I have returned to the scene of my various crimes for the festive season. Mother and Father now know that dear daughter has been co-habiting with a penniless pleb and are none too pleased.
There is a 2 m deep hole dug in one of the large garden sheds, lined with plastic sheeting and straw bales. This is the “cellar”. Each year, father’s old pal arrives from his vineyard in the Côtes de Bourg for lunch, bringing samples to taste. Father orders a couple of cases of “lay down”, 10/20 cases of “special occasion”, and a shed-load of “ordinary”, being cru bourgeois.

Xmas morning is thinking about arriving when I am dragged out of bed and sent off with brother-in-law to Arcachon to fetch oysters (bah). It is daylight when we arrive and he purchases a large basket of the wretched things. Returning home we find the women bustling about in the kitchen and the menfolk bustling around bottles of beer and the tv. A couple go off to open oysters.

Soon, about 18 of us are sat round the table and the dreaded oysters arrive amid much “ooing”. Me, I’m nibbling bread and attacking the Alsace Riesling. I’ve had no brekky, me hungry. The second course appears. Ugh, “raw” ham. I nibble some bread and a couple of olives whilst attacking the SB/Sem.
Now come turkey steaks and brilliant green beans. Munch, munch. Attack the Chardonnay. Bit of a break for bonnes bouches and smokes.

Return for “main” course. Segmented rabbit and lamb cutlets…oh my! Munch, munch. Attack the Côtes de Bourg special occasion, feeling better now.
A new glass has appeared before me as if from nowhere. Father has retrieved two of four decanters from the sideboard. He serves me, then his wife and sister before handing over to brother-in-law to serve the rest.
As it ‘appens, I have just drained my original glass. Unwittingly, I finish my mouthful of food, take a huge swig from the new glass, and continue eating.
What ????
I am aware of a distinct silence and, looking up, I see that I am being watched. La Femme makes a quick speech and heads my way.
It seems this was four bottles of very ancient, VERY expensive right bank red (though I still don’t know exactly what). Father had decanted them for the Xmas main course.
From the figure that La Femme suggested to me later that fateful day, I would guess that here & now it would be about £300 + per bottle. Oooops.
Very merry quaffing all.

Oops. That wouldn't happen now, would it.

_________________
mel

It were the brother-in-law that done it.

In the library, with an empty bottle of Mateus.