This is one prize giving ceremony that cannot be undertaken on orange juice alone.
The Cheapest White on the List sat alone at a corner table, solemnly pawing an Anglers’ Rest bar menu.
‘What’s the matter with him? asked The Dubonnet Queen of Ealing Common.
‘The price of Pinot Grigio has gone up’ said a Totally Roasted, discreetly. ‘He’s had to switch to a Chardonnay from South Eastern Australia.”
‘But Australian wine is supposed to be quite good,’ replied The Dubonnet Queen.
‘Not this one,’ said The Cheapest White on the List.
‘I’ve got a nephew in Australia,’ said a Whiskey Mac. ‘Moved to Perth last year. Loves it apparently.’
‘Who hasn’t got a nephew in Australia? That’s what I’d like to know,’ said an Oatmeal Stout.
The Cheapest White on the List nodded. ‘That’s right! Why, if I threw this drink out of the window, I’m practically guaranteed to hit at least three people with nephews in Australia– probably more.’
‘I wish you would,’ said a Diet Shasta Orange and 150 Proof Grain Alcohol, who happened to work in personal injury claims.
‘I’ll bet Mr. Mulliner has nephews all over Australia,’ said the said the Whiskey Mac.
‘And nieces,’ said a Sparkling Water.
The assembled drinkers looked expectantly at Mr Mulliner. He beamed at them in reply.
‘Well, as it happens….’
After a gruelling process of tasting and deliberation, it is my pleasure to announce the winners of the Highballs for Breakfast competition.
The coveted First Place prize is awarded to The Cheapest White On The List. The drink itself is both affordable and palatable, and an appropriate choice for the humble bar parlour of the Anglers’ Rest. His original name is also suggestive of a genuine Character who, either by inclination or impecuniousness, could do with a bit of cheering up. A copy of Highballs for Breakfast should do the trick.
Second Place has been awarded to another great character, the Dubonnet Queen of Ealing Common. This is a name that announces itself! It suggests a woman who has acquired her stature through charm of manner, and a cast-iron liver – surely a winning combination. I feel Wodehouse would have made something of her. The excellent people of Penguin Random House have made a second copy of Highballs for Breakfast available, so the Dubonnet Queen will also receive a copy.
A third copy of Highballs for Breakfast courtesy of Penguin Random House, and a book voucher worth £10 courtesy of self and cat, have also been awarded to Stefan Nilsson for his winning entry (The Code of the Woosters) in the 2016 Reading Challenge .
Prize winners please refer to the Postscript note to claim your prize.
Thanks to everyone who entered, and apologies if you missed out on a prize. I’d be pleased to console you over a pint, and slap you heartily on the back, if you’re ever passing through Somerset.
Finally, and with a heavy heart, it is my sad duty to inform you that my regular partner in judging –the cat, Monty Bodkin — passed away during the running of this competition (rest assured that he had not indulged in any of the tasting). So before my post-judging liver-cleansing commences, I’d like to raise a glass once more.
PRIZE WINNERS: I will attempt to contact you via your linked contact details to arrange delivery of your prize. Alternatively, you can email me directly at firstname.lastname@example.org with your postal address. Cheers!
Last weekend I visited the charming Wiltshire town of Bradford on Avon for a bit of browsing and sluicing with fellow members of the PG Wodehouse Society — the first, we hope, of many gatherings in the South-West. Our luncheon took place at an outstanding local pub called The Longs Arms and we were unanimous in the view that, should we ever extend our activities to include compiling a Pub Guide for Wodehouse fans, the Longs Arms would make a worthy inclusion — the only obstacle being a lack of any obvious Wodehouse connection, unless you’re prepared to accept Haddock on the menu and the Mullineresque conversation of our very own ‘oldest member’, Graham.
From the moment I alighted from the train at Bradford on Avon, I was struck with Wodehouse associations (fortunately not at the base of the skull). The most obvious of these is the town’s celebration of ‘The Gudgeon’ in the title of their town newsletter, a local ale, and more. The Gudeon they’re honouring is of course the fishy variety, and not the memorable character created by P.G. Wodehouse.
Hilda Gudgeon has long held a special place in my heart, though she appears only briefly in The Mating Season as Madeline Bassett’s school friend. Bertie describes her as ‘a solid, hefty girl, of the type which plays five sets of tennis without turning a hair…’. This Gudgeon is refreshingly unlike Madeline, and Bertie is initially disposed to like her (a view he revises when she offers to boost his chances of a union with Madeline).
‘Good morning, Hilda,’ said the Basset in that soupy, treacly voice which had got her so disliked by all right-thinking men. ‘What a lovely, lovely morning.’
The solid girl said she didn’t see what was so particularly hot about it, adding that personally she found all mornings foul. She spoke morosely, and I could see that her disappointment in love had soured her, poor soul. I mourned for her distress, and had the circumstances been different, might have reached up and patted her on the head.
If being unlike Madeline Basset isn’t enough inducement, Hilda Gudgeon is also fond of cricket:
‘…Have you seen the paper this morning? It says there’s some talk of altering the leg-before-wicket rule again. Odd how your outlook changes when your heart’s broken. I can remember a time when I’d have been all excited if they altered the leg-before-wicket rule. Now I don’t give a damn. Let ‘em alter it, and I hope they have a fine day for it.’
As you may recall from a previous post, cricket was my first love before discovering Wodehouse, and I’ve always looked on Hilda Gudgeon as a kindred soul –I even made her the central character of my attempt at Wodehouse homage. Seeing The Gudgeon so revered by the good people of Wilshire filled me with joie de vivre. I purchased both their newsletter and their ale – and what’s more, I’d do it again!
Leaving Gudgeons to one side for the moment, though preferably not in the sun, there are Wodehouse connections in the area surrounding Bradford on Avon. Young Wodehouse spent boyhood holidays with relations in Wiltshire and nearby Somerset, making it probable that he would have visited the town. His mother’s family, the Deanes, excelled at the production of spinster Aunts, a gaggle of whom lived just five and half miles away in the village of Box. Deanes also pop up in the registers at Freshford village, three miles to the West, and the area known as ‘the Deverells’ is roughly twenty miles away. This combination of Aunts, Deverills, Gudgeons and Haddock can only mean one thing to a Wodehouse fan – The Mating Season.
We may never know if young Wodehouse passed the Longs Arms on a country walk, or called in for a whiskey and splash with the local raconteur, but if you’re looking for a fine lunch (with an enticing menu that changes daily) in Wodehouse territory, I heartily recommend it. Better still, why not join us next time? We’re planning further exploratory jaunts in the region so please get in touch. We look forward to meeting you, although… I can’t promise that I won’t slap you on the back and address you with offensive familiarity — in the spirit of the Gudgeons.
The solid girl, whom I had dimly heard telling the gardener he needn’t be afraid of breaking that spade by leaning on it, came back and immediately proceeded, in what I considered an offensively familiar manner, to give me a hearty slap on the back.
‘Well, Wooster, old bloke,’ she said.
‘Well, Gudgeon, old bird,’ I replied courteously.
A hearty farewell to you!