If I could change one thing about myself it would be the ability to know when it’s time to shut up. I have a terrible tendency to get far too involved in silly debates; pushing forth my case as though my life depended on it. I wish I wasn’t like that. It’s not the way to make new friends.

Take yesterday as an example. I’d been invited to taste some of the Bichot Burgundy wines over lunch at The French Horn in Sonning. M. Alberic Bichot himself was there, along with a select group of British wine trade folk.

The lunch started exceedingly well; primarily because it began with a tasting of Bichot’s Domaine du Pavillon, Meursault 1er Cru Les Charmes (2007), which has just won a top prize at the Decanter Wine Awards. For once I found myself in agreement with the judges. It was blindingly good. And, it is at this point that I’d normally try and give you some sort of suggestion as to its taste and what it’s like to drink it. Except I can’t because the whole debate about how us wine professionals communicate about wine kicked off again and – not for the first time – I got stuck right in.

The reason I get so wound up about all of this is that I don’t believe the wine trade hasmanaged to capture the sort of plain-talking, fun approach that has served so many other sectors so well. Why is it that even though I know nothing about cars, I can happily talk – albeit vaguely – about Aston Martins, BMWs and the like for a few minutes. I don’t worry about putting my foot in it or back track when someone I meet says they work in the motor trade. I’m happy to say what I don’t know, share a little of what I do and generally conclude the conversation feeling no less stupid than I did at the start.

Not so when it comes to wine. People like me that work in the trade spend hours talking about stuff like terroir, balance, aftertaste, structure, temperature-controlled fermentation and battonage. A trade-specific vocabulary isn’t where the fault lies; what is unhelpful is when we persist in using it, even when it means nothing to a wider audience.

Have you ever seen those ‘super cars’ they have in airports where you have the chance to win it if you buy one of the limited numbers of tickets that they throw into the draw at the end of the month? I can’t remember what they charge but I know it’s not cheap. £50 maybe? Whatever, I read that it’s a fantastically successful business model because people dream about owning these cars. Those people that talk about them have made them desirable, exciting and – perhaps most importantly of all – OK to own one. It doesn’t matter if you don’t understand how the engine works – as long as you can drive it safely and you get a kick out of doing so, that’s all that matters. Do I think that if someone tried to do the same with premium Burgundy or Italian wines, it would work? I doubt it because the bulk of people are more intimidated by these wines than they are excited by them.

Sadly, many people think these wines would be ‘wasted’ on them. What a terrible pity that is. What really made me smile during our lunchtime debate was watching our friend, M. Bichot. He ate; he drank, smiled contentedly and made polite conversation.

When I finally paused for breath he leaned over and said, “You know, wine is for pleasure . . . whatever we may say; it’s all about how it makes you feel. I just want to enjoy it”.

So, for what it’s worth, the Meursault made me feel good – very good. As a driver I was spitting not swallowing and it was a wine that made me mourn the lack of a decent public transport system in this country . . . but I’m not going to get started on that!

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