Kens Wine Blog

[El Presidente]

1-8-11

Who doesn't enjoy a 'crack of dawn' trip to the airport on a Monday? Me.

Headed for the glorious Barossa and the 30^th anniversary of Elderton's, which should make it all worthwhile, hopefully. And have almost finally thrown off the dreaded lurgy. What could possibly go wrong?

Had tried for an early night but a number of family members have birthdays in July so they'd been lumped together and it was dinner at my sister's place. I went over early to watch a replay of the monumental Reds win in the Super 15 Rugby – one can never see it too many times. All was going nicely till 'birthday present' time. Toss in another sister and her family just back from overseas and more pressies.

Herewith a few snippets of the conversation, and I swear all true, all last night (“Modern Family” would have been proud) –

· Thank you. It is a really good book. I know that because I am currently reading it as you gave me the same book for Christmas.

· My mother on receiving a plant – It's dead. I think it is dead? Did you check?

· “You were ripped off.”

“You don't even know what I paid.”

“Whatever, you were still ripped off.”

· Stop laughing. It is a serious present. It is not a joke. What is funny about that? Why are you laughing?

· At least try not to look so bored.

· It doesn't look anything like the photo. Are you sure that is right? I think someone switched the tags on you.

· I still think it is dead. Did you ask them before you bought it?

·

· Why would anyone buy that as a present? Seriously?

·

· And my personal fave, with thanks to my sister who apparently bought me a tin of whisky-soaked haggis in Scotland, and tried to bring it in via hand luggage. “Unfortunately, customs took your present. But here is the plastic bag it came in.”

You'd think I’d be owed, after that. But no.

3.15am. Possum Olympics on the balcony. Apparently, the finishing line for the 'all bolt up the balcony making as much noise as we can at the same time' race is the wall next to my head. Normally, a couple of heavy bangs on the wall will send them scurrying off, but not last night. Where is the carpet python when needed? Finally, they buggered off but, with the alarm set for 5am, no point in even trying to get back to sleep. So up and ready. And believe me, what on earth is there to do at that time? Particularly when it is about 8 below zero and I am in five layers, beanie, gloves, scarf. As outside is about the same as inside, I decide to wait outside for the taxi, in case he comes early. You just never know your luck.

So there I am, in the dark. Early? Not today, of course. Then the fun starts. When the taxi finally arrives, it gets about 60 metres down the road from my place. Stops. I am waving and yelling, standing in the middle of the road. I can see him looking for me at the far end of the block next door. One would think that as it is a vacant lot, he might twig that he is not quite in the right spot yet. If only...

Taxi turns around and drives off. It happens out here occasionally, so I give him five minutes to see if he is coming back. Fat chance.

I ring the company. They look up the driver. There is a moment's silence and then 'oh dear'. I ask 'what?'. “Have to get back to you”, I’m told. Not before I have a few words about the competency of one particular taxi driver.

A bit later, he turns up but I have to do the 'stand in the middle of the road and wave and yell' thing again. He almost runs me down. It is still dark and I am not happy. Anyway, the car pulls up and out he pops. “Morning, brother” (I’m thinking, not unless one of us was adopted). He beams at me and says, “This is my first day”. Special! He then attempts to open the boot. No idea and less chance. I tell him I’ll put the luggage on the back seat. Several minutes pass before he manages to decipher the mysteries of the locking system for the back door.

I climb in and he beams at me again, “Brother, you are my first ever customer”. It just gets better and better, doesn't it. He looks at me, waiting for some sort of congratulations and for me to share in the good fortune that has been bestowed on Brisbane with him at the wheel. I am apparently a smidge less enthusiastic than he envisaged his first customer would be. Now I’m thinking, poor bloke. Day one and a complaint to base before he even got to his first gig. Clearly, he has not yet heard from them. It should be illegal to be this cheerful this early.

Before we start, he decides to learn how to use his GPS machine. 'Where are we going?' I tell him we are off to the airport. “Where?” he says looking very puzzled. Airport. Blank look. “Big place, lots of planes.” There is some frantic pressing of buttons on the GPS. I realise he is not a complete novice, he has had the meter ticking over the entire time and we are still in my driveway. Finally, I tell him that I’ll direct him. He is unconvinced but off we go. He keeps trying to set the GPS without success and meanwhile is careening all over the road. Thankfully, there is little traffic out my way at this time. I’m prepared to offer fairly robust odds that his will be a short, happy career.

It didn’t take long for me to realise that when he said, 'first day', he actually meant first day driving, not first day with the cab company. Despite the cold, I am now sweating profusely. I continue to provide directions. He uses the little cat's eye reflecting bumps on the centre line and the sides of the roads to aid direction (it is like driving by braille). We are all over the place. I suggest that the reason cars are flashing their lights at him is that he has his lights on high beam. He looks at me as though I am insane – he needs all the light he can get. Upon reflection, I think that is wise.

By this stage, he has realised that, despite his best efforts, I am not a chatty Kathy pre dawn. After several attempts at conversation, he finally gives up. I continue to provide directions. This gets awkward when I am reduced to asking if, when I said I would give him directions, he thought I meant that I would also tell him to use the stop and give-way signs, because so far, he has completely ignored the lot. Clearly, this driving lurk is not all he thought it would be.

He changes tack and decides he will be a model driver, one that Brisbane will be proud to have. I then point out that, while I admire his caution in stopping at roundabouts to allow prior traffic right of way, it is more traditional to actually stop before you get there, rather than when you are in the middle of them, as this does cause problems for pretty much everyone else. He remains unconvinced. He has an interesting habit of using his indicator to indicate that he will not be turning. So if we come to a possible right hand turn, on goes the left indicator. This apparently means he will not be turning right. It does not mean he is turning left. He does this three times before I freak.

Then he realises he has lost something. So now it is driving one-handed as he desperately runs his other hand under the seat, behind him, around the pedals, anywhere he can think, before discovering his precious mobile phone in the drinks holder. Just in time, as it starts to ring (at 6am? Seriously?).

“Brother, do you mind if I answer this?” he asks. “Yes, I most certainly do”. The standard of driving has not led me to the belief that my life would be any safer with him yacking to his mates.

“Brother, it could be the company”, he tells me. “I don't care”, suddenly remembering the earlier complaint and that perhaps, when he discovers this, it might be best for all if I am not seated next to him. “Very good, Brother”, he tells me, as though this was all a test.

We hit the Inner City Bypass, whereupon our friend goes straight across into the outside “fast” lane and promptly slows to 20, yes twenty, kilometres under the speed limit.

“No, they are not waving hello”, I suggest, and those flashing lights from people behind you are from drivers most unlikely to be aware that you are still on full beam. I pull my beanie down to my chin.

Finally, we arrive. He seems genuinely surprised that I am keen to get into the terminal as quickly as possible and even more shocked to discover that he is not the recipient of a large gratuity. I hear the phone go again. Best I move on quickly.

KBG

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[SmokinLightning]

Congrats Ken... Youve turned bitching and complaining into an art.

I could read this crap all day, keep em comin!

KC

[First Lady]

I think Ken is going into competion with you Rob against the President Ken series (Which I miss so much)

If he decides to do a real writing gig maybe comic written will be a better idea

[Freefallguy]

'nuff said.

[aavkk]

Seriously Ken, you've carved out a nice little niche. Keep it coming.

[Rehman]

This is great! Rarely do we get to know the mindset and psychological profile of a wine critic prior to his review. I hope the Barossa makes up for the pain, otherwise this ain't about wine but whine.

[CBL]

Ah the diary of an angry old white man, this can keep me entertained all day!

Your story reminded me of a cab driver I had in Cuba on the way to the airport. I really didn't think I'd make it onto the plane alive as the driver literally dose off a couple of times during the relatively short, but seemingly long trip. Thank god the rough and bumpy Havana roads shook him awake just in time each time.