Do all good things have to come to an end?

Back in 1999 I was working in a bookshop with a woman who really didn’t like me very much (sample conversational openers ran like this “I have a special power you know – people I don’t like DIE”. Last time I saw her she walked into a lamp post whilst trying to avoid me, clearly disappointed I was still breathing.) It wasn’t the best job I’ve ever had, but it was in that bookshop I picked up and read Jancis Robinson’s ‘Confessions of a Wine Lover’ which pretty much changed my life. I decided I was going to learn about wine and the obvious place to start was in Oddbins just around the corner.

Even by then Oddbins glory days were probably behind them but it was still to my mind the most exciting shop on the high street (with the possible exception of Dillons and Waterstone’s) and one happy day they asked if I wanted a job. I did and that was me until 2008. Oddbins turned out to be not just a job; it was a way of life, it was also known as a graduate graveyard - there’s clearly something about the combination of learning about booze and abundant opportunities to drink it that seduces and distracts the unwary... I didn’t always love working there and should have left long before I did (in fact I left twice – once to go somewhere that sounded better but wasn’t, and from which I returned for a brief few months before my branch was closed forever). The news that Oddbins is going into administration isn’t really surprising, the signs have been there for a while, but it’s still more than a little depressing to see the end of something that once felt so special.

I suppose anywhere you spend much of your twenties and thirties will be an education but I’m pretty sure this was something else; I learnt more about wine than I remember now, found a passion for whisky, confirmed my love of gin, met some great people, and some not so great people. I can’t for example imagine coming into work at my current job to find that the guy closing up the night before had stayed back to smoke heroin. Or for that matter my current line manager taking the news with exemplary sangfroid merely asking if I would like to dismiss the miscreant myself or prefer that she should do it.

(Me, “I need to have a chat to you about this.”

Him “Oh, that shouldn’t be there should it”.

Me “No”.

Him “I suppose I’ll get sacked for this.”

Me “Yes”.

Him “Oh well, I was going to hand my notice in today anyway, I’ve got another job.”

Me “....”)

But then my current job doesn’t have the space to spend time really talking to the people that you spend up to 12 hours a day with, or anyone to really share a passion for all things winey with, it’s all very professional and slick (which is a good thing) but lacks the grubby though delightful personality of old school Oddbins. I’m not sorry that I’ll never have another boss that spends a day lying on the floor behind the counter groaning through a hangover, or one who constructs a working cross bow out of bamboo skewers and elastic bands before inadvertently spraying me with warm lager when he shot a can of Stella. I do however miss the huge amount of knowledge that used to be found in any given branch and the room for individuality (although I prefer it to manifest itself in quirky artwork rather than the ability to construct small arms out of office detritus).

When I started each shop was run like an independent under one umbrella brand. We had to stock a core range of lines but otherwise we were free to choose from a comprehensive list of eclectic goodies based mostly on what we fancied drinking ourselves, decoration was based on the artistic talent of the staff and old Ralph Steadman posters, and underlying all of it you had to know your stuff. It sort of worked in that the company apparently didn’t lose money and some branches turned a pretty convincing profit, but it’s not an approach that appeals to accountants or anyone who wants to be reasonably sure their staff won’t be arrested on drunk and disorderly charges, or for indecent exposure, or on a few near legendary occasions for quite serious fraud.

On the other hand basically employing your customers was an approach that gathered together staff who loved their jobs enough to work for peanuts and wine, and who were ridiculously loyal to the company. I can’t believe that there isn’t enough custom to make high street wine selling, or for that matter bookselling viable. It’s easy to blame the internet and supermarkets for the hard times but the relative success of independent wine shops shows that if you can get it right you can do well, or at least well enough. I work for a supermarket now and we’re good at what we do, but there are limits to our position that leave plenty of room for other operators and plenty of customers (including me) who are prepared to pay a little bit more for something that captures the imagination.

I hope, but doubt, that Oddbins as a brand has a future. The press fell out of love with them a long time ago and in my last few years there I saw the company lose its way and reputation bit by bit. The good news is that the wine trade is full people who experienced the best that Oddbins had to offer and who have taken that on to an entirely different level. When I go to work tomorrow I’ll see a range of wines as good as can be found anywhere and which I don’t believe would be available to us if it hadn’t been for the work Oddbins did. It’s poor consolation for the people who will lose their jobs, but it’s not a bad legacy to leave behind.

Everyday Drinking...

The Distilled Kingsley Amis

This is a book I’ve bought a few times but never for myself, and which I never dared read in case it didn’t make it’s intended destination, well thanks to the generosity of Bloomsbury I now have a copy of my own. Appropriately it arrived the day I returned from wine training and I can confirm that had I started reading a copy planned for anyone else I would indeed have kept it.

The first thing to say about this book is that it’s very (very) funny. I admit I’m a wine geek and that perhaps a teetotaller would be less amused, but a teetotaller probably wouldn’t be choosing to read a book called ‘Everyday Drinking’, so I’ll say again – it’s a very funny book. It’s also informed and opinionated. Opinion I expected seeing as it started life as a series of columns and then as a number of books before being gathered together in its present format. Given that the articles were originally written between 1971 and 1984 it’s pretty impressive that the only thing that seems to have dated are the prices. The days of being able to buy a good claret for about £3 a bottle are long gone (god damn it I was born to late) I suspect wine’s of the quality Amis refers to would go for between £30 and £50 minimum these days.

I struggle with humour titles, and indeed ‘funny’ books generally – they are the ones most likely to go to the charity shop, not because I don’t enjoy them, but because often I find the joke only works once. What’s particularly pleasing about ‘Everyday Drinking’ (bearing in mind that it’s not sold as humorous) is that whilst it makes me want to do that really annoying thing of reading excerpts out loud because I think it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever read, it’s also genuinely, and seriously informative. Basically it’s re-readable which is always a bonus, equally there would be far worse places to begin forays into your booze based education, which I consider to be very high praise indeed.

As someone who’s spent the last decade drinking and tasting for profit, (I’m contractually obliged to taste, as opposed to drink, beers, wines, and spirits whenever required) as well as for pleasure, I’ve read a fair bit around the subject. I consider myself knowledgeable both about wine and the way people write about wine, though by no means an expert on either – so far I’ve approached the Amis book in bits, dipping in and out – that after all is the beauty of a collection of articles, but I will be going back with a notebook and working my way through in a more orderly fashion.

This unusual degree of organisation is because I have to deliver some training on wine related matters and I’m planning on shamelessly ripping off Amis – especially on the topic of Wine Resenter’s, as I have the distinct impression that’s what I’m going to be faced with. I’m also finding it just slightly ironic (as well as reassuring) that what my employers spent three days and a wedge of cash on teaching me is neatly encapsulated by Amis and thoughtfully wrapped into a single volume by Bloomsbury.

Further advantages of ‘Everyday Drinking’ over intensive training are a list of cocktail recipes and a lack of role play opportunities. Training won out by offering a genuine, live, Master of Wine which made up for the aforementioned role play, and who I dare say if pressed could have provided some decent cocktail suggestions. If you can’t find an MW though, I thoroughly recommend Amis instead.