair. But his wish did not make him happy, and he developed a grudge against the world, with emphasis on the Mexicans, mistakenly thinking the genie was from there. He became so irritable and a real misery guts, that people gave him a new nickname and he became Donald Grump, always griping about something and especially about immigrants not doing what he wanted them to.

At least the whole world, maybe even the universe, acknowledged that his head of hair was truly amazing, frankly unbelievable.

And we all lived unhappily ever after.

With a little help from my friends

Life is a funny old thing and, irrespective of whether things are going well or not, it can be difficult and full  of problems. Some of these problems may be simple day-to-day things, others events that threaten to engulf and destroy us; all wear us down and chip away at our self-confidence and wellbeing. When the problems hit is precisely the time we need our friends around us.

During the good times friends can appear plentiful and supportive, especially when we hardly need it, and they are more often than not to be found in our corner rooting for us. This is, of course, the easy bit; everyone likes to bask in success or affluence, particularly when they can enjoy the lifestyle without the effort that goes into making it happen. Oh boy, when the champagne's flowing people love to be around to quench their thirst.

But when the music stops and the good times dry up it's a completely different story. Acquaintances and many people we thought were friends disappear, invitations dry up, comfort is in short supply and real friends sorely needed. And you can't create them when you need them, no, they need to preexist, to care already, to be ready to give when you need support.

There are people who go through life with few, if any, friends. Some are without real friends despite having a glittering circle around them, a busy social life and all the wealth in the world; others are destitute and lonely, in a cycle of solitude and despair. Ungiving by nature, they are surprised when others do not wish to give to them and feel aggrieved by the lack of generosity. Few relish the loneliness that comes from being friendless, especially when age becomes a factor.

Time to own up: I am not like that at all. My life has long been full of wonderful friends and, should I pop my clogs tomorrow, I can truthfully say that I have been wealthy beyond my wildest dreams in my friendships - for me friends constitute our biggest treasure in life! Material goods may come and go, but when you have friends you can survive almost anything.

Do not scoff, as this is something that is ignored when things are rolling along nicely but becomes obvious during tough times; alas it is a lesson not always truly learned or appreciated.

In the last few years I have had good reason to ponder this, as my life took turns for the worse, then more, then more again. While my health did not suffer in any significant way and I managed to keep a balance in my everyday life, my friends were always there with advice, support and even financial help. Had it not been for them I am certain I wouldn't be here today, not in any meaningful way: that I am not a broken shell of a man I owe to all those who, in small or major ways, have helped to save me from drowning in life's stagnant pool.

Some people have lent me money on open-ended interest-free loans, others have paid things for me. Advice, support and concern have flowed around me from day one, keeping me protected and warm inside. One friend offered me use of their office, to use more or less as I pleased, another allowed me to use and share her holiday flat for over three months, a third has issued an open-ended invite to use his flat in Switzerland whether or not he is in residence. And what of my friends in London who have put me up for free for the last year and a bit? Priceless!

My debts of gratitude are many, but my friends have no wish to be named or lauded; their kindness is because of our friendship, and because they know that if the situation was reversed I would do the same for them without hesitation.

Along the way I have lost some friends, primarily through their death, and this grieves me greatly despite the fact that this is natural after a certain age. I miss them all, cherish the memories of our times together but wish they were still here to create new ones.

So look after your friends, treasure and nurture them, for you never know when you might lose them or really need them. I don't know if the Beatles were talking about this exactly, but if they did they were right: 'Oh I get by with a little help from my friends....'

Lunch is a battlefield

Ah, where do I begin? Do you really want to know all about it? Should I tell?

Recently I went on a trip to Greece prompted by several things that needed to be done there regarding my now long forgotten (well, I try anyway) business activities. The downside of the trip was that I spent many hours in tax and other government offices, waiting for my turn to come so that I could submit my documentation for it to enter the system. The upside was that I was able to attend a superb function - you'll read all about it in the next few days - and to spend some time with friends, in Athens and elsewhere doing one of my favourite things: eating and drinking.

Most of you are by now aware of me as a sophisticated man of the world, deeply involved in the world of fine food and wine, and expect that when I write about a memorable meal it will always involve relatively expensive things, especially wine. This is a fallacy I am happy to shoot down, though I do love wines and food of quality irrespective of pedigree and price tag.

On Sunday 26th February my friends Jon and Sophie organised a group of us (about 15 in total, actually) to go for lunch at Kossi's taverna on the island of Andros (a 2-hour boat trip from the Athens area), where we were all spending a long weekend. If you love good, plain food AND are a meat eater this is an amazing place, run by wonderful people and well worth a detour. If you expect fawning waiters, crystal glasses, fine china, delicate tastes and pictures on the plate - don't bother!

In the middle of nowhere heading inland from the main port of Gavrion (bustling in summer, ever so quiet in the winter) a short distance past a village called Ano Fellos and some other houses/hamlets/monasteries is Kossi's taverna, on a farm belonging to the family. This is a wonderland where they rear all sorts of animals and do it with love and respect, though many are destined to end up on a plate; all are free-range and treated well, like members of the family, with some ending up as pets. The whole extended family is involved in this project, always with a smile on their face and a kind word for everyone.

In the taverna the serious business is eating: salads (seasonal and otherwise), local greens, dips, cheese (fried or just smothered in olive oil), wonderful chips and fried courgettes to start with, followed by meat in several forms and cooking norms according to your preferences. Most meat served here is reared on the farm, but they do occasionally run out of things and buy in selectively, so ask if you visit.

This is comfort food for meat eaters on a large scale but on a small budget. We ended up paying 15 euros a head (say £12.50) for more food than some of us were able to eat, plenty (and I do mean plenty) of decent jug wine and other bits and pieces to drink, and dessert (yoghurt with honey or homemade sirupy fruit). While admittedly most of us had the cheaper biftekia (juicy minced beef patties, 2 of per portion, each a 1/4 pound or more and served with chips), some had entrecôte and at least one had goat cooked in the oven. My biftekia came with a fried egg on top, to be immediately imitated by the friends sitting next to me, and a perfect combination. All the food was fresh, well prepared and cooked, and served with the traditional Kossi hospitality; very little indeed was left by the end of lunch, and we were very happy, seriously stuffed, customers.

These are good people who run an excellent establishment. If I lived nearby I would certainly visit on a regular basis for the warmth of their welcome and the quality of their food. I would also support them for their attitude towards their animals - something rare in Greece - and because they listen to their customers and strive for improvement every day. And, most importantly, because they do everything with a smile, no matter how busy they are.

Our lunch was full of bonhomie and laughter, human touch, interesting conversation and jokes, and the wonderful sound of people eating and drinking contentedly. This is the kind of battlefield I would like to return to again and again, and again.

If you're so clever...

How many times have you heard it or one of its endless variations? If you're so clever how come you are not super successful/rich/something? Why do we automatically think that one leads to another, as if life is a logical continuum of cause and effect?

Now here's a good example of how contradictory life can be: the new POTUS (President of the United States, duh!) Mr. Donald Trump has told us all many a time what a smart guy he is and that he has made billions of dollars, so there's the obvious correlation. But here's the strange bit: if he's so clever how come his hairstyle is so weird, quite ridiculous really, and yet he cannot see it? Does his amazing mental capacity consider it a matter so insignificant that it is beneath his amazing capabilities? Or is is the heat of that amazingly active brain that has caused a malfunction in the tricho-function of his head leading to this obvious but unacknowledged disaster? It gets you wondering a bit about all this cleverness stuff...

No one likes to think of themselves as dim, not so clever or even a few sandwiches short of a picnic, do we? Many of us like to believe that we are gifted in some way or other, even smart guys (pace Donald), and site our achievements in academia, business or elsewhere as proof positive of our innate talents and skills. But is it really thus and do the facts bear this out? And should measurable success be the sole proof of our mental abilities, or lack thereof?

So many times in life the results don't necessarily reflect the effort that's gone in to something, yet often we on the outside look and judge purely on results. How many times have we ourselves uttered 'if he/she is so good/clever/whatever how come they're not super successful/made such a mess of it?' Why do we think that things in life happen in a linear and direct way when everywhere around us we can see that this is not necessarily the case? And why is it that even allegedly smart people lose their ability to think when their vanity gets in the way?

A related sentiment to this is, of course, 'if this is such a clever idea, how come nobody has thought of this before/done this/made this product' - this told to many a prospective innovator/inventor by somebody close to them - and very probably often, thereby dampening their creative flair and sometimes even stopping them in their tracks. How on earth do we think the world would ever move forward if we all felt that way?

I suppose it's a natural instinct to want to tear down somebody else's ideas and attack their sense of self worth, especially when they are not basking in the warmth and support of general adulation. Think how James Dyson would have felt when company after company in the vacuum cleaner field laughed in his face when he was trying to flog them his bagless cyclone idea; as soon as they saw him making a success of it, going it alone, they tried to copy him by ripping off his ideas but, alas for them, the wily Mr. Dyson had safeguarded his patents and took them to task. They were all made to pay for using his technology sooner or later and Dyson is the biggest name (and probably the most profitable...) in the industry these days, so who's laughing now? Should we all be dysoning now?

Which leads me to my final gripe, the sharp intake of breath and the 'oooh, no, you cannot do that..' which, uttered mainly but not exclusively by technical people when discussing a new/different way of doing things and who, when quizzed on why not, respond with 'it's not done, it just can't be done that way' but offer no explanation. To this my attitude has always been (and always will be, I have to say) 'I have news for you. Unless you can explain to me why something cannot be done in a certain way clearly and succinctly, that is exactly what we will be doing and how we will be doing it.'

It is always possible that what we have in mind is not thought through properly; a clear explanation  will make this obvious and will be a great help. It is equally possible that a clever idea may be a bit half-baked, and by discussing shortfalls with the originator we can help them perfect it. But it also may be that we're not as clever as we think, or even as everybody else thinks, so we haven't achieved what we thought we could.

On the other hand it's just possible we chose not to, or that life's ups and downs got in the way. Who's to say?

But on the subject of THAT hairstyle...please! Bad idea!

A Portuguese tasting

The day before yesterday I attended a tasting of Portuguese products, which took place at Lord's Cricket Ground in the modern, featureless Thomas Lord Suite; this is an anuual event by a company called Atlantico UK, an importer and distributor of a wide variety of foods and wines from Portugal and Brazil. I attended the same tasting last year with my friend Alex A. and his wife, and was expecting him to come along this year as well, but the gods of commerce had other ideas and sent  more productive business his way, leaving me alone on this occasion. Still, we wine people are a hardy lot, and I did a lot of grinning, bearing, swilling and spitting in order to evaluate part of what was on offer and be able to write about it.

Some of you may know of my long association with Portuguese wines, going back more than thirty years, when, together with - and utilising his local knowledge - a Portuguese gentleman, we created a company  which for many years was a pioneering force in the development of the market for fine Portuguese wines in the UK. The aftermath of the late 80s-early 90s recession and the changing face of the market put paid to that project, to my great regret.

My affection and admiration for Portugal and its people remains undimmed, however, and I would very much hope to work with some of them again in the not too distant future, as I have always found them (yes, there are exceptions...) knowledgeable, modest, honest and hard-working. Keeping in touch with the wines and other products at least allows me to have an informed feel of what is going on, and tasting is an essential part of that process.

If I was expecting to be greatly impressed by the wines on show, different to the year before, I was somewhat disappointed: the wines I tasted were, by and large, well-made and well-presented but with few really high points. The potentially best wines on show (Cartuxa) were present but remained unopened while I was there, as the estate hadn't turned up and the importers were not organised enough or willing to present them. In the end I gave up and did not taste all the wines on offer, as the slightly unhelpful layout and taster's fatigue defeated me; I also, to my shame, forgot to taste the estate-bottled port on offer, a category that we were the first ever to promote and export (Champalimaud's exquisite Very Old Tawny and 1982 Vintage single estate wines in November 1986) in the mid-eighties.

There was also a white wine on show with a twee name and slightly naff presentation that is the first wine I have ever come across which tasted of nothing - Sad! (To imitate a newly elected world leader).

All in all the whites from Portugal are less interesting than the reds, with some of the local varieties producing rather flabby, round food wines, and the international varieties not showing to character. The real glories in white wine are mainly to be found around the single estate Vinho Verde producers, a currently underappreciated style on the international market. The reds show a bit more character and, I feel, have a better chance on the international scene.

One estate of note, and a very ancient one too (established in 1498), is Quinta de Pancas, situated just north of the Lisbon area. They skilfully blend local and international varieties to produce smart, modern European wines of quality and with personality. I was particularly taken with the Pancas Reserva 2013 (45% Cabernet Sauvignon, 35% Touriga Nacional, 20% Alicante Bouschet) with its dark colour, rich sweet red berry fruit and very long aftertaste.

A sister estate to Pancas is Quinta do Cardo, located in the interior north of Portugal near the border with Spain at an altitude of 750 metres and now producing organic wines. Here, in a mountainous region teeming with rivers, the grape varieties used are almost exclusively local and produce wines of restrained finesse with minerally overtones (white 2015) and reds full of red berry fruit, decent tannins and balance, though I found the flagship 2012 T.N. Reserva, inky and oaky, a bit short on the finish.

Quinta de Sao Sebastiao (San Sebastian to you and me) makes decent wines in what was bulk wine country - Arruda dos Vinhos not far from Lisbon. I tried three whites, quite liked the Quinta de Sao Sebastiao 2016 fresh white, and thought the Sao Sebastiao 2016 juicy, clean and easy to drink, but was disappointed with their 2015 Sauvignon Blanc (a first attempt, bound to improve), produced for the local market but lacking S.B. character and with a slight spritz. Alas I ran out of time and did not taste their reds.

CARM (Casa Agricola Reboredo Madeira) is located in the Upper Douro valley near the Spanish border, in a spectacularly beautiful part of the world that is perfect for making wine and olive oil. And they do both successfully with local varieties, smart presentation, panache and serious prices too. The white was delicate and fruity on the nose, with a green fruit palate and a long, slightly bitter, finish. The reds, as usual more exciting, were made from Touriga Nacional, Tinta Roriz, Touriga Franca and Tinta Francisca, with the Reserva and Grande Reserva 2013 wines showing well (Reserva: good deep colour, restrained yet rich nose, spicy and rich palate, long/Grande Reserva: Slightly lighter colour, refined and restrained nose, sweet red fruit round palate, long and good). I also liked the two olive oils on show, clean, delicate and classy.

Global Wines Portugal have assembled a portfolio of wine brands mainly from the north of the country (Dao, Douro, Bairrada, Vinho Verde), with some Alentejo and Lisbon thrown in. All are smartly presented, as befits a marketing organisation, with some traditional and some modern looks. The wines I tasted under the watchful supervision of the ever helpful and informative Patricia were all well made and from the Dao (Cabriz and Casa de Santar) and Bairrada (Quinta do Encontro); surprisingly the whites were more or less equal to the reds, with Cabriz Reserva 2015 (very closed distinguished nose, big/chewey/long palate) and Casa de Santar (bigger than the Cabriz, big mouthful of restrained fruit) whites standing out. On the red front the Cabriz Reserva 2012 (dark red colour, oaky/creamy nose and palate, long, good), Casa de Santar Reserva (vibrant red colour, blackberry and cream on nose and palate) and Quinta do Encontro Reserva 2014 (dark colour, ripe red berry nose, red fruit and tannin on palate, long) were interesting but not, to my mind, outstanding.

Some fascinating wines were made by Alves de Sousa in the Douro valley from their own properties and shown with great panache and affection by Domingos Alves de Sousa, one of the pioneers of the region. He showed me an amazing selection of wines, especially the reds, and they are so many that I will need to do a separate write-up for them. All in all I tasted eight wines (two whites, six reds) and missed out on his ports through my aforementioned negligence and lack of time! His passion and enthusiasm reminded me a bit of the late Eduardo Serpa Pimentel of Quinta da Pacheca, whose twinkling eyes, love of wine and kindness I will never forget.

One of the real glories of Portugal is, to my mind, its charcuterie, and there were several companies showing, though they seemed fewer than last year. The products on show were sensational and deserve to be known by international audiences, as they are as good if not better than their other international competitors to this, perhaps ignorant on the subject, mind; from the extreme north to the rich south they produced tasty, juicy products with excellent taste and texture - so impressive!

Olive oil on show was unctuous and clean, delicately fragrant with no aggressive edges, and the little cheese I managed to taste was flavoursome and ripe, a decent mouthful. I was unable to taste some of the soft drinks, beers and sweets on offer.

Of the pre-prepared foods the little brazilian cheesy dough ball was a delightful nibble, the cod balls (yes, I know...) yummy, the savoury pies tasty, the pasteis de nata (the glorious portuguese custard tarts) delicious. But the true star for me was the truly spectacular almond tart from 'A Tarte', as good as anything I have ever had along those lines in a very long time... Wow!

There were more things I never got a chance to taste, more's the pity. I should have allowed myself more time...

(Un) Common courtesy

Everyday life can be a tiring affair, with so many things one needs to do,  so many interactions with other people. In order to make our day to day existence more bearable we long ago created a social code of behaviour that involves being polite and considerate towards one another as a form of social lubricant. We call this behaviour common courtesy and should encounter it all around us a lot of the time.

Unfortunately recently there has been a tendency to disregard courtesy and all that goes with it, perhaps as a misguided expression of individuality or, even, because of political correctness. This is evident everywhere in London, from the way people behave when driving, riding their bicycles or just walking in the street, and to me it is disappointing and annoying in equal measure.

It used to be quite rare to hear the beeping of a car horn in central London, but now it happens every few seconds and makes you jump, with the reason often being just to communicate with a friend, a form of hello or at other times because the vehicle in front has dared hesitate for a second. It is not yet as major an irritant as in Mediterranean countries or the Middle East, but still it is unnecessary and stressful.

What about all the people walking about lost in their mobile communications device, who will suddenly stop in mid-stride and force you to either collide with them or take evasive action? Or the cyclist riding straight at you on the pavement and expecting you to step aside when he is breaking the law? The three people walking side by side who expect the solitary walker coming from the other side to give them room rather than the other way around?

And everyone I know has a story about a neighbour on the train or restaurant having a loud yet private conversation, sharing details of their work or personal life that I, for one, have no desire to know.

Don't think for a moment that there was a time not that long ago when everything was perfect and everyone considerate, because there wasn't. We were, however, more aware of each other and less eager to cause offence, perhaps realising that being polite is not the same as being submissive or weak, but just a mechanism to make life interesting. Today we are more selfish, more full of, often inflated, ideas of or our own self-worth and less automatic respect for others. The result of this is that we are less patient and tolerant, less prepared to show courtesy to unknown others.

Doubtless Brexiteers will attribute some of this to the immigrants that are more and more a feature of life in multicultural London, and they are not entirely wrong: it has recently become established practice that, instead of trying to fit in and assimilate with the host culture, new arrivals insist on continuing their patterns of behaviour from home, thus bringing and imposing (or trying to) new habits and modes of personal conduct previously unknown. This in turn disrupts the equilibrium and encourages some previously compliant people to begin misbehaving, making matters worse. How does it stop?

Well, I think it's really quite simple, and it involves every single one of us. All we have to do is modify our behaviour a little bit to take into account others around us, be more sensitive and considerate of their needs. It costs hardly anything, makes life better, helps people smile more at each other, and I am certain that others will imitate this given half a chance. What is there not to like?

What the hell are you talking about?

You only have to switch on the television, be involved in social media or, indeed, read a newspaper to wonder if the world is going mad these days. From politicians pronouncing black to be white or vice versa to criminals denouncing prison as being cruel or violating their human rights, we seem to feel that we are entitled to present facts as they suit us, with the apotheosis being President Trump and his people telling blatant untruths and calling them alternative facts.

And every day it is getting worse.

Recently a woman here in London was convicted in court because she behaved aggressively towards a cyclist while driving her car, ranting and raving at him, threatening to run him over. The whole episode was caught on his helmet camera and she is clearly shown to be threatening the cyclist, who happened to be well-known BBC presenter Jeremy Vine, yet she is reportedly 'not happy' at her conviction despite also ranting about this on social media while the court case was in progress, having several other offences and a suspended sentence in her background. Is she serious? What is she saying, that despite everything she has done she must not be punished?

A very fruitful source of amusement on this front is, of course, Boris Johnson, currently Foreign Secretary and previously Mayor of London, who constantly lets pearls of wisdom escape his mouth. The fact that often his observations are intelligent and, possibly, even accurate does not mean that he should be saying these things. How is he going to face President Trump (The Donald) having said that one of the reasons he does not go to New York is his fear of meeting Donald Trump when, during his tenure as mayor, Trump suggested that London was an unsafe city to live in - and implying it was because of the large unchecked numbers of foreigners in our midst.

Another complaint is how we use language officially in everyday life, like the announcement on a train that 'we are arriving at XYZ where this train will terminate'... The other day I wanted to congratulate the conductor who said that 'we are now approaching XYZ where this train will complete its journey', but was unable to find him. Perhaps he is following new instructions or there is a new movement afoot to speak properly, all a good thing, for language used correctly is a thing of beauty.

I must confess to another pet hate, the use of the word peadophile to imply someone who has erotic and sexual interest in children; the correct word is pederast (from the greek words for child and eros, physical love i.e. sexual). If we take the use of -phile (from the greek word philos: friend, lover/amateur-not sexual) in that way, then a bibliophile is a very strange person indeed, and you had better hide your pet gerbil if a zoophile comes to visit. Whilst I appreciate it is probably too late to change to the correct word now it continues to 'impact' on my sensibilities... And of course impact is a noun, not a verb, so it has an impact really...

Of course this is small fry when someone as error-prone as George W. Bush walks this earth, though I fear that he is about to be eclipsed by the new U.S.A. administration. I so hope not!