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fine wine and flunky fiction

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Post Fri May 18, 2018 12:43 pm
stewartwillsher User avatar

Senior Member
Senior Member

Posts: 870
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Location: Western Spain
Well what to say, eh?
'Spose I should not let on; being a confidential negotiation twixt us and them, but I just cannot contain myself.
Word gets around, obviously.
Posh helicopter lands, and smart bloke in bowler hat steps out.
Them at the castle (you know which one), had been tipped off that our finest has just been bottled.
Doffed mi cap to 'im, and led him to the bodega (shed), where he eyed up the bottles and sniffed.
Said something about decanting (think that means pouring from one container to another) the plonk to make it look a bit more presentable and not to confuse the flunkies, who most likely cannot tell the difference anyway between our red and coca cola.
They'd overspent on sundries apparently, like medical bills for a father-in-law or something, so were looking for a bargain few hundred litres to wash down the meat course.
I wittered on (as if I would) about production costs, personal pruning by the owner (that's me; dead proud of my snipping) spraying for bugs, rot etc. and a bit of fertilizer.
He seemed to think I should be magnanimous and do a freebie.
Bog off, mate; don't know bride nor groom and they never sent me or lady wife an invite, despite the chapel not being full.
Mind you, cannot see er-in-doors keeping under her clothing allowance, if a posh frock for that kind of do is needed.
Then I thought of the problems, after it got out that we had supplied lubricant to that family.
Couldn't handle the press and paparazzi descending on our quiet little place in the back of beyond; clogged roads and lenses poking here there and everywhere with no consideration of missus in the buff showering under perforated bucket in the yard.
Cost of getting a sign writer to do that crown and gold lettering to acknowledge "purveyor of plonk" to themselves.
None of it would do our cred any good with the locals, so all in all, not a good idea to go along with our visiting bowler hatted sommelier.
He was least pleased and grumbled about the wasted journey from West London to Western Spain.
Felt a bit sorry for the geezer so forced a glass or two or more of orujo on him, to show there's more booze options in these parts.
Funny how his bearings got a bit confused and wanted to slope off on the donkey, which would have been a long trek and caused confusion to the Channel Tunnel ticket collectors.
Smart uniformed helicopter driver and navigator came to his assistance and carried him to the chopper.
Off he went; no plonk, but enlightened to our opinion of philanthropy to top family, and now acquainted with local firewater.
So, on telly tomorrow, those not whizzing round Yorkshire, look out for chief flunky sitting in the corner of big hall holding his head, when he should be passing the bottles, which I bet wont be used fizzy drink two litre plastic ones.
And as for all the knobs tucking in; their loss, not tipping our Pitarra down their necks to accompany the venison.
Bottoms up to all those either watching, or like me, hiding away from the media for at least a day.
:beer: :beer: :beer: :beer: :beer:
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