BATTLING ZOMBIES

Essex merchant Vino Vero hopes that a marketing campaign urging consumers not to be “wine zombies” could reap benefits not just for its own business, but independents generally.

The campaign, which was created by an east London advertising agency, features distinctive cartoon artwork by Rob Pybus, whose previous commissions have come from clients including The New York Times, The Guardian, The Wall Street Journal and the Kaiser Chiefs.

Vino Vero owner Jaime Fernández explains the message behind the concept. “A lot of people have spent the last 20 years thinking about the food they’re consuming and how they’re eating, but that hasn’t really translated to what they’re drinking,” he says.

“So it’s really trying to push people towards making a conscious decision about what style of wine they’re buying, and the wider impacts on the environment based on what they’re choosing to buy.

“I think people do subconsciously just grab a few bottles when they shop in the bigger supermarkets without really thinking: what has been done to produce these wines that cost so little to buy?”

There are several versions of the artwork, which Vino Vero has deployed on its website and across its social media. It also hired a van carrying a billboardsized version of one of the designs, which drove around east London before heading for the shop’s heartland in Leigh-on-Sea.

The agency, which is run by Jaime’s brother, came up with the concept some time ago but Jaime and wife Holly – who bought the business in 2020 from founders Sam and Charlie Brown – decided to keep it on ice for a while.

“We thought it might have been a bit too early in our rebrand to push that sort of aesthetic,” Jaime says. “So we held off for a bit. But with the slowingdown of trade in independents over the last few months, we thought it would be a good time to go ahead with it.

“One of our main concerns, and why we left it so long, was that we didn’t know if it would be a bit too much for people. We obviously have some older clients who buy more traditional styles of wine. But the reception has been absolutely amazing.

“We’ve had so many comments in the shop and loads of messages and Instagram posts. So the feedback’s been way better than we’d hoped. I think our initial concerns about it being a bit too much were a little short-sighted.”

Jaime admits to having “no idea” if the project has paid for itself in terms of added sales. But he says: “We’ve had more importers reaching out to us as a result of the marketing campaign. I think it resonates a lot with independents, and other shops have commented on it.

“For us it isn’t all about Vino Vero. It’s more of a call to arms, really, for other independents. From discussions we’ve had with importers and other shops, I think it’s really tough for a lot of people at the moment. So it’s about creating a bit of unity and getting people to choose independents wherever they are.

“If it helps other shops in the north, or wherever else, because people have seen the campaign and realise they need to be shopping locally a bit more and supporting independent shops, then it’ll definitely be worth it.”

Northabout

Vikings are fine. As a wine merchant, it’s the Vinmonopolet that worries me

It’s not every day the shop phone rings and it’s John Pienaar on the line. Yes, that John Pienaar, the newsreader. To be exact it was a producer from a drivetime show Pienaar hosts on Times Radio. “Would you be willing to be interviewed just before six?” she said. “I suppose so,” I replied. “What’s it about?”

I didn’t really need to ask. For days at the start of July, Orkney topped the news agenda across the UK, and was mentioned in reportage from the USA to Australia. For once, our 15 minutes of fame was not due to some stunning new archaeological discovery, but contemporary politics –though history played its part too.

The headlines promised the breakup of Britain:

• ‘Revolutionary’: Orkney independence vote

• Why Orkney decided to ‘join Norway’

• Rishi Sunak says ‘Norway’ to Orkney

Brexit-style breakaway bid

A new word entered the vocabulary of journalists around the world: Orkxit. So what’s all the fuss about? To answer that question, we need to go back more than a thousand years.

Vikings had been visiting our shores for decades and gradually settling here when, in 875, King Harald Fairhair officially claimed Orkney and Shetland as part of Norway. We became their western outpost and stayed that way for nearly six hundred years.

In 1468, Margaret, daughter of King Christian I of Norway, was due to marry

King James III of Scotland. Christian had trouble gathering the money for a dowry, so pledged the isles as an IOU. Four years later, the requisite 210kg of gold never having been paid, Orkney and Shetland were “absorbed” by Scotland. And that’s where we’ve been ever since. Though as the original IOU has never officially been cancelled, some think that we’re really still part of Norway – or would be, if they asked for us back! In fact they did do that, for centuries. Various Norwegian kings and diplomats voyaged back and forth trying to reclaim these islands through negotiation, threats or hard cash. To no avail: Scotland ignored all entreaties.

The final attempt to claim the isles for Scandinavia came in 1667, in the Dutch city of Breda, as part of negotiations to end the Anglo-Dutch war. The English ambassador refused to countenance the idea, and his opposite number caved in, though he did insist on having it recorded that the Scandinavian claim should “remain whole and entire until a more favourable occasion”.

What happened in the first week of July this year was that Orkney Islands Council, frustrated by a lack of recognition and support from both Edinburgh and London governments, passed a motion to “explore options for alternative models of governance”. This could include looking to the constitutions of other archipelagos such as Faroe and the Channel Islands. And also to establishing stronger ties with Scandinavian countries like our old friend Norway.

There’s no denying the strong cultural bonds many Orcadians feel with the Nordic countries. Almost all our placenames have Old Norse origins, for instance, as do many personal and family names – including both “Kirkness” and “Gorie”. And Orkney is scattered with reminders of our Norse era, from Viking drinking halls to the stunning St Magnus Cathedral opposite our shop.

But do I believe this is the “more favourable occasion” discussed at Breda in 1667? Not really: those six centuries of integration have established pretty close ties with Scotland. Come to that, we’ve been part of the UK for three of those centuries, so we’re doubly tied-in to our southern rather than our eastern neighbours.

What’s more, have you seen how they sell wine in Norway? Through staterun outlets called Vinmonopolet – the Wine Monopoly. It would be hard for an independent Orcadian wine shop to give up deciding what and how to sell – even in exchange for a horned helmet.

Heading east, Shenfield is as far as you can go on the Elizabeth Line. As you wend your way alongside the Olympic Park, past Romford greyhound stadium and finally beyond the confines of the M25, the landscape widens, the sky gets bigger, and you find yourself no longer in London but very definitely in the home counties.

Shenfield is not a large place – the population is less than 6,000 – but it seems to support two quality butchers, two excellent independent wine shops, and all manner of eateries. There is money here, perhaps not all of it legit. As we are greeted on the doorstep of Liquorice, manager John Kernaghan observes a Range Rover being driven on the wrong side of the road by a man wearing a balaclava. The Canadian smiles. “Welcome to Essex,” he says.

Liquorice is looking like it might have been purpose-built by retail gurus as an exercise in demonstrating what the ideal 21st-century hybrid wine shop and bar could aspire to be. Big windows. Outdoor seating, demarcated by planters. Wine to the fore, of course, and a long wooden table at which to sit and enjoy it, should you be in the mood. The work of local artists on the walls. A back-lit spirits display and then a room full of beer to the rear, some of it on tap.

What catches the eye, perhaps more than any of these things, is the food. Charcuterie gleams in a four-deck chiller. All manner of packets, tins and jars beguile the browser from a multi-coloured wall of sweet and savoury goodies. The cheese cooler is big enough to accommodate customers as well as comestibles. When reticent types are encouraged to open the door and get inside and explore, they can’t quite believe their luck.

It all looked very different a decade ago, when John – who had left a career as a broker in the City – was working in the shop that once stood on this spot. It was, according to Jo Eastwood, “an old-fashioned sticky off-licence with neon signs everywhere”. But the former Harrods buyer was looking for a business opportunity, and John convinced her the place could be transformed into something much more exciting – and profitable.

Did you have a blueprint in your minds for what you wanted Liquorice to be?

Jo: We put our heads together and worked out what we wanted. We had ideas from what we’d seen travelling and at ski resorts – that kind of vibe. We