After a gruelling weekend, I am so tired I simply don’t have the energy to write a witty, amusing, or even anything other than perfunctory review.  However, I wanted to say something, because I enjoyed it.

The exterior reminds me more of Southport than Sloane Square.  Twee and much smaller than I imagined, especially on the inside.  FO is no TARDIS.  But, it has Gordon Ramsay as an owner, so I figured the soccer connection was appropriate.

Soup of Leek with wild garlic and (one) “oysters” would have been equally glorious without the bivalve.  My choice of a 1996 Gran Reserva Rioja at £58 was a good bed partner for both the starter and my main, Sirloin of Beef with “the usual” sides, which turned out to be broccoli, cauliflower and unfeasibly crispy and yet fluffy roast potatoes.  Mumbles has the wine at £18.49 which implies a mark-up of almost bang on the London average of ~200%.

In summary, Foxtrot Oscar is a local’s local place.  Very friendly and homely, but with West End standard service and pretty decent cooking.  The wine list is not massive but well chosen and much better priced than, say, Boxwood Café, a now demised rendition of Gordon’s empire that I visited once.  Mind you, the bogs are nowhere near the class of that Knightsbridge establishment.  I had to wait about 20 minutes for a piss, whilst a yummy mummy changed her baby (there is, apparently, insufficient room in the Ladies).

For once I won the “guess the bill” bet with Mrs Wino (but still had to pay anyway).  At £148 including 12.5% service, my estimate was only 82p out.  But then again, I drank a cocktail, a sixty quid bottle of wine, a classy Armagnac, and a doppio macchiato of Italian origin.  Pretty good value for Chelsea, and excellent value for London.

I can only assume that the place was so quiet because the local team (likely to come second or even third in the Premiership, on account of a stale draw with the home of Brown Ale) was playing while we were eating.  If not, then maybe FO will go the same way as BC?  That would be a shame.

And, for the record, I thought the Stoke fans were brilliant both during the match and in defeat.  Very noble, very supportive, very loyal.  I am sure they want me to Foxtrot Oscar but I hope they continue to thrive in the Premiership.

Foxtrot Oscar
79 Royal Hospital Road
Chelsea
London SW3 4HN
T: 020 7352 4448
W: www.gordonramsay.com/foxtrotoscar

But for 3 key suspensions, England might well have put up a fight, but what do I know?  I don’t have Sky Sports in the flat so I have had to suffer Wimbledon instead where sulky Scot/plucky Brit (depending if he loses/if he wins), Andy Murray, was on terrestrial TV playing in the latest night ever finish at Wimbledon (no football connection there – not any more anyway) against Stanislas Wawrinka, the more than plucky Swiss.

Bellingham “The Bernard Series” Old Vine Chenin Blanc 2007 is pretty plucky.  I thought Chenin Blanc tipped a wink to Blandshire, on average.  But this far from average example has more spunk than Murray, more intensity than Pearce and more grunt than Michelle Larcher de Brito.

Imagine peaches and cream but with some grapefruit slices added.  Not quite right but still quite nice.  A bit like a pig on a tennis court.

In a good night for Britain, Murray won in the 5th set.  Just about offset England’s hammering by the old foe/In a bad night for Scotland, Murray lost in the 5th set.  I think England did as well as can be expected against a well drilled, fit and fully available Teutonic plague.

For the record, Murray won – HOORAH!  I am not the world’s biggest tennis fan but what a tip top thoroughly enjoyable match.  I might follow the rest of Wimbledon now.

As for Chenin Blanc – next time you visit Majestic, expect the unexpected, the bizarre, the bold, the brave, the ever so slightly bonkers.

I never supported the appointment of Mark Hughes.  However, I have held my tongue whilst others have defended him.  Apologists are fine, but with the budget he has, I think the fans deserve more.

I do feel sorry for Mark.  He is genuine and hard working.  He is a capable of turning average players into good players.  He is capable of turning a team of misfits into a team that battles agin the odds.  But can he manage a team of expensive galacticos?  Experience so far says no.  I am not referring to City’s poor results.  Tactically he is average.  As a motivator he has only one tool in the kitbag – fear.  You can drop a hand grenade in every now and again, that is a valid management tool.  Drop in too many though, and eventually the ground is levelled and there is no team left.

City look like a team bereft of confidence.  A team that don’t know each other and don’t even like each other.  A team of overpaid misfits who are scared for their future.  Will anyone start listening to those of us who will not apologise for Mr Hughes?  Send him back to Blackburn where he will be welcomed.  He will be fondly remembered.  He will lift them back to mid table over-achievement and possibly even better.  A statue will be erected.

Man City needs a better manager and can afford one - Sven again?  Martin O’Neill (my personal favourite)?  Arsène Wenger, allegedly pissed off at the Arshavin transfer, according to an inside source of mine?  Capello, when England sack him after losing the next game?

Going to Aalborg with a 2-0 lead and with 10 minutes to go, should have been a walk in the park.  Man City turned it into a death defying tightrope walk and we so nearly fell into the abyss.

I continue to support Man City (til I die, and beyond) and I will continue to back whichever manager is charge whilst at a match.  However, Mark Hughes’ grim facial expression at full time on the TV tonight says it all.  He knows that the UEFA cup is his last chance.

The Sunday Times for example alerts Hughes to the fact he is “skating on thin ice”.  The latest defeat at home by an injury depleted Everton squad has once again placed the media spotlight on him.  After all, a mentally anguished Roy Keane recently fell on his sword at Sunderland because they were languishing in the under-achieving position of bottom quarter of the table – equal on points with Man City.

It gives me only bitterness to gloat that I thought Hughes the wrong choice way back in June (before he had even been appointed).  But like all good Man City fans, I keep sailing the dinghy of naive optimism through the rough and tough waters of the Premiership perfect storm of despair.  One has to make the best of now, look to the future, place the past in perspective, believe that tomorrow will be another day (if it ever comes).  However, silver linings are increasingly less related to football, and more to do with other facets of my life.  My latest glint of sunlight peeped from behind the clouds of the top end of my wine collection, ironically squirrelled away at the bottom of my wine store.

The Charmes-Chambertin came from the Wine Society at an obscure price due to bundling a few Rousseaux together into a Burgundy Dividend offering, but I am advised the retail price (if you can find the wine at all) is about GBP50 – that’s nearly EUR50, or USD25 at current exchange rates, so it is held under lock and key in the Wino household.

Armand Rousseau is one the classiest and sought after domaines in Burgundy.  This 1998 Grand Cru Charmes-Chambertin has a classic barnyard aroma although perhaps a few violets have started growing out of the chicken run.  To me it tasted of strawberries, blueberry muffin, smoky dark brown sugar and vanilla custard.  Super fab, but not quite as good as the 1996 I tried a few months ago.  There is a bit of zing but altogether much smoother than a typical NZ Pinot.

A lovely wine but is it worth three times the price of its Antipodean counterpart, though?  I am not sure.

This is one of the problems with sacking Mark Hughes.  Who knows if the next man will do any better, and if the money it would cost could be better invested in players.  It is ironic that Mark Hughes made his name in management through disciplinarian battling with limited resources, and sheer determination.  Maybe he has put Man City in the position where that is the only way out of our current crisis, and that makes him the ideal person for the job.  But I can’t help wondering if Sven’s style of management might have got more out of our prima donna players, especially the Brazilians who are renowned for preferring hot South American summers to bleak and freezing English winters.

Then again, it would befit Manchester City’s chequered history to be the richest club ever to get relegated and that could be a source of new found pride amongst the fantastically well-humoured, albeit long suffering, city fans.

Heading south, out of the City Centre through the Metropolitan University campus brought us quickly to Maine Road, Moss Side.  Strange sight.  Why is there so much sky?  As boy and man I’ve seen this view so many times and yet there was always a football stadium as a backdrop.  Memories of the smell of Westler’s hot dogs; the slight adrenalin rush running the gauntlet of away fans, on the way from the Social Club past the North Stand; the mere £2.40 for a ticket to stand on the Kippax on a freezing Saturday afternoon.

Everything has changed!  Hot dogs have been replaced by chicken balti pies; away fans are cordoned off; two tickets for the match (hardly ever on a Saturday) retail at £75 and global warming has put paid to freezing one’s proverbials.  Nobody wears a scarf any more!

Another change may not have escaped your notice.  Man City relocated to Eastlands, the City of Manchester Stadium, built for the 2002 Commonwealth Games and then completed as our new home the year after.  I don’t think anyone would deny that the new stadium is impressive and a fantastic place to watch football.  But every now and again, we all appreciate a bit of nostalgia.

The interior designers of Saints and Scholars clearly agree – the place is full of bric-a-brac.  An eclectic mix of old bakelite radios, Spanish guitars, antique ice skates and mirrored balls hung around like dormant bats, lurking and watching menacingly as we ate.

Didsbury village is a nice old place.  The Royal Oak was my original lunch target.  Another 1980s memory of a huge cheese counter (a couple of token patés were available for southerners) made for the best ploughman’s lunch this side of Lincolnshire.  Sadly this had been turned into a modern pub and a fromage free zone.

Enjoying a quick couple of pints around the village worked up enough appetite to find a new dining option.

Ordering a glass of (house) Merlot revealed that Saints and Scholars is not a wine place.  A very acidic wine with no tannins or much fruit to speak of.  “Raspberry vinegar” appeared on my notepad.

The food was better to be fair.  More diner than fine dining, we tried a mixed platter of chicken wings, ribs, fried potato skins with chile and cheese.  The wider menu seemed incoherent and influenced from disparate parts of the globe.  I spotted dishes from Greece, France, Italy, Nepal and Morocco.  The American influenced platter was probably a wise choice.

Leaving Didsbury on the bus back to town, I felt like Tom Hanks in Big.  Time to grow up, shake off those old nostalgic memories and get back to real life – shame.

Saints and Scholars is worth a visit for a drink, light snack or easy meal in a slightly weird but sort of funky atmosphere.

Saints and Scholars, 694 Wilmslow Road, Didsbury, Manchester. M20 2DN, T: 0161 448 2457

Now, the rumour mill has turned up Mark Hughes as the top candidate.  At this point I have to stand up for Sven.  He had a horrific end to the season, results-wise, but he still ended up 9th in his first season in charge of an otherwise relegated club.  The Premiership “superstar” in charge of Blackburn Rovers finished an astonishing 3 points and two places higher, after several years in charge of his club.  In what sense does that promise a better performance next year?  I have two resolutions if Mark Hughes is appointed

1.  I will only attend the first home game of the season next year and I vow to sing “Sven-Göran Eriksson” for as long and as loud as my voice will stand.

2.  I will not be deflected from my world tour of Pinot Noirs.  Meet Zarcillo.

Although visibly agitated by the disgraceful way Thaksin “Frank” Shinawatra “Sinatra” has treated Sven, and by proxy, the fans of our long suffering club, this nice little Chilean number made me smile.

Mushroom meringue, strawberry jam and baked Alaska is an odd but appealing mix.  I didn’t look at the year when I opened it and guessed 2005, two years older than reality.  I recommend chilling it quite cool, maybe like a Beaujolais and serving it with a barbecue.  One of my favourites so far on my world tour of Pinot Noirs.

Will Sven end up in charge of Mexico on his world tours of collecting cash…er I mean managing football teams?  Will the red cheeked, ex red scum Mark Hughes end up in charge of Man City?  Pleeeeeeease Noooooooo!

I don’t object to “Frank” sacking Sven, but the manner in which it was done is an abject lesson in how not to manage a company.  For a second summer we are left leaderless, no manager, no certainty of funds (can Thaksin get his assets out of Thailand?), no commitment from the players, other clubs trying to plunder our key assets.  If ever there was a time for a year of consolidation eh?

I am not Sven’s greatest fan by any means, but I think most genuine football fans acknowledge that he has been one of the most successful club managers of all time, and deserved better treatment.  You may not be aware that he is a massive wine enthusiast and I hereby offer to share my remaining bottle of Zarcillo with him, if he gives me a call.  Otherwise, he could simply relieve himself of a tiny percentage of his payoff by calling the Wine Society, and ordering a bottle at only £5.50 – astonishing value!  Appoint Zarcillo as the next City Manager, I say.

On the 75th anniversary of the first World Cup, and who knows, possibly on the site of one of the stadia, some bloke in Uruguay was mixing 6 Tannat grapes for every 4 Merlot and giving birth to Ci Platino.  This wine made its journey all the way to my rack via a Tesco shopping spree and the departure of £8.19 from my ever lighter-weight wallet.

The wine was smoother than I expected but still rough edged enough to remind me of a cheap French Syrah, or even a freaky Pinot Noir from Eastern Europe.  It was certainly interesting, though, with flavours including radishes, cloved York ham, dark fruits and Indian spices.

I would definitely drink it again but it’s possibly a little costly compared to many other great red wines from South America.

Thai on the Square had an entrance that would have looked only average for a Soho massage parlour.  Fortunately the dining room was a beautiful tightrope walk between traditional Thai and modern English.  I think it struck the perfect balance.  We were shown to a discreet table next to a window and left to eat our “free” prawn crackers with Thai sweet chilli dipping sauce.  I ordered the most interesting wine on the menu, albeit the cheapest by a country mile.  Monsoon Valley, one might have expected to be wet, but in fact was a bone dry wine made from Malaga Blanc grapes from the Chaophraya delta “floating vineyards”.  It smelt of rotting grass (but only faintly).  The taste was of lemongrass, watermelon, grapefruit and green tea - fab value at £10.60 ($20).

The food was astonishingly good.  Thai cooking is (apparently) very healthy and certainly includes some of the best vegetable topiary I have ever seen.  In fairness, when did you last see a fat Thai person?  The squid and prawn in garlic Thai style was accompanied by the most hot, piquant and gorgeous sweet chilli sauce.  My main course of Seabass in tamarind sauce was perfectly cooked and boned in a butterfly style.

The total bill was only £49 including wine (but not including service).  The best value meal I have eaten in ages.  Just take the bus to get there to save a parking headache.

THAI on the Square, 3 Cross Square, Wakefield, West Yorkshire.  WF1 1PQ.  T:  01924 298555.  W:  www.thaionthesquare.co.uk

The Carpallo came from a Sunday Times Wine Club crisp refreshing whites case (£60).  The £5 it cost to buy this wine doesn’t even cover the pay cheque Sr. Capello gets every time he takes a dump between training sessions.  In this respect, the wine is much better value.  And the taste is far better than my jokes - lime dressing on a salad of radicchio, apples, melon, and rocket.

I like it.  It is a blend of Airen, Sauvignon Blanc, Macabeo and Viognier grapes and hails from La Mancha.  Whilst Fabio Capello hails from Italy rather than Spain, it has to be said that anyone who takes on English Football’s most impossible job, must have something of a Don Quixote mindset.

Whether England beat France on Wednesday is immaterial, of course.  If Sr. Capello wins the 2010 World Cup he will be a hero.  Maybe he will speak English by then?  It still shows how inept the FA is for failing to find (they have had plenty of years to groom a candidate but chose to spend their time on Steve McClaren) an Englishman capable of managing the national football team.

I think I’ll stick to enjoying wine – football is way too complex and frustrating…..for some reason.

This afternoon I took my 10 year old god-daughter to see Man City.  The look of delight on her face when City beat Spurs 2-1 was matched only by my relief at the end of an awful run of games that had put us on a snake track slithering down the league table.

Kellie came over from Dublin for the weekend with her sisters, Rebecca and Chloe – all gorgeous girls, well behaved, entertaining, polite, model children.  Kellie is obviously my favourite and she is the footie fan, tomboy, fitness fanatic, make-up-rejecting bundle of energy.

And now they have all gone and I am alone in the flat.  It’s strange how lonely you can feel when sudden mayhem is suddenly replaced by a sudden quantum of solace.

So to cheer me up, apart from consoling myself that City are back on the ladder of success, I have dragged out my notes from a bottle of Shampoo I sampled last weekend.

The Sunday Times Wine Club had a dubious looking offer of three bottles of Champagne for £45.  You can imagine the sort of ropey sparkling wine you could get stiffed with by accepting such an offer.  I thought I came out if it rather well, with a bottle of Pol Roger, this René Jardin rosé, and another bottle I can’t remember and will look up when I get back home.

So let me say that rosé is not my favourite champagne.  After all the tinge of rouge is reminiscent of Trafford Wanderers who play at The Swamp.  And like Fergie, this wine was a little insipid.  Strawberries & cream and a touch of cassis.  A bit like a Kir Royale served to the prawn sandwich brigade.

And like the atmosphere at Old Trafford it did not inspire my team.  Nicely shaped bubbles but lank wine.  Left me feeling a bit flat, like seeing United beat City.  Fortunately Man City are the only club to take 6 points from wine expert, Alex Ferguson, this season.  He must be feeling as sick as a parrot.  But not as sick as if he had drunk a couple of bottles of René Jardin rosé…..or just said goodbye to Kellie.