Bordeaux 2016 Primeurs: St Emilion Premier Grand Cru Classé
I think I was probably nine or ten years old when I went to see Paul Daniels in – if memory serves me correctly, and there is certainly no guarantee of that – a Blackpool theatre. I am not sure if Daniels ever really achieved “international fame” as is claimed on his Wikipedia page, so in case the name is not immediately familiar to all readers Daniels, who passed away in 2016, was a popular magician and television presenter. He was a regular fixture on British TV screens during the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s, presenting a variety of magic tricks peppered with instantly recognisable catchphrases.
My late grandfather was a huge fan of Daniels. Aged nine, I interpreted this as being representative of a deep and serious interest in the art of magic as entertainment. Now, more than three (closer to four in fact) decades later, and perhaps slightly more worldly wise, I suspect it had much more to do with his glamorous and scantily clad assistant, who was I am sure rather easy on the septuagenarian eye. Whatever the reason, one drizzly summer in Northern England I found myself seated in the front row of the circle in the Grand Theatre Blackpool, alongside my parents and grandparents, three generations of one family, all ready to be swept up in a mysterious and magical extravaganza. Or possibly just to ogle the female figure. Well, I guess we were all getting something out of it.
Many years have since passed, and today I have only one memory from the show that has resisted the degrading effect of time. I recall the magician ‘disappeared’, probably behind a curtain (isn’t that always the way?), only for him then to later reappear from a box which was lowered from the heights above the stage, having been suspended within view throughout the act. We were, of course, supposed to be amazed and astounded. But even the innocent nine-year old me could see that the box had been first lowered onto a clearly visible trap door in the floor of stage, which made it pretty plain how the illusion was achieved. And yet there were gasps of admiration all round. Could nobody else could see the trap door? Or, did they simply choose not to see it? Whatever the reason, I immediately concluded (with the certainty of a child working on minimal evidence) that all magic acts were a sham, and I resolved never to waste my time watching one again.
I kept that promise to myself for nearly forty years. Until the 2016 primeurs.
