“More wine anyone?” I asked; ever the generous host.
“It’s a delectable vintage,” exclaimed the pompous ass sitting to my right. “It must have cost an absolute fortune,” purred his wife.
I shrugged off the compliments. “I managed to get hold of a case from the vineyard whilst touring through Northern Brittany.”
Accepting a refill, he sniffed the bouquet, “A subtle infusion of blackberries and elderflower, with a delicate hint of ginger,” he declared.
I nodded, encouraging his flattery. “You have a discerning palate, Reginald.”
The bottle had come from the recycling bank, the box of Chilean wine from Lidl.