The Mis-Adventures of Orophin and Rumil: Better Out than In

Rumil flicked through the local paper.  He looked at the notices; lost and found, articles wanted, hatches, matches and dispatches.  "Happy eightieth birthday Grandma Bowles, from all your great-grandchildren."  Rumil read aloud.  Humans...he pondered.  Celebrating eighty years.  He had celebrated his five-and-a-half begetting day not that long ago, but he hadn't made a fuss!  No-one else had for that matter.  He looked over the paper at Orophin.  "I'm bored.  Really, really bored.  Our lives have become humdrum."  Orophin looked at his brother, eyebrows arched.  "Humdrum?  But we're Elves.  We have eternal patience, we're not supposed to be bored or find things humdrum."  Rumil yawned elaborately.  "That may be, but I am bored.  Can you honestly say you're not?"  Orophin shrugged.  "Maybe a little.  Perhaps we need a hobby?"  Rumil spread the paper on the table.  "There's a supplement in here for the college.  Maybe we could do an evening class?"  Rumil suggested.  He scanned the listings of classes.  “We could learn French, pottery, ancient mythology – hah!  We could teach that class.  Oh!  Here’s one!  Wine tasting.  What do you think, Orophin?”  “Hmmm…wine tasting.  That would combine a new hobby with an existing one.  I do enjoy drinking wine, and it’d be interesting to learn more about what I’m drinking.  Okay, Rumil.  Sign us up.”

“Good evening.  My name is Agatha Turnberry and I’ll be your tutor this term.”  A stern looking woman in a tweed skirt, emerald blouse and a pair of spectacles on a chain addressed the class.  There were twelve people altogether and they sat two to a desk.  “You’ll do most of your work in pairs, but of course your homework should be done alone.  We’ll taste two wines each class and by the end of this term you will be able to fluently communicate your thoughts, feelings and impressions of fourteen wines.  For those of you who are bad at maths, that means we have seven classes of tastings and our eighth class will be something very special indeed.”  Agatha gave a shrill laugh.  No-one joined in.  She continued.  “You have in front of you two cards, one for each wine.  Tonight we will be tasting Hardy’s Nottage Hill Chardonnay, an Australian wine and Stowell’s Tempranillo, a Spanish one.  Could one person from each desk come up here and get the bottles, glasses and a bowl.”  Rumil was first at her desk, looking eager. 

When everyone in the class had opened their bottles, Agatha instructed them to pour a little of the first wine into their glasses.  Rumil and Orophin filled theirs.  “First of all, I’d like you to smell the wine.  Savour the aroma.  Breathe out then in, very deeply and allow the scent to fill your nostrils.”  Rumil sniffed a little too hard and spluttered when some of his wine went up his nose.  “I know what wine smells like!  When do we get to drink it?”  Orophin whispered.  “Now, you should notice the aroma of lemon, lightly interlaced with melon and just a smattering of pineapple.”  Rumil and Orophin raised their eyebrows at each other.  “Next you should take a delicate sip and swirl the wine around your mouth whilst breathing deeply through your nose.  Allow the flavour to permeate your palate and tingle your taste buds.”  She gave another shrill laugh.  Rumil and Orophin had already taken big slugs of their wine and swallowed.  They each took another mouthful and gargled.  “No, no gentlemen.  Don’t gargle, swirl!  Class, you’ll notice that this wine not only smells like citrus fruit, but its most dominant flavour is of the same ilk.  It has a touch of sweetness and is quite creamy.  This is because it contains more lactic acid than some other wines.”  Orophin filled his and Rumil’s glass again – they had finished off their first ones savouring the flavour.  “Cleanse your palates and we’ll move onto the next wine.”  The brothers cleansed their palates by finishing the bottle.

Orophin and Rumil clung to each other for support.  They were walking home after their class.  They giggled, drunkenly.  “I mean – what the hell is tannin?”  Orophin sniggered.  “Don’t you know, brother?  They make the wine soft.”  “Hah-hah!  Soft wine?  Wine is wet!”  Rumil chuckled.  “I know.  But didn’t you think that last one was sort of spicy and jammy and tasted like blackcurrants?”  Orophin shook his head.  “No, I felt its most dominant feature was the aroma of strawberries on a lovely summer’s afternoon.”  Orophin did a fairly passable impression of Agatha’s shrill laughter.  “Ah, here we are.  You first, Rumil.”  Orophin shoved Rumil up the stairs.  They were still giggling when they reached the top.  “You’re home early.”  Haldir commented, watching his brothers try to walk through the living room doorway side-by-side.  “Class ended early.”  Orophin shrugged.  “They ran out of wine.”  Rumil giggled.  Haldir eyeballed his brothers.  “Really?”  Rumil and Orophin nodded, and then collapsed onto the sofa.  Orophin plopped his feet onto the coffee table.  “Yeah, turns out we’re not supposed to drink the whole bottle.”  Rumil nodded in agreement.  “We’re supposed to spit, not swallow.”  The brothers looked at each other and then creased up with laughter.  Haldir shook his head and went back to ironing his clothes.  “Will you be going back next week?”  Rumil and Orophin blushed.  “Probably not.”  “Why?”  Orophin muttered, “We were asked not to return.  We may have disgraced ourselves.”  Haldir tutted.  “Now why does that not surprise me?”

The end