Brexit and cru bourgeois

Acouple of lawyers were disagreeing about a matter which could become increasingly relevant. Could a sitting president pardon himself? But there was a further aspect to this question. A friend of mine who has known Mr Trump for 20 years and who likes him detects a weakening in his mental powers. One of our number was a distinguished neurologist. Pressed to overcome his intellectual scrupulousness about television diagnosis, he thought it not impossible. So are we dealing with dementia, or is the President of the United States just demented? Might it be early stage Alzheimer’s, or merely chronic Trump-heimer’s? If the most notorious teetotaller since Hitler could be persuaded to retire on medical grounds, encouraged by an amnesty, that would seriously diminish the risk of the Democrats winning the presidency. Let us pray.

The mention of amnesty emboldened our host to a confession. He felt that he had suffered long enough. So he had decided to declare an end to dry January. In solidarity, the conversation gained momentum, aided by some excellent claret. Our host often buys from Charles Taylor. Abetted by a well-trained youngster, Jack Bartholomew, Charles is an old–fashioned wine merchant, always on the hunt for value, who deals a lot with livery companies and clubs as well as private clients, and likes his bottles to go to a good home en route to an appreciative palate.

We drank a selection which included a Lacombe Noailles ’14, a Patache d’Aux ’04, a Vieux Château Gaubert ’09 and a Fourcas Dupre ’07. None was stellar; equally, none was in any way disappointing. They were all sound examples of cru bourgeois claret: the perfect accompaniment to a good dinner and stimulus for good talk.