There is an annual phenomenon in the town where I live called The Wine Festival. Tickets go on sale about 4 months before the event, and about 2 hours before they go on sale, they are sold out. Which is a convoluted way of saying that unless you Know Someone, or Are Known by Someone, or Know Something About Someone that Someone Else Ought Not To Know – you don’t get tickets. It’s really that simple.

In case you haven’t been before (because you were out of the country or washing your hair or at your Mother’s Great-Aunt’s Cat’s 100th Birthday Party, and NOT – Heaven Forbid – because you couldn’t get tickets), here are some well-tested pointers.

Always check the Dress Code. Because there always is one. And it is never simple. Bright White With A Touch Of Citrus may sound simple enough. And may even look simple enough. But, take it from one who knows – this seemingly innocuous kind of dress code is not something you want to be tackling 10 minutes before you are due to get into the car.

For a start, it involves Adjectives. If you don’t believe me, get out every bit of white clothing you possess and have a very careful look at it. I can pretty much guarantee that, unless you are a Nurse or a CSI Forensics Person or a Nun or a Choir Boy (in which case the Wine Fest is not for you anyway), the word “Bright” will be a stumbling block. Creamy-white, off-white, grey-white, sort-of-white, used-to-be-white, should-be-white and not-quite-white are there in great abundance. But “Bright” white??

And you need to bear in mind that you are going to a do where roughly 750 people will be vying for about 7.5 porta-loos. You may think you are above such things, but believe me – sometime between the time you arrive (about noon) and the time you leave (about noon the next day) you are going to lower yourself (possibly literally) to avail yourself of these facilities. And when you do – you do not want to be wearing Bright White. You also do not want to be wearing an Indian Wrap Around Sarong-Trouser Thing which has to be unravelled and reravelled and untied and retied and deftly tucked and tweaked back into place. All the while balancing on one foot, avoiding the puddle (which gets bigger, but oddly less noticeable, the more the evening wears on), and clutching desperately onto your wine glass (more about this later, but trust me – you only get one, and It Matters). This is definitely one of those occasions when it does well to check the bottom of your shoe for trailing loo paper (or trailing other things – mercifully exponentially unidentifiable as time goes on) as you leave the facility.

So – back to The Glass. It is very simple: Remember to collect your glass at the door. And keep it with you at all times. It is The Only One You Get. People kill for less. (When you first arrive, you really have no excuse for forgetting what one is supposed to do at a wine festival – i.e. taste wine. This may become a bit hazy the further into the wine tent you proceed – but when you arrive – you’d be well advised to collect your glass).

I know you are not going to take this next bit of advice, but I will proffer it anyway. Before you take another step, locate the big barrel of mineral water, grab a bottle, and keep taking surreptitious slurps from it. Seriously. It helps enormously later when you are putting Your Name on A List. As I said, you will probably not heed me now, but alas – all things are clear in hindsight.

OK – so now you are ready to begin. I think the best bit of advice I can give at this point is this – do not be intimidated! Always remember that, excluding the people from the wineries (poor, genuine, highly qualified folk who really ought not to be exposed to our heathen masses), of the 750 odd people who are there, about 7.5 of them are authentic wine tasters.

The rest of us are most certainly also there for the wine. But not in the Connoisseur Sense. More in the I-Have-Paid-65-Dollars-For-My-Ticket-And-I-Am-Darn-Well-Going-To-Get-My-65-Dollars’-Worth Sense. Not that any of us will admit that, at The Entrance. When our Whites are still Bright and our Citrus is still Zesty. At this point, we are all still using words like Well-Rounded and Full-Bodied in reference to what is in our glass, and not in reference to what is in our fantasies. We are not trailing loo-paper and we are still standing up straight. We have not become mysteriously befuddled with the Later Conundrum which is – Sauvignon What??

The next bit of advice I can give you is this – if you are even vaguely interested in keeping up the appearance of a Serious Taster – head off as directly as possible to the stands whose wine you wish to sample, as soon as you arrive. Look neither right nor left and do NOT make eye contact. Because in this town, where 750 tickets sell out before they are on sale because of Who You Know – you can guarantee that Who You Know will be there. En masse. And if you so much as stop for a single second to talk to One of Them, you are doomed. You will end up tasting what they are tasting. And whatever is in the bottle next to it. And whatever the nice chap with the blue eyes is having, and then tasting something else that someone else is tasting. And then you will get them to taste what you’ve just tasted and…well, basically it all goes rapidly downhill from there.

So – if you are attempting to take this whole thing seriously – I reiterate – get the Real Wine Tasting done in a business-like manner, as quickly as possible. And make a mental, or even a written note (you will look seriously impressive if you rush around with a notepad…7.5 people will be impressed. The rest of us will either not notice, or will wonder where our notepad is and whether we have missed out on a complimentary gift somewhere along the line – $65 ticket and all that.)

And the last bit of advice I will give is this – beware of anyone brandishing A List. If you put your name down on A List, you will be Phoned at a later date, when you are sober and back in your grey-white and sensible shoes. And when the reality of 26 cases of wine that you have ordered (yes – ordered) somehow does not quite match up to the exuberant (if slightly incomprehensible) manner in which you ordered them. And when you are Phoned and you go in (like a rabbit caught in the headlights, terrified to face the reality of The Lists You Put Your Name On), they don’t check their list and say “Oh yes – hullo, Mrs So and So – now you ordered the XYZ Sauvignon What? And the ABC Chenin Blotto – here are your 428 bottles and that will be six thousand dollars, thank you.” (they do say the last bit, but only at the end).
No – they say – “Oh hullo Mrs So and So…sorry we don’t have our list at the moment. Can you remember which wine it was?”
And you say…”Ummmm…sort-of.”
(bearing in mind these are the people who set the Bright White theme – they are not really into sort-of)
And they say, “Oh Dear. Well – can you remember the Name of the Estate?”
And you say…”Errrr…not…exactly.”
And they say, “Well – perhaps you could tell us the type of wine, madam? Was it a Cabernet What?”
And you say…”Aaaah…I think…yes…I know…almost definitely…sort of…that it was a…What??”
And they say (helpfully), “Oh dear. Let me find the list, Mrs So And So”
(I mean – couldn’t they have done that at the start??)
And THEN – they come out, triumphantly, brandishing a bottle of Butiensomethingveryafrikaansandlong Buiten Blanc , and say, knowingly: “Ah…the Buitenwhatsitsomethingexpensive Buiten Blanc! Excellent choice, madam. Here are your 428 bottles and that will be six thousand dollars, thank you.”

And you walk away a bit bewildered. And somehow not sure that you did really get away with that 65 dollars’ worth of wine ticket, after all…