Port

There was a wonderful old boy called John – Sir John – Wordie, who was a quintessential member of the establishment. A barrister, he spent much of his time defusing controversies before they had boiled over. In that enterprise, he never sought publicity, finding it much easier to dispense wise advice if no one knew who he was. An accomplished sailor from his RNVR days during the war, he was always a stalwart of nautical good and goodery – and he knew a very great deal about wine, especially port. A Texan can extract five syllables from Goddam: Go-o-o-day-um. John could do as well with port. Po-o-o-o-rt. It was a

I once drank some excellent port at Ted Heath’s table. The invitation came as a surprise, but it almost certainly had nothing to do with the monstre (un)sacré. The dinner took place during a Bournemouth party conference at the Close in Salisbury. Ted had an unofficial PPS, a then Tory MP called Robert Hughes. Rob had a sense of fun and mischief. There would have been little scope for either while he was enduring the sullen maunderings of the Incredible Sulk. Anyway, he was given a chance to amuse himself when asked to organise a dinner party. He included me. The young are being encouraged to drink port and even

Whatever became of athletics? It’s fallen nearly as far as show jumping and that is a long way. But the world needs athletics: it is the purest sport. Lots of countries can’t row or sail or do equestrianism, tennis or golf. Anyone, anywhere can run, jump and throw. But where is athletics now? Can you name the fastest man in the world this year over 100m?* Who are the best middle-distance runners? The sport has fallen nearly as far as show jumping and that is a long way In the 1970s and 1980s everyone knew the names of countless athletes, domestic and foreign. Sebastian Coe, Steve Ovett, Daley Thompson, Tessa