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Welcome to Barnes Ecommerce!

The Wine Traveller Section

Vinternet Magazine!

The WT Crowd 2. Badger's Pen & Stage Bar

People are always searching. Searching for something better, someone better, sometimes better. Do they want to find a new direction or lose the current one? Will they ever be satisfied? I mentioned this dilemma at Badgers.

"Remember The Searchers?" Bazz asked. "They weren't a bad band." However, at this point in time, none of us could remember one of their tunes.

"I guess we are always searching for that perfect wine," PCH replied. "Trouble is, when we find it, we always go off after another one, just that bit better, or different."

"Perhaps," Bazz added, "The WT could invent a GPS system to locate the best wines." We discussed this observation at length, and thought that wine info could be patched into the software to locate wineries and tasting notes. It would have to be constantly updated, and the selections would be taster biased. Hmm. The WinoGPS was put into the too hard basket, though PCH reckoned that James Halliday would probably develop a version.

"We've had sea change, tree change so , what about vino change?" Denise asked as she uncovered a plate of WT Snacks on Sticks. "Leave the city and live and work on a vineyard. What a life."

We discussed this observation with vigour, but after realising the skills and knowledge required in vineyard management, weeding, pruning, irrigation, trellising, canopy management, bunch thinning, requirements of varieties, the weather and the microclimate of the vineyard....hmm, does not compute - we decided to leave that to those who know. The ladies thought we could just live there on the edge and watch. The view would be nice.

Another plate of nibbles arrived with a selection of Rieslings from the Clare and Eden Valleys, a Chardonnay from Margaret River and a fairly old Hunter Semillon. The only change mentioned for a while was the ageing of wines, which I set out to explain.

"There's been a change around here." Bazz interrupted. We all studied Bazz as he stuffed a chicken chilli vol-au-vant into his gob and waited for his throat and brain to clear. "Well, once upon a time you would hear theatre music or Dire Straits or 90's music round here, but now..."

"Well, now?" PCH asked, "what do you hear?"

"All these modern groups," Bazz replied, "not that I don't like them, but..."

"We've had a change," PCH answered, "who knows what we'll be eating, drinking and listening to in twelve months. Where will the current crop of young beauties be then?"

"Probably making another fortune," Irena spat it out, "bitches, while we are slaving away at our pissant jobs."

"Yeh!" Denise yelled, "let those little bimbos deal with the shit I put up with. Their little smiles would wilt and they'd run off to their media haven. They could not handle that change."

"And how," Irena asked, "will these girls handle the natural changes to their appearance and their bodies over time?"

That proved to be the unanswerable question of the day, and some of us reckoned change shits. So, we brought out a few nice bottles of red and a Denisa pasta and I hoped I might be able to do some Quality Tasting exercises.

"So, Bazz," PCH asked, "what has changed at The Fiddleback?"

"Nothing much," he replied, "it's a traditional Inn. A door handle here, a cupboard door there."

"Do you think your seats will ever be graced with cushions?" Denise asked.

"Probably not, it's a rustic sort of Inn with no comforts," Bazz said. "It just relies on the warmth and comforts of the clientele."

"Just as it should be," I replied. "Some traditions should never change."

As we explored a Barossa Shiraz, PCH asked: "Do you think we will ever see a $100 bottle of wine in The Cellars, Badgers or The Fiddleback?"

"Will we ever be served modern cuisine, or vegetarian meals there?" someone (I think a female) asked.

"Shit, some vegetarian meals make me constipated," Bazz added.

"That's right," PCH moaned, "the morning after a vegan meal, you try for a bog but can't, it's all crap."

So, change died a natural death.

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