The curse of G77

[Alex Bridgeman]

I spent a day and a half trying to find a courier who was able to move a bottle of wine 100 miles within the island of Ireland. I now know that there is none.

Very sad to see such a lovely bottle ruined.

But this quote makes me think of a very true saying:

In America, 100 years is a long time. In Europe, 100 miles is a long ways. Our concepts of time and distance are strikingly different.

I'd have probably driven 100 miles to pick up a magnum of G77.

I have a similar approach. If I buy wine that I want to make sure arrives safely, I will go and get it. Last year I did a day trip to Perth from the South of England. That's a 15 hour round trip of about 950 miles - but that was the only way I could be sure my bottles were treated properly. And it was a good job I took my own bottle boxes with me!

[uncle tom]

To date, 8752 bottles of port have passed through my hands, and to date, not one has been broken - but I'm sure the day will come..

If you send something by post or courier, expect that it will fall off the back of a truck, literally - that's a drop of about 4'6" - 1.35m - typically.

If the packaging won't withstand that, don't send it...

[djewesbury]

If you send something by post or courier, expect that it will fall off the back of a truck, literally - that's a drop of about 4'6" - 1.35m - typically.

Yes.

[jdaw1]

'The Cockburn '69 my lord - there is no finer wine'

Could this be a Croft-Cockburn ’68-’69 switch, the author being aware, even if only vaguely, that the Croft ’69 was not all what it seemed? It might be a literary device, echoing a poisoned wine, without involving libel lawyers.

I've never heard of a Croft 1869 - in fact, the oldest on my database just happens to be 1870.

The case is different with another notoriously bad vintage, that of ’69, which was shipped by one solitary shipper, Messrs. Croft, and a beautiful wine it was, but it was not a ’69 and everybody knew it.

What happened was this: the summer of 1868 was exceptionally hot and the grapes were shrivelled by the heat; there was no question about this; the head of the House of Croft had seen them with his own eyes, when visiting the firm’s vineyards in the Alto Douro; and so he declared to all who met him on his return to Oporto that there would be no Vintage and hardly any wine at all. But it so happened that the moment he had turned his horse’s head towards Oporto, a fine rain had descended upon the shrivelled grapes which were bursting forth sugar and only wanted this gift from heaven to swell out and bring forth a wonderful wine, one of the finest vintages ever made in the Douro. But Croft would not go back upon their word: they had declared that there was not going to be a ’68 vintage and there was no Croft ’68 but everybody knew that Croft ’69 was ’68.

[uncle tom]

Lovely story - I wonder if any bottles survive?

[DRT]

Lovely story - I wonder if any bottles survive?

Even if it is a lovely story, I'm not opening my last case until 2069

[jdaw1]

I'm not opening my last case until 2069

How cute, buying it in cases rather than by the pipe, delivered and binned into the cellars.

[djewesbury]

ImageUploadedByTapatalk 21370612533.986663.jpg

Apparently the courier declined extra packaging when offered...

Full refund issued by RBS / MasterCard toward the end of last week. A happy ending, thankfully.

[Doggett]

'The Cockburn '69 my lord - there is no finer wine'

Could this be a Croft-Cockburn ’68-’69 switch, the author being aware, even if only vaguely, that the Croft ’69 was not all what it seemed? It might be a literary device, echoing a poisoned wine, without involving libel lawyers.

I've never heard of a Croft 1869 - in fact, the oldest on my database just happens to be 1870.

The case is different with another notoriously bad vintage, that of ’69, which was shipped by one solitary shipper, Messrs. Croft, and a beautiful wine it was, but it was not a ’69 and everybody knew it.

What happened was this: the summer of 1868 was exceptionally hot and the grapes were shrivelled by the heat; there was no question about this; the head of the House of Croft had seen them with his own eyes, when visiting the firm’s vineyards in the Alto Douro; and so he declared to all who met him on his return to Oporto that there would be no Vintage and hardly any wine at all. But it so happened that the moment he had turned his horse’s head towards Oporto, a fine rain had descended upon the shrivelled grapes which were bursting forth sugar and only wanted this gift from heaven to swell out and bring forth a wonderful wine, one of the finest vintages ever made in the Douro. But Croft would not go back upon their word: they had declared that there was not going to be a ’68 vintage and there was no Croft ’68 but everybody knew that Croft ’69 was ’68.

I seems the mistaken Cockburn 1869 in Kind Hearts and Coronets that was recently discussed in the Port & Literature thread has been raised before...