A perfect Sunday in Lent

Life is far too important to be taken seriously. At least, that was the conclusion which we meandered towards as a Sunday lunch party eased into a symposium. Chaps had opinions to draft, articles to write, books to review. But no one was minded to defer to conscientiousness — especially as we had all made a solemn pledge not to discuss Brexit.

Our host had consulted me about the bill of fare. Should it be lamb and Burgundy or beef and claret? I declared myself ready to settle for either, though both might be inadvisable. Beef it was, and grass-fed Aberdeen Angus at that. As I often remind vegetarians (too damned numerous these days, even if they are cheap to feed), in view of the vegan diet and intelligence level, grass-fed cattle should be regarded as mooing vegetables.

The wine was worthy of the occasion. We started with a Branaire–Ducru 2000. There are those who claim that it is an underrated wine. If that is true, it ought not to be. Red blood on the plate, mixing with the roast potatoes, and perfectly complemented by blood-red wine in the glass: as someone observed, this was the ideal way to celebrate the first Sunday in Lent.

We discussed recent reading. I had picked up a copy of The Light That Failed, and sympathised with the early reviewers who declared themselves unimpressed, though this did not disrupt Kipling’s rise to fame and fortune. There are good lines: ‘The truly healthy man doesn’t know he has a liver.’ ‘Who’s the man who says we’re all islands shouting lies to each other across seas of misunderstanding?’ I have been unable to trace that author. Perhaps it was Kipling’s own paraphrase of ‘a tale told by an idiot’, a view of life he was often close to sharing.