The often hair-raising world of me and my motors
Michael Winner - Winner's Dinners
Nestling behind me and Princess in our photo is my 2001 Saab 9-3 Aero Convertible. Its done 4,629 miles in more than five years, many when the chauffeur takes it out for exercise.
We're at the Black Horse in Ireland. Not Ireland, Ireland. Ireland, Bedfordshire. In my desperate hunt for a good English Sunday lunch I ventured into our idyllic countryside to see what the strange people who live out of London eat.
The Saab's a pleasant car. Not too many knobs and gadgets. A smooth ride. I like it. Except for one thing. There are two tiny, and silly, back passenger lights set in the frame. These keep falling out. They're "mended" by Saab. They fall out again. I'm driving along enjoying the fresh air and I hear "clonk-clonk-clonk". Behind me, on the end of a wire, a light is dangling.
This happened on my way back from Bedfordshire. I wrote in considerable angst to Keith Taylor, head of Saab City in east London. He's kind of chief salesman for Saab. Let's just say if I was taking on executives, he certainly wouldn't get a job.
I liked his predecessor. Keith never even answers my letters. I asked him if this was a known fault. His service manager, Patrick O'Mahony, said it wasn't a known fault but he'd heard of it happening before. Figure that out!
After Patrick was shown my irate letter by Keith, he decided to change both the fitting and the light on the driver side. On my next trip the light fell out of its socket on the passenger side! I now hold it in with Plasticine.
The Black Horse is run by dad Jim Campbell (who wasn't there) and son Darren, who was kneeling on the floor taking an order from a customer. He didn't kneel to take my order. He stood. Bloody cheek!
He was dressed in black, very pleasant. The room was pleasant, the pub was pleasant, I was pleasant. Princess was, as ever, phenomenal.
"Tell me about the pork", I said to Darren.
"It's being served from the Davies and Davies farm in Haynes, the neighbouring village", he explained.
"You have crackling with it?" I asked.
Darren said, "Do you want extra crackling?"
"You know I do", I replied.
Princess ordered Canadian black cod served with pancetta. They had fantastic, big pieces of wonderful, warm bread. I dipped it in something which looked like olive oil with pesto.
"I don't normally like pesto", I observed.
"It's not pesto, that's why you like it", said Princess. For once she was wrong. It was pesto. A total miracle, I recognised a food ingredient.
"The bread is made here", said the waitress, adding very loudly, "everything is home-made".
"She obviously thinks I'm completely deaf", I whispered to Princess.
In the excitement I forgot to drink my Pimm's, which was excellent. You couldn't have a better Pimm's.
He was dressed in black, very pleasant. The room was pleasant, the pub was pleasant, I was pleasant. Princess was, as ever, phenomenal.
"Tell me about the pork", I said to Darren.
"It's being served from the Davies and Davies farm in Haynes, the neighbouring village", he explained.
"You have crackling with it?" I asked.
Darren said, "Do you want extra crackling?"
"You know I do", I replied.
Princess ordered Canadian black cod served with pancetta. They had fantastic, big pieces of wonderful, warm bread. I dipped it in something which looked like olive oil with pesto.
"I don't normally like pesto", I observed.
"It's not pesto, that's why you like it", said Princess. For once she was wrong. It was pesto. A total miracle, I recognised a food ingredient.
"The bread is made here", said the waitress, adding very loudly, "everything is home-made".
"She obviously thinks I'm completely deaf", I whispered to Princess.
In the excitement I forgot to drink my Pimm's, which was excellent. You couldn't have a better Pimm's.
"This really is a very good place", I observed.
Princess had French onion soup, which was fine. I've had better in France, but it was definitely good. I had mussels in a sort of sauce. I liked them.
Princess enjoyed her cod. My pork had an enormous amount of crackling with it and stuffing. But the pork didn't taste of much. The roast potatoes were excellent.
Princess observed, "You can tell if they've let them get cold and then re-fried them. These are fresh".
There were enormous amounts of cabbage, beans, mangetout all beautifully cooked.
"For dessert," the waitress announced, "we've got apple crumble served with a choice of cream, ice cream or custard and a poached pear with a blackcurrant sorbet, or chilled rhubarb and Grand Marnier soufflé. The rhubarb is part of the soufflé".
"Give me some crumble now and bring the soufflé when its ready. I'll just have cream because I'm having two desserts", I said. Princess chose the poached pear.
The crumble was superb though I got custard not cream, which I'd ordered. The soufflé was like a cold blancmange.
Princess said, "It's a citrus mousse". I ate it anyway. "Nice", said Princess, trying a bit, "quite fluffy".
When I presented Darren with my American Express card, which doesn't have stick and pin, he put it in a funny little machine and said, "Would you press the green button?" I did. Then he said, "Would you press the red button?"
"This is mechanic's work", I observed.
The bill ex-service was £70.20.
I added £20 because they were all very quick. Outside the chef took our photo. He's called Trace Buggins. Good name, that.
I threatened, "If the photo doesn't come out I'm going to say the pork was dreadful". I didn't have to.
Princess had French onion soup, which was fine. I've had better in France, but it was definitely good. I had mussels in a sort of sauce. I liked them.
Princess enjoyed her cod. My pork had an enormous amount of crackling with it and stuffing. But the pork didn't taste of much. The roast potatoes were excellent.
Princess observed, "You can tell if they've let them get cold and then re-fried them. These are fresh".
There were enormous amounts of cabbage, beans, mangetout all beautifully cooked.
"For dessert," the waitress announced, "we've got apple crumble served with a choice of cream, ice cream or custard and a poached pear with a blackcurrant sorbet, or chilled rhubarb and Grand Marnier soufflé. The rhubarb is part of the soufflé".
"Give me some crumble now and bring the soufflé when its ready. I'll just have cream because I'm having two desserts", I said. Princess chose the poached pear.
The crumble was superb though I got custard not cream, which I'd ordered. The soufflé was like a cold blancmange.
Princess said, "It's a citrus mousse". I ate it anyway. "Nice", said Princess, trying a bit, "quite fluffy".
When I presented Darren with my American Express card, which doesn't have stick and pin, he put it in a funny little machine and said, "Would you press the green button?" I did. Then he said, "Would you press the red button?"
"This is mechanic's work", I observed.
The bill ex-service was £70.20.
I added £20 because they were all very quick. Outside the chef took our photo. He's called Trace Buggins. Good name, that.
I threatened, "If the photo doesn't come out I'm going to say the pork was dreadful". I didn't have to.
Photo above by Trace Buggins: At the Black Horse in Ireland near Shefford, Bedfordshire L to R: Michael Winner, manager Darren Campbell, Paola Lombard and Michael's Saab convertible.
The Sunday Times, 25th June 2006