Oh Balls! (Or how customer service saved the day)

That Gruner won't bite, Pete!

Picture the scene - four old friends, and we've just passed a convivial evening in a restaurant. It's Thursday night, 9.30pm, no-one's ready to go home but at the same time a change of scenery is called for. Oh yes, and we'd like good wine please.

The trouble is, we're in Victoria. A quick look on Google maps reveals only two viable choices: The Ebury  wine bar or a branch of Balls Brothers. The Ebury is ruled out - too far from mainline transport options (yes, we have out-of-towners with us) - so Balls Brothers it is. I'd never visited any of this small chain's bars before, but had an image in my head that they were well established and reputable with a solid wine list and comfortable surroundings.

Seemingly not. We arrived to find a half-deserted bar, with deafening music and disinterested staff. A cursory glance at the wine list revealed a typical selection - typical of about 25 years ago, that is. Half a dozen clarets, Burgundy, Rioja - tick, Chianti - …