There was an awkward pause. My unfortunate pupil, unsure of how to proceed, was forced to relinquish her script, and, turning to me, said rather sheepishly, "My cousin vas saying to me, how good your face eez.

Of course, I thought myself capable of their magic. I believed if I had only had the chance to sit in degustation from a tender age, I would have developed a similar ability. But as we were not privileged with such a Dionysian patrimony, for many years I thought we had been rescued from that dizzying duty of having to taste so many wines (I did not know that one spits).

Today has been a very long day for me: I had to wake at six in the morning to make the early train to the city. Nike's party was at seven o'clock in the evening, and after stopping for lunch at the station I went down to the dormitories on Prospect Street, looking for Luke of course. He's directing a musical revue for the university, as part of a temporary position that he thinks he'll have till the end of next term (with any luck, they'll want to take him for good and he'll be silly enough to do it). I'll never understand why he agreed to live in those dormitories, surrounded by the most unattractive facilities; at least he has his own bathroom, and I meant to take advantage of it, having tried unsuccessfully to sleep on the train. My hair was a complete mess. And it's much longer by the way; you haven't seen it but it almost reaches my shoulders.

As fascinating as all these distinctions are, they do not in themselves catapult a certain wine into five or four-star strata. The dynamics of pricing wine are subject to far less dignified factors; the discriminating taste may find satisfaction at the lowest of denominations. I don't mean to imply simply that there is no disputing taste - 'de gustibus' and 'one man's meat' - all fine, well established. I'll quietly respect any man's preference if he insist. But I do mean to point out that certain criteria will, in fact, set things apart.