I have become precisely the kind of wine bore that I used to humiliate at dinner parties

I cannot remember when I became a wine bore. It could have been when Majestic opened a branch in Shepherd’s Bush — or it might stem from the first time I saw Sideways. Perhaps it is just a sign of growing old, like the realisation that you can no longer get away with wearing Converse. But there’s no getting around it: I have become a howling wine snob.

Take the birthday dinner I attended last week. The host had very kindly agreed to pay for everyone and, as you would expect, he had chosen the wine in advance. Unfortunately, it was Sauvignon Blanc. What to do? I stole a glance at the wine list and discovered a perfectly respectable Chablis. The trouble was, it was £15 more expensive than the vin de table. I approached the host and asked if he’d mind if I ordered a bottle of the Chablis for myself and just gave him the money.