At last - a Blogdog

There are such a lot of people posting pictures of their beautiful canine friends on these blogs that I'm beginning to feel like some sort of infidel in not having one.

So today I though I'd post a picture of Venus. We met Venus (pronounced Vinoos, of course), just outside Epernay in the Champagne region of France a couple of years ago. Her owner, a Monsieur Colin, was like an indulgent father as he shooed her from one part of the building to another on our walk through, and stopped her from launching herself into one of the vats and jumping up on the riddling racks.

I specially remember this Champagne house, because although it was small, M. Colin insisted the five of us (the girls were then 15, 13 and 11) taste the wines in proper quantities, and made our own Colin translate what the girls said they could taste - I recall he had some trouble remembering the French for "cinnamon" when Emma said she could taste the stuff you put in apple pies. Children's unspoilt, virgin palates, M. Colin explained, were a winemaker's delight, because (and I translate this loosely), they hadn't been tainted by bad diets, cheap red wine and pretentious wine writers. He was visibly excited about the cinnamon.

Anyway, because Colin was driving and the girls were only used to very small tasting amounts of wine, I ended up surreptitiously drinking a great deal of everyone else's. I remember almost tripping over poor little Venus on the way out, and M. Colin being very gracious and telling me she did it to everyone and while lovely, was supremely silly.

I still have the tasting glasses we bought there. They remind me of a lovely afternoon, a mad little silky terrier, and the French way of life. This last was illustrated when we turned up just after 11.30 in the morning and asked if M. Colin would show us around and allow us to taste his wine. He looked at his watch, and said in horrified French "But it is nearly a quarter to 12! Do you not have lunch?" Of course, we said, we would be pleased to come back after lunch. "Excellent. Venus and I are going to lunch now. Shall we say half past three?"

Beautiful.

Scoop! Cancer No Danger to Millionaires - Official.

Fancy the right to smoke? Then you'd better have a few quid to spare.

On July 1st, it officially became illegal in Victoria to smoke in any enclosed licensed premises in the state.

Almost.

There is one exception to the new rule; the Mahogany Room at the Crown Casino here in Melbourne. This is the "High Rollers" room, where millions are dropped with the same ease with which most of us nick down to the corner shop for a carton of milk. And here, it seems, the serious money talks.

The Victorian Government gets enormous revenue from the Casino. Ergo, you don't upset the premuim punters, for fear if they aren't allowed the odd fag at the roulette tables, they'll take their millions elsewhere.

Meanwhile, Wal Baranow, the owner of a Cuban-style cigar lounge in suburban Hawthorn, looks likely to lose his business and his house as a result of the new laws.

He was recently quoted in The Age:

"I run a cigar bar. Drinking is a secondary component. People who come here come to smoke cigars, and my staff work here because they like talking and selling cigars. I agree that people who don't smoke shouldn't be affected by second-hand smoke, but if you choose to come to a cigar bar you come to smoke a cigar."

"It seems that as long as people are gambling enough, it's OK for staff to work in a smoky environment".

I'm no fan of smoky bars, but the hypocrisy of this makes me feel sicker than any secondary smoke is ever likely to.

Pic: www.edie.net

Stevie's 24-hour tag.

Stevie (http://travellingteacup.blogspot.com/) came up with this idea. It's your ideal 24 hours, no limitations. Visit her blog for full details, and to see if she's put up hers yet!

My perfect 24 hours.

Total self-indulgence here I'm afraid. Room enough for altruism and self-sacrifice in the real world. I should do more of it, but for now ...

I wake in a cottage in the English countryside. The day is sunny but it will be cold outside. I have central heating in the cottage of course - personal discomfort has no part in my fantasies.

I would be alone I think - solitude is rare and precious for me. I would enjoy the silence.

I make tea, and breakfast from a selection of beautiful fresh eggs, bread and fruit which just happens to be on hand in the wonderful warm kitchen. I pull on coat and gumboots and walk through the woods (did I mention this cottage has its own grounds?) and enjoy the smells, feel, look and sounds of the countryside.

About an hour later, I'm back. I run a bath and soak blissfully for half an hour or so. I light a fire, cosy up in the softest dressing gown you can imagine (Cashmere?), and stick my head in a book for an hour or so.

Get dressed, go for another walk, then the rest of the day involves things I'm not going to divulge in detail, but lunch at a perfect, small English restaurant or pub is a feature, as is some lovely wine, more time in front of the fire back in the cottage, laughter, music, a shared supper and an early night which eventually includes sleep.

Oh, almost forgot. The 24 hours would also include the bit where I'm handed the deeds for the cottage so I can do it all again whenever I want to.