Thread: M’Ginty’s Creek Wine Appreciation Society. 920 words. Warning; Sex and Racism.

Basil Pottinger was bored. Writing was a pain in the cloaca. He rolled the home-made keyboard shelf back under the top of his desk, turned off the computer, and headed for the garage and his beloved Peugeot.

Driving into town, he considered the options lying ahead. He could go to the library and ask once more whether The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time had been returned by the previous borrower; he could call into the Shire office to enquire what they intended doing about the growing numbers of rabbits; or he could arrange something about the noise in the hot water tank. That last idea might be the best choice; he enjoyed flirting with Susan the plumber’s secretary, who was also the plumber’s wife. He’d drop by their office-cum-workshop and leave a message for her boofheaded husband to call around some time.

‘Hello, stranger. Long time no see. What’ve you been up to?’

Phwoaaar. God, she was as stimulating as a jolt of amphetamine. Fifty last October and still had the figure of a school-girl. Not Bessie Bunter either. More like Georgina from The Famous Five, tomboy haircut and all.

‘You know. Bit of this, bit of that.’

‘You’ve trimmed your beard down to almost nothing. I liked you better the other way.’

‘The old pussy-tickler? I’ll grow it back then, if that’s what you want.’

‘I know I used to be a vet nurse but why do your remarks invariably turn to pussy? No, wait, don’t answer that, there’s Jenny going past. I know why, anyway. I need to talk to her. Hang on.’

Basil blinked at the rapid-fire delivery, and rapidly changing theme, of Susan’s words. He’d never noticed this side to her before. Perhaps his dream was a bit off. Perhaps she behaved this way in bed too. A man could die of a heart attack. Just like poor old Billy Snedden.

Susan hurried to the door and called her friend into the building. Jenny said g’day to Basil and turned to the other woman.

‘Your hair looks nice.’

‘Do you think so? Sluggo over there never noticed.’

‘Hey, what’s all this then? Since when is Basil supposed to notice your hair?’

‘Come on, Jen. You know he’s on our side.’

‘What? Do you kick for the other team, Basil?’

‘I thought you knew me better than that.’

‘I don’t know you that well.’

Basil grinned evilly.

‘Perhaps we should rectify that situation.’

‘Cut it out, the pair of you. Jen, are you and Murph coming to the cattlemen’s dinner at the bottom pub on Friday? We need to do a tally, make sure we have Greg put enough wine aside.’

‘Wine? Cattlemen?’

‘Yes, wine. They make some quite reasonable Chateau Cardboard out Thargomindah way. Hamlet brings in a few boxes every week, when he does the run to pick up the dingo scalps.’

‘I don’t know, Sue. Murph’s never been one for plonk. All his mates are the same. We’ll be there but we might stick with VB or Fosters.’

‘Ahem.’

Susan looked around. ‘Did you want to say something, Basil?’

‘Well, actually, yes. I’ve noticed this town is big on beer. No one seems to take wine seriously.’

Jenny interrupted. ‘That’s because most of it tastes like paint stripper.’

‘Have you ever tasted quality wine?

‘I know Petaluma. It’s alright, I s’pose, but it’s nothing to write home about.’

‘Have you ever tried French wine?’

‘French? They’re barely one step up from Arabs and Eye-ties. All that swarthy skin, and berets, and fat peasant women.’

Susan rejoined the conversation. ‘You’ve got something in mind Basil. I know you. Come on, out with it.’

‘It’s just I was talking to Maggie at the petrol bowser yesterday. You know she’s a Pom. She was telling me she lived in France for a time, developed a taste for French wine, then came out here and found a country full of Philistines.

‘It got me thinking. Maggie’s right. This place needs some culshur. It just so happens I know this Frog in the horse-breeding business; he lives near the Belgian border, but I remember, in one of his emails he mentioned that he has a brother in the south of France who dabbles in the export wine trade…’

‘I told you. Arabs and Eye-ties.’

Basil ignored the interruption. ‘And I thought, perhaps if I could interest some of you in trying this guy’s wine…’

‘Oh, alright, we’ll try it,’ Jenny said, looking at Susan for confirmation as she spoke. ‘But it’s the men you have to win over.’

‘No, Jen, that’s your job. I’m not a man’s man.’

‘We’re back to that again. You mightn’t be queer but you’re a queer fish even so.’

‘Takes all types. Look, we can put on a wine and cheese evening. We’ll get Darryl to contribute some of his famous alpaca cheese, I’ll ask Kim at the supermarket to smile nicely at the Peek Frean rep and score some free cracker samples, Prue can do an advertorial in the local rag, and the farmers’ll come swarming in from everywhere. Bet you I can make this town the wine appreciation centre of the entire valley.

‘I’ll get an email off to my horse contact at Misalle-sur-Detuet, ask him to get in touch with his brother for me and put in a word.’

‘But they’re a pair of Frogs,’ Susan said. ‘Fiery temperaments and all that stuff. They mightn’t even be talking.’

‘In that case, we’ll be stuck with the Chateau Cardboard, won’t we?’