Whine and Cheese Anyone?

So what is there to do on the hottest day of the year when you have seven days to go before moving house, 11 days before guests arrive from England, and 14 days to go before a party for heaven knows how many people? Volunteer!

Unfortunately when you rely on this kind of help, you don't always get the best person for the job. So here I am, pouring tasters at the first annual Wine and Cheese Expo, designed to raise awareness and funds for the Naperville Cultural Centre.

What I know about wine could be written on the surface of a cork. It's red or white, sweet or dry. That's all you need to know. Technically it isn't even dry, it's wet, but you know how pretentious the wine industry can be.

"You are going to be the wine pourer," said Michelle, NCC founder and event organiser handing me an apron. "All the information you need is written on these sheets, just read it and answer any questions people may have."

So I man my station and look at the sheets. Is she nuts? The event starts in five minutes and there's are individual sheets on about 11 bottles of wine.

I line them up so I can read the label on the back of the bottle. I can crib this. I'll just read to the guests as they file by. They'll never know.

Ok, so I guess I should start by opening the bottles and fitting one of these measuring things. Gosh it's hot in here. And that's with air conditioning.

I'll just put the corkscrew in here and twist. This is a job I normally leave to Ross or Robin, who actually studied this stuff at university. Of course he did technically fail the wine course part, but I guess he takes after his mother on that.

I can see why I usually leave it to someone else. This is really hard. Rats. Now half the corkscrew has come off. Don't panic. Um. Perhaps I could just smash the top of the bottle? No perhaps not..

Oh, I know. Where's my cell phone?

"Hey Ross, get over here NOW," I breathe into the phone so Michelle, who is right next to me, shouldn't hear. She seems to be simultanously filling buckets with ice, handing over a variety of drinks while telling everyone all about the cultural centre. Gosh can she multi-task. I can't even open a bottle of wine.

Ross comes shooting out of the kitchen with a plate of sweaty cheese in his hands.

"What's the matter?"

"I've got the cork stuck. Stupid thing. Can't I do food and you do the wine?"

"Oh no, I'm doing this. Look, I'll get the cork out, but I'm needed in the kitchen."

Yeah right, I can hear those hand made chocolates calling him.

Ok. The bottles are open. The pourers attached. Oh, here comes a customer. I can do this.

"I hope you don't mind, but I have to ask for ID," I ask a 43-year-old woman. She giggles gleefully.

"Really?" she chirps, rummaging for her Illinois driving licence. I look at it jealously. I need to get one of those. I wonder if I could clone it under the counter?

"I haven't had to do this for years. It takes me back to my college days."

"It gets worse," I tell her. "I have to stamp your hand too."

Luckily she seems to like the golden rose on the back of her hand. Unfortunately more than the wine because she doesn't order any.

Oh good, a little lull. I might dry one of these myself. Ugh. Too dry. How can people drink this stuff?

I serve a few more guests before trying another. A little better. But not sure how it compares to the first. To improve my knowledge, for the sake of the Expo, you understand, I go back to the previous one. I have always preferred to learn things practically.

"You may detect a hint of pineapple in thish one. I couldn't myselsh, but itsh shays sho here," I helpfully point out the information on the back of the bottle to the next customer, before laughing hysterically. Can't remember why.

I now have the bottles lined up in order, from too sweet to too dry.

"Theesh is our most popular wine," I pour out a slug for an oriental gentleman.

"And what would you recommend for the lady?" he asks, indicating his wife.

"The lady?" I exclaim."How sexshist! Ladiesh can drink whatever they like."

I pour out six measures into one cup just to show him. His wife looks like she's going to faint.

"Thesh ish a fruity little shardonnel. That's the American cousin of Chardonney. SHAR-DON-NAY- esh, thatsh how you pronounce it. I should know, "I slur. "I'm an English teasher."

Thinking back I'm not sure about the logic of that, but it sounded highly professional at the time.