Evil Diaries: The right wine at breakfast

My brother and his wife stayed with us for the weekend having visited the home of the rear end of a pig with a lisp, Hogarth, as hung at Tate Britain. Thus Saturday morning kicked off with just how much red wine should accompany Saturday morning’s breakfast. I set aside two bottles of Gran Reserva Rioja, reckoning that that would be quite enough. Given my brother’s abstemiousness (he worked for the church for some decades) it was. And his wife, one of nature’s sainted ones, confined herself to undiluted muesli. So all was clear for your correspondent to indulge himself.

Noel Coward opined that it was entirely normal to have champagne at breakfast but I think he missed the point that fried eggs and bacon etc. demand the fruity bite of a sound red. How tastes change over the ages.

Interestingly, my brother pointed out the abject twaddling wokery that accompanies the Tate exhibition. This is an expenditure of state-provided cash to allow liars to strut their stuff.

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For those readers who may have missed Victor Hill’s piece on the Russia Ukraine spat I urge you to turn back and study. It is a pretty dismal state of affairs.

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I shorted Nasdaq on Friday evening on the expectation that punters would now give up on these lunatic valuations. They haven’t yet.

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Finally, last week as I signed off the accounts of a young lady whose trade seems set fair to me, I suggested to her that a long term savings plan could well be in order, quite accepting that it could be forty years before she would draw. Unfortunately at 1% annual management fee the long term gain through tax saved is basically wiped out.