I left before the end and made for the bar. Though I might not have bothered. I asked the barman what fine red wine he'd got in store, whereupon he angled at me the label of a single bottle. The label actually stated "Red Wine". No information about grape, country of origin etc. Astonished, I asked to see the White Wine list. Another bottle, labeled "White Wine" was gamely presented under my perplexed beak. That's it I though, we're in Viz country, where all the cigarettes will be labeled Fags. Is this how they live in the Midlands? Is it the local tribal way of uncomplicating life? Anyway I bought a glass of the "red". I don't know what it was but you wouldn't even gargle with the stuff. I had to go and find a an off-license and smuggle in a decent bottle of Claret.
Everywhere I looked my CW teacher was going ha-hah he-heh with his hideous cronies. Never once introduced me to any of them, the bastard. Though I did get to meet Conrad Williams, Tim Lebbon and the charming Sara Pinborough (whom I thought twinkled at me), all published writers and a damned sight better than that buffoon who purports to teach me the art of scribbling. At least they had the courtesy to ask me what I was working on, which is more than he ever does. I got a bit worried when one of them said it sounds rather like something they'd already heard. I went pale when my CW teacher's name was mentioned, and then they all went quiet. I hope he hasn't stolen my novel so that he can pass it off as his own. I certainly wouldn't put it past him, the uncivilised brute. I need to look into this.