Another tall tale from the wine bar philosophy group at the Withered Grape,
reported by Ian McLaren

 

The landlord was gently dusting the bottles, and enjoying the early lunchtime sunshine coming through the wine bar window. The market traders were settled into one corner, and the royal messengers into the other, savouring their first glass of the day.

He heard the squeak of ill-made boots just before the door was flung open. The herald played a breathless, short fanfare and announced “The King”, who by this time was pushing past him into the inn.

“I have a dream,” he orated, “I have a dream this afternoon.”

Everyone agreed, once they had picked him up and dusted him down, and sat him on a chair with a large glass of Royal Special Merlot, that the faint had been extremely dramatic. There had been no better entrance since the time one midsummer’s eve when Fatty “Make mine a double” Maguire had come down the chimney as Santa Claus.

Well, of course, the king’s dream turned out to be a Royal Command. And what a performance it was.

Get a tent and pitch it in the Castle Park . Get bottles of every wine that anyone has ever heard of, and oil all the corkscrews. Let there be food, and music, and ferret-jugglers. And the tourists will come streaming in.

The tent turned out to be half the size of the palace. There were hundreds and hundreds of wines, all getting too warm in the sun. It took virtually the whole population of the kingdom to sell tickets, open cases, cool the bottles with buckets of water, stop the bands from going on too long, keep the tourists off the flower beds, cook sausages and count the takings. And, of course, since this was the king’s idea, and for his benefit, no-one was paid for their work, although they were allowed to share the dregs at the end of each day.

After a week or so of this, the bouncy castles had all deflated, but the spirits of the workers were lifted by the realisation that the drink had finally run out and that they could go home - after a few days’ clearing up. And some of them were even smiling when the king came down to thank them all for their hard work. And to tell them he was going to hold another wine festival next month.

This time no-one picked up the king, or dusted him down, or brushed the broken glass from the top of his crown.