THERE is trouble afoot. Slipping in under the radar which protects everything I hold sacred is a clandestine movement of heretics, haphazardly dashing about in dodgy anoraks proclaiming a new dawn, a new way of life, a changing of the guard.

These mad men and women will attempt to confuse and beguile you with stories of “tradition”, “patriotism” and other nonsense which has no place at a respectable dinner table. I am referring to the ale-fuddled lunatics who champion the outrageous notion of drinking and matching beer with fine food.

Now, I'm all for a cold bottle of pilsner with a barbecued burger or a good swallow of pale ale with a blinding curry on Renshaw Street, but if any of you fiends care to serve me a pint of Old Tosh with my roasted pigeon and foie gras there will be trouble, the likes of which hasn't been seen since old Genghis Khan fancied taking the lads on holiday.

I recently tried to wade through a six- course dinner accompanied by a selection of Belgian bellywash and it simply doesn't work. There's a reason why the Trappist monks who brew a lot of this “fighting water” have taken a vow of silence – two bottles taken with breakfast have left them all incapable of speech and probably ready for a kip.

There are several fine pubs in our fair city that can offer us a smart selection of British real ale; some of them will even knock you out a pie to sit alongside it, and a fine partnership they'll make. But keep the firkins where they belong and we'll all get along fine.

Moving on to more pleasant matters, your roving reporter has been clocking up some serious wine miles in my ongoing search for swanky bottles to impress your friends with. I spent three days in sunny Champagne, skipping around estates, tasting some fizzy gear and telling Frenchmen exactly what I thought of them and their wine – can you think of a finer way to spend a weekend?

If you haven't planned your holiday or, like myself, can persuade an employer that the future of his business depends on it, get over to Champers and take an extra suitcase. The winemakers are more than happy to show you around and can flog you some amazing bubbles for under a tenner – stay away from the brands you've heard of and get your freak on with the little fellas.

My next adventure involved boarding a narrow boat and walloping along our canal system with a few reprobates from my sordid past. We cracked open a nice bottle of Champagne Loriot – not yet available over here, folks, watch this space – and meandered down the waterways in search of madness. Be warned, once one gets into the provinces, decent wine is as rare as stylish landlords. Make sure your galleon is well stocked before setting sail into the harsh wilderness of Greater Manchester.

My final trip was to Brussels. Lots of mussels, lots of grapple fuel, lots of chocolate – not a lot of drinkable wine for under 30 quid. Maybe I was unlucky, maybe not, but next year I'm going to California.

Talking of California, there's a new range at Vinea from Eberle Vale, and Oddbins are still listing the Pepperwood Syrah. Give some of this stuff a try – if the only Californian stuff you've tried is the mass produced three for a tenner gear, you'll be pleasantly surprised.

I'll sign off with a quick word about the Liverpool Guild Of Sommeliers. We have our inaugural meeting next week and will be offering tastings and seminars. Send me an email to mattsloane@yahoo.co.uk and I'll keep you posted about forthcoming events.