In the colonel’s cellar

Like many soldiers, my old friend is a life-enhancing character. Whenever he phones up and says ‘Need your help’, one’s spirits rise. The help always seems to involve pleasure. This time was no exception. He was long on some young-ish wine, and wondered whether a few cases ought to be redeployed via the sale-room. In his comfortably stocked cellar, I reminded him that Andrew Lloyd Webber used to say ‘Goodnight, boys’ as he switched out the lights on his magnificent collection of Rhône. This had aroused ridicule — perhaps even a mention in Pseud’s Corner — but I could see the point. A great cellar is an epiphany. It almost invites a salutation.

My companion agreed, though insisting that he had no plans to speak to his more modest array. ‘There was one epiphanic moment in my career,’ he went on, ‘though nothing to do with wine. I had been commanding the Regiment for about three years and I’d got them as I wanted them.