The best New Zealand wine I’ve come across

I was once invited to the Cheltenham races and found the experience underwhelming. Everything was too respectable: not nearly Hibernian enough. I had expected to see Blazes Boylan, Flurry Knox, the Joxer and Christy Mahon, propping each other up in a determined attempt to drink the west of England out of Guinness. The reality was much tamer. But there was one source of amusement. By halfway through the afternoon, undeterred by their skill in dispensing losing tips, a lot of my journalistic colleagues had become equine experts. The previous day, these chaps would not have known the difference between a foal and a fetlock. Yet here they were, insisting that there was not enough stamina in the dam’s bloodline, and so forth. Just as well that they did not run into Flurry Knox. He would have sold them a stable-full of three-legged hunters.

Something similar is happening with Covid-19: instant expertise syndrome. Two months ago, many of those now afflicted would have had to pause before spelling epidemiology. Switching from Greek roots to Latin, none of them has any problem with pontification. Yet on a less puffed-up assessment, there is only one point on which we can be certain. There are a lot of unknown unknowns out there. Back at the beginning, the Swedes were much praised. They seemed to have found a calm route to herd immunity: keeping the economy going and the bars open, avoiding panic. This was widely attributed to the strengths of the Swedish character. Pan was not a Norse God. The price of a pint in a Swedish hostelry would surely reinforce Swedish stolidity. It would also silence other nationalities. They would be comatose with shock. Finally, if you did not observe social distancing in Sweden, you might suddenly find that you were playing chess with Death.