Apologies to all my readers, my three Google followers in particular, for the brutal neglect I have shown you in the run-up to this festive season. The reason for this lack of communication is a very valid one. Let me explain.
Every year just before Christmas, Hubby and I take part in the Haversham Gardens Christmas Carols. This is an opportunity to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with our neighbours around a large fire stoked with furniture dragged from surrounding streets and to sing jolly Christmas songs while drinking mulled wine from “bring-your-own” mugs.
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| It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas! |
Last year, Mrs Fossington-Gore from number twenty-eight couldn’t keep up with demand for the mulled wine.
“My goodness” she said. “This mug has come around many times for a refill”. She was referring to mine.
In fact, Hubby and I had come to support the event with several friends and with a set of six matching mugs from Liberty. Therefore, the mug she saw coming around "again and again" for a refill was, in fact, not the same mug but a different mug. Sorry, but it’s still a bit raw, even a year on.
Everyone could see she was panicking and lashing out unnecessarily. It was a thirsty crowd and there was a slight fault with one of the outdoor stoves. I've seen people working under extreme stress, I know what it's like.
During a lesser-known verse of Good King Wenceslas, a call went out from the mulled wine dispensing area asking for help from anyone that could heat the contents of a pan. With my considerable cordon blue experience, I felt confident I could help and put the comment about the frequently-returning mug to one side. It was Christmas, after all. “Yes”, I said, putting my hand up. “I can heat stuff up. Particularly canned products.”
And so, almost instantly, our powerful induction stove was the saviour of the evening and quite the talk of Haversham Gardens for some months to come. “I used the boost function”, I said.
This year, in recognition of this, I’ve been recruited to the Haversham Gardens Mulled Wine Subcommittee. This group reports to the Haversham Gardens Residents Association Christmas Carols Working Group, a temporary spin-off from The Haversham Gardens Residents Association, headquartered at number thirty-two.
“It’s not exactly a job”, I said to Hubby, as we sat in the sitting room watching TOWIE, eating Maltesers. “But it is a considerable responsibility. Also, because of my twenty years investment banking experience, they’ve put me in charge of taking the money on the night.”
“That’s quite surprising given the recent headlines.” he said.
“Well, d'you know what?" I said, "It's amazing how quickly I'm getting back into the cut and thrust of finance. I haven't seen the profit and loss from last year's event but it was £2.50 per head, free for children. I’ve got a spreadsheet going and I’m cutting some numbers. I suggested to Mrs Thomson that we charge two hundred quid each, man, woman and child. Then we’ll hear them squeal. But maybe that’s the Goldman Sachs talking.”
Hubby glanced up from a big, secret-looking document he was reading and marking with a red pen. Something about Syria. "After what happened in Morocco" I said to him, "I don't want to go on any exotic holidays. National Trust is fine for me and Giggy. I've had up to here with being dragged down the souk."
“Yeah” I said, “I’ll show the Gardens how it’s done this year. I’m really gonna kick the arse out of this mulled wine do.”
*
The Subcommittee meets every week on a Friday at Mrs Thomson’s place at number twelve. The last meeting was a tasting where people brought a sample of mulled wine they had made from scratch for the others to try. I adopted a managerial position as my experience was limited to heating it up rather than making it.
Each subcommittee member voted for their favourite using a complex scoring mechanism. It’s a bit like on Strictly Come Dancing when they combine the judges’ scores with the public ones - I didn't understand it but felt powerless to question.
The tasting went on considerably longer than expected, some surprisingly chunky progressive house being dialled up at about 1am.
The next day, Marjorie from number nineteen, who had been charged with the noting of the scores, claimed that the numbers were accurate but that she couldn’t be sure which numbers related to which samples.
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| It had made perfect sense at the time ... |
“That is the core of it” I said. “Right, I hereby enact Force Majeur. The winner is Mrs Forbes at number forty-two.”
"Oh thank you Dave" said Mrs Forbes, looking smug rather than thankful. "It's my own special recipe, handed down the generations so I'm very proud and honoured".
It was pretty much a random decision on my part, to be honest. Sometimes you just have to show leadership. You won’t be stopped in most cases.
We decided to have a couple of days off from the frantic organisation. We had the mulled wine sorted now, but we didn’t have a table to put the mince pies on. “So many things to think of” I said to Marjorie. “With it only being two months away, shouldn’t we have another committee to do the mince pies? If I’d known it was mulled wine and mince pies, I’d have asked for more resources. I can see why people only do this job once and then burn out. Just burn all out.”
About a week later, I was on my way back from the corner shop with some Monster Munch and a bag of Sports Mixtures when I noticed a large, brown cardboard box on the front step of Mr and Mrs Forbes’s house. They had been away for the weekend and were still away, judging by the absence of their blue Ford Granada 3.0 Grand Luxury. The box was ripped open. Well, ok, it was slightly ripped - it tore quite easily when I yanked it. I looked at the contents and what I saw shocked me to the core.
*
“Ladies and … well, Ladies”, I said. “If we could come to order please. Welcome to the fourteenth Mulled Wine Subcommittee meeting. I’m afraid I have a very grave announcement to make. Most very, very grave indeed.”
Teacups went down and I went on, standing and pacing the room purposefully.
“Our local VNEB intelligence sources inform me that someone has been stockpiling mulled wine mix for use at this years Christmas Carols. Yes, that’s right. Mulled wine mix. Here, in Kennington”.
There was a pause which was longer than I had anticipated.
“What’s VNEB?”, asked Mrs Thomson.
“Oh God, it's not sticking is it? It’s Vauxhall Nine Elms Battersea”, I said.
There were several gasps around the room. Two sets of actual pearls were clutched.
“Since when were we called that?” she said.
“Look”, I said. “That’s not really the point. The point is that someone has been intending to employ a commercial mix and feed it to us in the name of festive cheer."
"Is that why Mrs Forbes … isn't here tonight?" asked Marjorie.
"Yes. She has been ejected from the committee and her invitation to the Christmas Carols rescinded. Her family may attend but will be openly mocked.”
“She seemed so nice”, said Mrs Thomson. “I’ve met her son, he works for John Lewis as a store planner. Such a disappointment. Have you any proof, Dave? It's a very serious allegation. I think we'd all like to be sure.”
“Oh yes”, I said, producing the holiday brochure I had borrowed from Hubby’s office. “I have detailed photographs here that suggest that she was intending to, shall we say, falsely enrich red wine.”
They crowded around the evidence, joined by Mrs Price and Mrs Williams who seemed to be holding their cards rather close to their chests on the whole issue. Thick as thieves, those two.
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| South London |
“Oh my goodness – it’s rather desolate isn’t it?” said Marjorie. "I didn’t realise there was so much open space. What’s this huge factory and this convoy of trucks?”
“That’s the Christmas market being set up in Brixton” I said. "Here's Mrs Forbes's house and here is her stockpile. In the garden probably, where no-one can see it". I pointed vaguely at the map.
I continued, sensing I had them on my side. “This mulled wine mix could have caused widespread embarrassment and social deprivation. It is unacceptable for anyone in the Gardens to have stock-piles of this type of thing. I am immediately requesting that she hand over all her mulled wine mix to the Haversham Gardens Residents Association in order that it is properly and safely destroyed. Possibly at sea. I am sure you all agree".
But it seems that I misread the crowd because it turned out that there were an almost equal number of people on the working group in favour of letting standards drop and cutting important corners as there were those against it. Mrs Price and Mrs Williams, otherwise notable in their silence, kept trying to veto any kind of direct action. "If we can't get a resolution tonight on this then we're in trouble" I said. "May God have mercy on us this Christmas Carols event night. It's on a knife-edge."
And so, a great divide has been created. I just hope this difference of opinion can be overlooked during the carols, but if not, I have several plain-clothed operatives ready to carry out a “Hunger Games”-style clamp down.
More importantly for me was that, amid all the arguing, I was somehow saddled with the task of making the mulled wine myself. I went home and immediately started researching the only way anyone does these days, by Googling “making mulled wine from scratch”. Once again, I was shocked to the core. Talk about an own goal.
Cinnamon? Bay leaves? Limes? Lemons? Oranges? Cloves? Nutmeg? Vanilla Bean? Sherry? Star Anise?
And so this is the reason I have not written my blog. I have been hard at work perfecting the best mulled wine ever tasted by humanity.
So, without further ado, I bestow the result of my tireless work upon you:
DAVE VANDERPUMP’S MULLED WINE
Ingredients
1. Red wine
2. Mulled wine mix (yeah, I know, but seriously, just pretend you made it from scratch. They won’t know the difference)
3. Couple of oranges, sliced
4. Some old bits of twig
Method
1. Tip it all into a pan and heat it up using the boost function if you are lucky enough to have one
“Jingle Jingle”, mulled wine for everyone (apart from Mrs Forbes).
DVP
