Merlot

Probably the most famous grape, but not that popular in recent years. Merlot has a plum taste, or occasionally currant. It lends itself easily to being blended with other grapes and I find these to be slightly friendlier to a novice palette. A Grenache, a weak and flexible grape, is often paired with a merlot, for a more flavourful taste.

Cabernet sauvignon

Cab sauvs taste of blackcurrant, but can also carry tastes of pepper, vanilla (from oaked wines) and even mint (found in Australian wines). They are quite strong wines and can be blended with less-strong grapes. Much of the new world wine regions are given to the making of cabernet sauvignon because high temperatures make a lovely strong taste and colour. But if you really want to go all out with your money, try a traditional Bordeaux cab sauv.

My favourite affordable wine of all time is a cabernet sauvignon from Casillero del Diablo. It is a new world, from Chile, and has such a smooth taste that you can drink it socially, with food or even chill it slightly for the summertime. And it only costs around £6 at the supermarket or off-license. Even my local corner shop stocks it.

Pinot noir

Pinot noir is my favourite and most highly recommended wine. But you need to be looking at spending no less than around £20 in a bar or £10 in the supermarket to find a really good one.

Pinot noir is one of the hardest wines to produce and if you make a good one, then you are a well respected wine maker. The grape originated in Burgundy, but is now produced around the world, including England.

The bouquet can depend on the region, and range from black cherry, raspberry or currant. But it always tends to be fairly light to medium bodied.

Shiraz/Syrah

Don’t be fooled, these are the same thing but have different names depending on the country. Australians call the grape shiraz and everywhere else it is syrah. I would say that syrah is one of the easiest wines to drink for people who aren’t keen on red wines. It is a very dark colour, almost purple, with a taste of blackberries or other dark berries, and pepper. Australian shiraz will often have a bit of spice to it and more of a kick; try the Yalumba range.

I tend to take the general assumption when choosing a wine that Australians are less restricted by traditions of wine making and therefore put a lot more spice and flavours into their wines. Australian or Chilean wines (the ‘New World’) are my favourite, but a lot of people still like the tradition of ‘Old World’.

Sauvignon Blanc

A very fresh taste. Usually quite dry and makes the mouth water. Can taste of tropical fruits.

A French sauvignon can often be described as smelling of grass and taste quite sharp. An Australian sauvignon is less traditional so will smell more aromatic and taste fruitier. It will have more flavour, so be careful when ordering food.

Be aware that many South African sauvignon blancs are slightly sparkling and I find they taste corked in the first couple of mouthfuls.

My advice is go for a Chilean sauvignon blanc. They’ve got really good at making them, they aren’t afraid to move away from traditional sauvignon methods and their hot weather is a perfect growing ground for the grape.

Viognier

Viogniers are quite opulent and aromatic. This grape has flavours of apricot, peach and even a bit of spice.

Imagine a French viognier to taste quite flowery, while an Australian viognier is heavier, stronger and spicier.

Chardonnay

Originating from the Burgundy, Champagne and Chablis regions in France, the chardonnay grape is now a widely-grown grape around the world. Chardonnays can be blended with other grapes and is often used to make sparkling wine. The grape is very flavourful and often quite a high percentage, particularly expensive Burgundys. Burgundy chardonnays can have tastes of hazelnut while a Meursault chardonnay is more buttery and oaky. All chardonnays have a smoky and slightly burnt taste to them.

Chablis is made from chardonnay grapes and is your typical ‘dry white wine’. This means that it is quite acidy, like biting into an apple.

Californian chardonnays are known to be more buttery and oaky. The creamy taste of these wines makes them slightly less food-friendly, so enjoy over an episode of Friends rather than a big meal.

Pinot Grigio

Pinot grigio has become the most popular dry white in recent years. It is a pretty reliable pub-drinking wine. Its grapes look almost black, but it is considered a reliable grape, producing all over the world.

Many pinot grigios are pretty awful, and this will be reflected in the price. But you can go all out and get an Alsace, one of the best, for a ridiculously expensive price. The more expensive, the more full-bodied and flavourful.

Australian pinto grigios are a good one to try, they have a nice citrus acidity to them.

Over the next four weeks I am returning to the original premise of my weekly musings. Herein lies a little guide to wine. Cut it out and take it to the supermarket with you or buy something different than the house in the pub.

A quick key for you when I get too technical over the weeks:

Wine is made from grapes (kids, enjoy!). And an easy way to know the difference between white and red is that when they crush the grapes, they leave the skins on to make red wine and take them off for white wine. Rosé is made by taking the skins off half way (that can now be your excuse for blending white and red to make rosé. I know you do it).

Names of wine are made up of two things and it can get confusing. A Burgundy, Rioja or Champagne comes from these regions, and the chateaux or vineyard will be printed next to it. These wines, among others, are spoken of by the region they come from.

A Merlot, Chardonnay or Pinot Grigio are names of grapes from which the wine is made. These wines, among others, are spoken of by the type of grape.

Everybody has their favourite, but when you blend the two together, region and grape, you can get very different tasting wines and people don’t realise until they taste it. An Australian Sauvignon Blanc will taste much spicier and heavier than a French one.

Years are also important. If you can remember a hot summer, then they probably had a good wine year. 2003 is a very good one to remember. It was scorching, and the wine tastes great.

Tannin – Imagine eating a grape. If you eat only the skin of the grape or even the cork, the taste is dry and chewy and the front of your mouth feels very dry when you run your tongue along it. That’s tannin. Only red wines can have tannin because only they are made with grape skin.

Oak – A wine can be described as oaky if it has been kept in an oak cask. Theoretically, the longer it has been kept in an oak cask, the oakier it is. Oak makes wine taste more buttery and creamy, sometimes with a hint of vanilla. It is also often described as having a smell and taste of toast.

Acidity – This is the juicy part of the grape and it is what makes your mouth water. You can taste it in the sides of your cheek and edge of your tongue.

Body – Imagine milk when a label talks of body. Skimmed milk is light bodied, semi-skimmed is medium bodied and full fat is full bodied.

Light bodied wines are refreshing and easy to drink, like a Pinot Grigio or a Sancerre.

Medium bodied wines are slightly richer, like a Chardonnay or a Rioja.

Full bodied wines are powerful, ripe grape and oaky. A Viognier and an Australian Merlot would be good examples.

Bouquet – This is what poncy wine critics call the smell. When they swill it about and stick their noses in, they smell the bouquet. They can be telling the truth though. Sometimes wine does actually smell of grass.

1. Taking your clothes off.
No matter how drunk, there is no excuse for stripping in the middle of a crowded pub. My pub only makes one exception for one regular, Barry, who will inevitably take off his shirt and flex his muscles every second Friday. However he was barred from doing it for three months after an incident involving his flying shirt landing on the chandelier and catching fire.

2. Vomiting at the bar.
If you must vomit, let it happen in the toilet or outside. There is nothing more irritating than vomiting on the floor directly in front of the bar. Bar staff cannot see it and it will, therefore (and knowing the mentality of the London population) remain there for at least 10 minutes before it is brought to the attention of a member of staff.

3. PDA (public displays of affection)
Heavy petting in a pub will not earn you kudos from those around you, especially the bar staff. Bar staff will laugh at you/feel nauseous.

Examples:
‘The kissing couple’ used to come into my pub every Sunday until their separation. They would buy one or two drinks for the entire evening, only occasionally sipping from their pints while time in-between was spent sucking each others faces. When one of them would order the next round at the bar, they would have a red rash around their mouth. We would spend hours squirming at them and wondering how such a hideously ugly guy could bag such a horribly gorgeous girl.

At least their honeymoon period lasted a good six months. But beware! things could turn sour like the ‘valentines couple’. The scene is 14 February, couples are dining and one couple are particularly affectionate (the get-a-room kind). Soon voices raise slightly until the man slams his fist onto the table. Other diners turn to watch. The woman screams at the height of her voice some indecipherable phrase as she stands on top of her chair to shout down at him before both run off into the street.

This brings us neatly onto number 4.

4. Sex in the toilets.
Please don’t have sex in the toilets.

5. Pretending to know the landlord.
This will not get you a free drink or get you in with the staff. It is easy to spot a faker as most will just look above the front door as they enter the pub and read the name of the licensee and ask if that person is working tonight. In the case of my pub, the landlord’s name is spelt incorrectly on the licensee notice. Busted.

6. Talking too much to the barman.
Everyone loves a bit of banter. But gluing yourself to the bar all night and talking to any member of staff in the vicinity will result in every barman ignoring that area of the bar so that they don’t have to talk to the crazy loner. This is especially important when the new female barmaid doesn’t have the heart not to tear herself away from the yapper and serve anyone else.

Earn their trust. Only strike up conversation when you are being served and soon enough you will be welcome and eventually the bar staff will be coming over to you for conversation.

7. Breaking stuff.
Everyone breaks a glass or two; it’s usually staff. But at Christmas, don’t get so drunk that you need to grab hold of the Christmas tree for support, send all of the baubles flying and knock over the tree onto the floor, thus splitting it in half. I have seen it done.

8. Blocking the toilets with things other than paper.
It is not a nice day when the plumber has to unblock the toilets only to find that in desperation of a lack of loo roll, some guy has used his own socks to clean himself after nature had called and rather than dispose of it in the bin, had tried to flush it down the toilet.

9. Pouring your own drinks.
Once the bell has been rung, the pub is closing. It may be funny to your friends, but it is not quite so funny for staff to catch you leaning over the bar and pouring your own drink.

10. Offering to exchange the furniture for your own.
This one was a new one for me until last night, but I thought that it fit in nicely with the idiot-guide.

“I don’t usually do this,” a guy three sheets to the wind asks at closing time. “But I’m looking for a new armchair. I’ve tried the markets, but nothing is quite like your rustic armchair over there.”

He’s going to ask me to buy it. Can I authorise such a sale if the offer is high enough?
“Now, I have a sofa. It’s from World of Leather so it’s probably not real leather…”

“Isn’t that the store that has been selling toxic sofas causing skin conditions and nearly killing a baby?” I ask.

“Well, I don’t know as I don’t read the Sun. But would it be possible to do an exchange?”

Definitely one for the list.

One man, who wore a baseball cap on back to front, kept shouting at one of us to serve him. He’d call out “Hey, blondie!” or “Curly!” to one of my bar staff. He’d click his fingers; he’d ask “Am I next?” as soon as he approached the bar, knowing full well that he was the last person to be served.

And he was an idiot: “Do you have any sweet red wines?”

“You can’t get sweet red wines,” I reply dryly. (Actually, you can get one or two, but he doesn’t need to know this.)

“But it says here, ‘fruity wines’ on your wine list,” he states.

“Wine is made of grapes. A fruit.” I did not have the patience to go into the plum taste of a cabernet sauvignon.

“Can I taste a rosé then?” I give him a drop of rosé. “Hmm, I’ll have a brandy please. Double, no ice.”

This was how my shift started. And I refused to serve him for the rest of the night; the others would have to do it.

Before I know it, one of the members of the group is passed out, unresponsive and unconscious in the men’s toilets. A couple of the bar staff drag him up the stairs and outside onto a bench, where he is slightly more conscious, enough to vomit outside. Looking around for his friends, most of them are gone. He has no wallet, only a bus pass. He doesn’t know his name or where he lives.

One girl from the group comes out, claiming to know first aid. As she assesses him, she rolls a cigarette and sips her pinot grigio. “I can’t believe they have all left, they just have no respect,” she moans, blowing smoke in my face.

For the next hour, we are sobering up this guy. Other customers come out to offer their help: “Try laying him in the recovery position,” one suggests as the guy is vomiting his guts. “I’m a black belt,” another offers.

It turns out that he has been drinking all day and had got through an entire bottle of cognac. The annoying guy had been buying all the drinks while he was sat at the table and nobody had any idea how much he had drunk.

Before long the ambulance took him away and I can only hope that his hangover sucks today. As a bar tender, it is a terrifying fact that legally, if that man had been run over in the street outside or worse, died in the men’s toilets, it is the fault of the staff who served him the alcohol and we would get a criminal record.

Alcohol is dangerous stuff.

The hardest thing about giving up alcohol is going to the pub with your friends. Not just the pub, but any social setting. My first attempt at abstinence broke because I went to the pub and couldn’t think of a single soft drink that the pub might sell; all I wanted was a cool glass of Semillon Sauvignon. As for the second (successful) attempt, I went out only once in the month for fear of failure if I went out any more. My one night out was among 10 other girlfriends, to a restaurant and club on Brick Lane. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

Picture the scene: 10 girls and five complementary bottles of wine. There are puzzled faces, questions such as “but why would you want to give up alcohol?” and sneaky attempts to fill my empty glass with Merlot. All of these I could resist. But when we arrived at the club I was at breaking point. Every one of this gaggle of girls was pissed as a fart and I was as sober as a cow in a butchers. Their jokes just weren’t funny and their constant photo-taking was blinding me. I had to go home.

My friend is off alcohol for two weeks and she is braving a sober night out tonight. Already she is thinking of flaking. She is sure that she can cope with a few drinks in Canary Wharf but can she make it to the club later? My hat goes off to her if she can do it. And I wish her luck; it’s one of the hardest tests of endurance any human can make.

My advice? Bugger it. Unless you are driving, give up abstaining until after tomorrow’s Bloody Mary.

It has taken nearly two decades for Steven Spielberg and George Lucas to come up with a story for Indiana Jones IV, and there are plenty of archaeological mythologies to choose from. Yet they chose perhaps the worst idea imaginable.

The plot is complicated; the stunts more exaggerated than the first three films, and the climax cringe worthy. Picture an entire row of the audience with their hands over their eyes, curling up into their seats. This was the scene in my local multiplex.

Much of the exposition was nostalgia-driven: harking back to old times like when Indy (played by 65-year-old Harrison Ford) was youthful. Or Indy saying: “Dad would be proud” as the camera pans to a photograph of Sean Connery. And worst of all, the comeback of Marion, the ballsy female sidekick in Raiders.

There is only so many past references one can take without losing the feel of the present film.

Lucas did make a wise choice, however, to move the film forward in real time. Crystal Skull is set in the late 1950s, aging Indy correctly: he is old, in his 60s. This setting also provides the entrance of the brilliant Mutt Williams (played by Shia LaBeouf), a James Dean wannabe with bike and hair comb in toe. He breathes fresh air into the mix and gives excellent support.

As for Spielberg’s part, his familiar directorial trademarks are fun and comforting. You know from the off you’re watching a Spielberg film, and the use of colour is similar enough to the other Indy films that you feel safe in the knowledge that not too much will be different.

I’m not going to tell people not to see this film, because no one will listen to me. I heard rubbish reviews and it didn’t stop me from seeing it for myself. But I urge you to just sit back, enjoy it and expect to be disappointed.

I estimate that half of those pubs on every street corner are one of the latter. Now, this may not seem to be a problem, I myself work in one of these posho pubs. But at £4 a pint, where does the good hard-working labourer drink? Actually, the good hard-working labourer is getting all the drinks in as they seem to rake in more than a banker (Note to self: marry a plumber – become a housewife so I never have to pay for a leaky sink).

My boyfriend works in a proper pub. By proper I mean “well proper”. East End through and through, best Guinness in town (it’s an Irish pub), shady folk lurking in the corner, karaoke on Fridays, and the drinks are less than £3. But in the five years that I have lived in the East End, I have seen this pub lose its clientele faster than the ambulances that drive down Mile End Road.

This is sad. Really sad. What was once a good local boozer is now a deserted wasteland, with only two punters every four hours. Some people have probably died off; but for the many, I think they have turned their back on the true East End pub and instead decided to walk the two minutes from their house to the new Posholand Brewery pub.

Another reason why people are leaving these pubs is also because they have lost the football. Do you know how much it costs to show Sky in pubs these days? It’s between £800 and £1,000 per month. On the one hand, showing the game brings in the punters, but that amount is more than a two day’s takings in these old pubs, which means they cannot afford it - so even the regulars leave.

I was taking the DLR replacement bus service last weekend (don’t even get me started on that – that’s one for Caomhan’s angry blogs), and I passed yet more of these deserted pubs, on the edge of an estate. They look closed from the outside, despite chalkboards advertising Thai food. But these places are open. And I urge you, they are not scary. Go in with your friends and introduce yourself to the barman. They will love to have you.

[Tipsy local schoolteacher]

“I’ll have… one… pintoflagerrrr… one… pintofbitterrrr… and… halfoftapwater.”

[Bar tender]

“Certainly, that’s £7.”

[Tipsy local schoolteacher who may be drunker than on first appearance]

“£7! £7! Seven pounds sterling! How much for the bitter?”

[Bored bar tender]

“£3.40.”

[Definitely drunk local schoolteacher]

“And hoooow much for the lager?”

[Bar tender with better maths than the local schoolteacher]

“£3.60.”

[Drunk and reddening local schoolteacher]

“£3.60! For a pint of lager! That’s nearly £4! Four English pounds! That’s ridiculous! For a pint of LAGER! Bloody rip-off if you ask me…” He mumbles, walking away with his pints, trying not to spill any of his precious purchase on the floor.

Today’s subject: The Four Pound Pint. I get complaints about this daily and here’s your answer. It’s not our fault. The pub is not trying to get as much money as possible. In fact, the mark-up on beer is incredibly small, literally pennies. For every pint, a pub will only take about 10 pence.

Remember how hot it was last summer? Well, there was a great big drought and no wheat, barley or hops grew. “Import it in?” you wonder, “like the bananas and Australia had with their lack of rabbits”. We do import wheat from the Middle East (don’t ask me exactly where, my geography is rubbish). But these clever farmers have clocked onto something: rather than sell wheat to breweries for beer, you can get loads more dosh by turning it into bio fuel for engines. These Westerners you see, they’re really getting onto the green planet bandwagon.

So there’s your answer. No wheat, no beer, I’m afraid. And this bumps up the price of our bevvies. So please stop complaining; it’s not our fault. (As for the price of spirits and wine, fuss all you like).

His name is Angus. He is seventysomething, although he looks about 90, and the alcohol must have pickled him because I am sure that he rarely eats or does anything apart from drink all day. Each day, he comes into my pub and orders half a pint of Carlsberg and a Jack Daniels and lemonade. At the same time. The reason for the half pint is because he can’t lift any larger glass to his mouth.

Angus has been barred from every pub in the East End, yet we serve him every day. I work in a fairly up-market pub, but we have a place in our hearts for Angus; so long as he is gone by 5pm so that no one can see him. We can kick him out before 5pm if he is particularly rowdy, roaring insults in his Glaswegian indecipherable Scots, molesting ladies or singing Louis Armstrong. If he gets too drunk, a male member of staff will escort him home to his flat.

Why do we serve Angus? He is a vile and depressing character. He wears an RAF cap every day with a poppy attached, although he only ever trained to be in the RAF, he never served. The ornate wooden façade to the bar I work in was crafted by his workmanship decades ago. This only makes his story sadder.

He has a loveable side I suppose. Those of us who know him suffer his adorations on a daily basis. Lend him your hand and he will lick it, show a bit of flesh and he will meow, show him your cheek and he will try to stuff his tongue down your throat. For those who are not quite so familiar with his tones, he is a cute old man.

We recently held a “snail dating” night, which is similar to speed dating, and we reluctantly allowed Angus to attend. Sure enough, he turns up promptly, with a smart Ralph Lauren jumper and his cap, and sets up a tab “in case the lady wants a drink”, although he knows that he is only allowed one drink. And while reluctant women avoid some men on the night, Angus gets every single woman in the pub spending the full 10 minutes with him. Maybe they didn’t notice, but before they sit down, Angus would lower his reading glasses, look them up and down, and make careful notes throughout (one of his comments on a dater was “not interested in having children”).

So I can see why a documentary was made about Angus. He is a true character of the East End, and is known throughout the area. The only problem was that I was asked to tell tales of his love of women - of which I think that he was once a catch in his youth and still thinks he is – and of his daily drinking and curfew. But I think there is more to him if we can get it out of him. He must have grown up around a changing east London, been a child in London during the war, and seen his children move to South Africa leaving him behind, only to drink himself to death in the local pub.

His story needs to be told before it’s too late.