I spent last weekend in a very wet Scotland. Sudsy Dame and I flew to Glasgow from Heathrow on British Midland. Disappointingly, the service on this supposedly full service airline left something to be desired. On the way there I asked for a Coke with ice, and the stewardess returned in record time with very hot tea and a packet of treacle biscuits. Luckily the pilot was more on the ball, and we reached our planned destination intact and on time.

While we were there, we were given our first Christmas present. As you’d expect it was disguised with seasonal wrapping paper that bore the usual tidings of peace and goodwill. We thanked our friends, and thought nothing more about it … until Sudsy Dame tried to carry it onto the plane for our return journey.

The security officer watching the x-ray screen nearly fell over backwards as the picture of our bag appeared on his screen. I had forgotten completely about the gift and had no idea what the problem could be. Eventually of course, we were forced to unwrap it and we discovered that we’d attempted to take three Laguiole cheese knives, including a two-inch cheese cleaver, onto the plane.

Tools for cleaving cheese

The security staff were very good about it. They notified the airline, which accepted it as checked baggage, and we collected the knives, along with our suitcase, from the baggage carousel at Heathrow once we’d arrived back in London.

So now, once the Camembert is ripe, we can cleave our cheese till the cows come home. How can you tell if the Camembert is ripe? According to Monsieur Taittinger:

You put your left index finger on your eye and your right index finger on the cheese … if they sort of feel the same, the cheese is ready.

Now you know.

Just another example of how absolutely crazy my former employer really is: Rags to Rothkos.

Here’s the introduction:

According to the influential Art Review magazine, Gil Perez is the 50th most influential figure in the art world. Not bad for a doorman, he tells Stuart Jeffries.

If the doorman is on six figures, what’s the receptionist making?

Can you imagine what this news will do to the morale of the rest of the staff, many of whom are well educated and highly skilled, but not nearly so well paid?

I don’t travel much by train in the UK, but every time I do it becomes easier to understand why so many people in this country complain about the railway.

The following table compares the cost of a future journey to Coventry by train with my most recent trip to France by air. In both cases I booked the least expensive fare available.

Discount airlines have received a lot of attention in recent months. Clearly it’s time we had discount railways too.

Last year I mentioned a vinyard in the south of France called Chateau Routas. This year I finally visited it and purchased some of its wine.

I’m not an expert oenophile, but Sudsy Dame and I both agreed that the 1998 Agrippa was delicious and we purchased the last five bottles of it, along with a case of the 2002 Rouvière rosé and some of the red Infernet.

I first read about Chateau Routas in an article written in 1999 by Anthony Dias Blue (see The Wines of Sunny France) in which he wrote:

Near the tiny hamlet of Châteauvert, about an hour east of Aix-en-Provence, proprietor Philippe Bieler and his American winemaker, Bob Lindquist, are making news at Château Routas with a series of wines named after historic French figures. “The vineyards here are old and interesting,” said the affable Lindquist, who is also the proprietor of Qupé Winery in Santa Barbara, California, “but they haven’t been taken seriously for centuries. For years there has been very little attention paid to the quality of wines here.”

Bieler, a passionate cook, bought the château for its “proximity to epicurean raw materials” — like the truffles he often adds to his guests’ scrambled eggs — but the business of wine is foremost at this property. The Routas Cyrano (named for the big-nosed poet and swashbuckler Cyrano de Bergerac) is a fleshy, ripe Syrah, while Pyramus (named for a botanist ancestor of Bieler’s) is a white blend with deeply extracted flavors and a lush finish. The official Coteaux Varois appellation, which includes most of the Routas wines, was created only in 1993 — a sign that greater things are to come from this area. “I think that Grenache and Syrah have enormous commercial potential with American consumers,” said Lindquist.

Chateau Routas does seem to be making a name for itself, albeit mostly in the US. The wine correspondent for the Financial Times, Jancis Robinson, mentioned it recently (see The rehabilitation of rosé), despite the fact that the wine is currently unavailable in the UK. At the domaine we were told that a new UK distributor is imminent, so perhaps we won’t have to travel quite so far when the time comes to replenish our cellar (well, wine rack actually).

Like most of Europe, the south of France is in the middle of a hot, dry summer. Three weeks ago there were serious forest fires near the town of Vidauban, and we could see the effects as we drove past on the autoroute two days ago. The forest was completely destroyed right up to the edge of the highway. A few metres more and the gas/petrol station that services the motorway would have gone up in flames too. How demented must you be to start a fire like that intentionally? I’m sure the French authorities will incarcerate the arsonist for a very long time (both before and after his trial!).

It’s so hot in the Var that all serious activity needs to be completed by noon at the latest. Consequently, we haven’t done much since we arrived. We did attend a recital in the village church last night, which was interesting largely because I hadn’t set foot in the church before. It’s a big cavernous room with a vaulted ceiling, and is in serious need of more windows. It was stifling! The church is well known for two reasons:

• the gloire (literally “glory”, but it’s a big wooden carving behind the alter illustrating Christ or sometimes a Saint) is so artistically important that it’s listed as one of France’s national monuments.
• every time the 3rd of May falls on a Friday (i.e. once every 11 years?) huge numbers of pilgrims descend on this small village to walk through the church’s porte du pardon in order to have all their sins instantly forgiven.

I’ll have to make an effort to attend the next pilgrimage in 2013 if I’m to have any hope of making up for lost time.

There’s lots going on in the village at this time of year, so we have made our plans to accomodate the brocante (rummage sale) on Sunday and the bio foire (organic produce fair) next weekend. In the meantime I have cleaned the aquapack, configured the GPS, and calibrated the altimeter in my wrist watch, so I think we’re almost ready to go. If only it would cool down a little!

Pheww… I’m trendy again:

Guardian Unlimited | The Guardian | Succès de sandal.