The people can be equally rare breeds. Intrigued by their mossy velvet cloaks, I approached a pair of men who were standing near the booth of Jacques Amand, a plant and bulb specialist from Stanmore, Middlesex.
“We are members of the Brotherhood of the Golden Sabre,” one of them, a man with glasses, said.
“Le Confrérie du Sabre d’Or,” the other, a man with a mustache, added. “We are dedicated to promoting the consumption of Champagne through the art of sabrage.”
Sabrage, I was to learn, is the act of cutting of the collar of a bottle of Champagne with a sword.
“This is my breakfast one, as opposed to my lunch one,” the mustached man said, indicating a flute of 2006 Philippe Bruno.
“He sabrages every day,” his friend said. “He’s as regular as the gun at Hong Kong.”
That afternoon, they were planning to decapitate a Methuselah: “We suggest you turn the sabre round to the blunt side, because it’s got a little more wally behind it.”” —
so basically, April Bloomfield and I are the same person.
If I haven’t pre-gamed:
If I have:
“If something’s freaking you out, what do you do to not freak out about it?”
“Is this about that Arachnophobia movie, again? I told you, a spider that large couldn’t sustain itself in an urban environment. The ecosystem is too delicate. Not fucking plausible.”” —via.