The restorative power of great claret

‘Come dance with me in Ireland.’ That has always struck me as an enchanting prospect, though a recent Hibernian venture did not involve dancing and took place in London.

There was an Irish academic called R.B. McDowell. To call him eccentric would be an understatement. He adorned Trinity College Dublin for decades, starting from the era when TCD was still part of the Anglo-Irish Protestant Ascendancy. Whenever Trinity men foregather, they can be relied on to tell McDowell stories.

R.B. belonged to a small club, devoted to the pleasures of talk and drink. Living into his nineties, he found a way of thanking those who had provided him with good company. His will endowed part of the cost of an annual dinner, enough indeed to pay for our wine, so that we were able to toast his memory. There would be a speech, and it seemed appropriate that this should have an Irish theme.