It looks like a rather advanced space vehicle. Or one of those Transformer things. It can change its shape.

Today I saw a demonstration of the very latest, state-of-the-art, Grape Harvesting Machine. It doesn't just harvest grapes, it sorts, cleans and classifies the berries as well as – or better than – we've ever been able to do with our hands and eyes.

Most farmers here have used harvesters to save money for years. Only those few aiming very high up the quality ladder have retained their troops of pickers to do things carefully and gently. But now here's a machine seems able to do better than humans.

Not sure yet. But tests and comparisons on finished wines will soon show. It isn't very eco-friendly, that's for sure. But here, straight economic survival seems more important just now.

I can't help but reflect (as you do a lot at my age) that when I first came here in 1965 the methods, involving horses, oxen, human beings in clogs or bare feet, their muscles (considerable), wooden tubs and concrete tanks .... Nothing whatsoever - NOTHING - had changed for a thousand - almost two thousand years. The Roman, mortar-lined tanks I came here to excavate on the archaeological dig by the church I am sat looking at, were no different from the ones still being used.

In my 44 years coming here, now that this Spaceship has landed, EVERYTHING has changed.

Viticulturally-speaking, I am now 1,800 years old.

And I feel it this morning ... but that's because we, at least, are still manually harvesting. And it’s hard.

Visit laithwaites.co.uk

Yesterday was picking and sorting from 8 till 6. All grubby and sticky with juice.

Then it was quick wash, best suit on and over to the Grand Opening of the new Chateau Faugeres.

Our next door neighbour Silvio Denz has spent three years and an unimaginable sum building a winemaking palace on the hill in front of us. We've watched the crane for a couple of years, and lately it has been like a frantic ant's nest of workers.

The result, I like. Very much. Practical winery but with such flair (Swiss architect) and imagination. And St. Emilion could do with a little of that. They can be sooo stuffy.

St Emilion is an area of nice little old warm stone houses, but not really castles; 'chateaux', if we're honest about it. (Whereas Castillon has a whole bunch of ancient fortresses.) There are only four large estates in the whole of St Emilion. But now they have Silvio and his modern winery.

It's clever. Uses the slope. A gravity winery. No pumps. Pumps bruise wine. So grapes come in level one. Tip down into the wooden fermenters, level -1,  then drop again to the barrels, level -2. Above these levels rises three more levels of tower; The Belvedere, which looks across to the ageless beauty of our dear Ste Colombe. Ignored for centuries. But no more.

It was quite a banquet. The whole wine world was there. My daughter-in-law and I felt a bit out of our depth but found a nice corner on the Castillon table with the Mayor and other St. Colombains, and we spent the night remembering the tragic fall and subsequent rise of Chateau Faugeres and its extraordinary people. The Esqissauds, their cousin; the Peby Guisez. All very bright, lovely stars, all tragically extinguished but who live on in their Faugeres.  Someone will maybe write the story one day.  Make a good film.

Visit laithwaites.co.uk

Lying on the grass trying to straighten my back. Why do we grow grapes so low down?

It’s 11am. An hour to go to a blessed harvest lunch by Bernadette which always makes this pain seem worth it. Actually with the sun shining, the breeze cooling and the larks arising in song all around ... it’s pretty good really.

Harvesting with the family. Barbara saying there's nothing in the world she'd rather be doing on her birthday than this ... which doesn't make me sound such a great husband.

But these are lovely grapes. Small, black skins already leaking colour when you squeeze them, red stalks. Crunch the pips and no acrid taste whatsoever. These grapes are ripe! This will be one of those slightly annoying vintages when everyone – even the bone idle – will make good wine. On the one hand I kind of prefer the trickier vintages when skills counts. On the other hand there is great joy in harvesting such beauty!

Sound of tractor returning empty. Break over. Bend to it. Must go.

Visit laithwaites.co.uk

Young Blogs and old Diaries. Take your pick.

It’s all go at the moment ... vintage is on. Wonderful, sunny one here in Bordeaux and from what I hear, equally good across Europe. See you all at the 40th Wine Show next month. It'll be good.

Visit laithwaites.co.uk

Flew back to sunshine in England!

Spend the afternoon reconnoitring possible sites for more sparkling wine vineyards in the Chiltern hills around us. It is beautiful country. But a few well-planted vineyards would add much interest and charm. And some revenue for farmers maybe.

Visit laithwaites.co.uk

Second celebration was yesterday in St Emilion

At 5p.m. the Ban des Vendanges was declared by the red-robed Members of the Jurade from top of the King's Tower. Vintage 2009 is now officially on.

Before that an extraordinarily diverse bunch of folk were inducted into the Jurade in ancient ceremonies that took up the entire day. I know because I was one of them. And so was Barbara.

At 9 a.m. we turned up at the Town Hall garden to get robed-up. Barbara looked immediately regal. I – because I have, err... the wrong shape – spent the day looking like I had a couple of towels round my shoulders.

A band of extras from 'The Three Musketeers' struck up and we processed behind the banner to the Collegial Church. To facilitate things, the traffic bollards had been removed from the centre of the road ... but, alas, not the raised traffic island. I know this because, whilst trying to impress fellow inductee Roger Voss, and not looking where I was going, I tripped on the damned thing. Much flapping and tangling of red robes, much general hilarity, some loss of dignity.

Mass was Highly Celebrated; bells and incense etc by a full fidget of squirming small boys.

The Cure gave mention of Cotes de Castillon in his sermon. I liked him! Good choir, I thought. But then star-inductee; Joseph Calleja sang 'Ave Maria' and it was ... transcendental? A great tenor sings like that and you get something that goes right through you and even the not very convinced get the goose bumps. Yes, words do fail me.

Then it was out into the sun to process, raggedly, to the Monolithic Church (carved out of the solid rock under the town's great spire). Here, we New Boys were 'done'. Each of us standing forward whilst being lauded to the high vaulted ceiling and instructed to drink St Emilion on every conceivable occasion.

Politicians; swivel-eyeing, artists; big hairing, doctors – the pro-wine lobby, one imagines; actors; posing, Texans; big, Japanese; little, and even wine merchants; beaming.

I am now a 'Prud Homme' a proud title which I must look up the meaning of. Barbara is senior to me; a 'Dame'. Pronounced 'Damn'!

Then another procession back up the hill to the garden of the Dominicans for a glass of much needed restorative and lunch.

Dear old Monsieur Manoncourt (Chateau Figeac) now the 'Premier Jurat' came for a chat. Which was an honour. Very old now, he was remembering the occasion during these same festivities back in September '75 when a crew of scruffy young Brits (including me and Hugh Johnson) were allowed in and presented with a case of Figeac to be taken aboard the ill-fated Brigantine 'Marques' and – with another 2000 cases of lesser clarets – sailed home to Plymouth.

Lunch was long but it was delicious, and I did have the delicious Brigitte Bourlon of Chateau Guibeau to my right (her charming mother on my left). Brigitte's rather-too-handsome-for-my-liking Eric seemed to have Barbara and her sister Helen in fits, Phillipe and Stephanie also. Monsieur Bourlon sat silent. He always does. But we did get a smile eventually. That was after the Pavie 2000 and the Clos Fourtet '99 which could make a stone statue smile.

Saw a load of old - some very old - friends and made new. Lots of English. Puzzlingly all from Yorkshire. Just had to point out the tables were all bedecked with wonderful RED roses!

After that, things sort of faded and here I am back in my airport home again. Work calls.

Visit laithwaites.co.uk

Back to Bordeaux for two ceremonies.

First, last night, was the Grand Ouverture of the Comptoir de Genes, in Saint Genes; next village to ours. Barbara, Henry and I undertook, last year, to renovate the building housing the village shop and bar, plus the derelict barn alongside.

We didn't want to lose our shop and funny old bar. Claudy, Madame La Maire de St Genes (and with us at Laithwaites for 36 years!) really didn't want to lose the heart and soul of her village when M. Guimberteau decided to retire. Anne-Marie Galineau, dynamic little mother of 3 small boys packed in her well-paid job and started to learn how to run a corner-shop. But her dream was of a wine-warehouse-cum-restaurant that would provide - at last - an opportunity for people to enjoy, under one roof, the riches of Castillon wine. (Husband; Vincent Galineau is a good grower.)

For Castillon which has no trouble putting on, every summer for over 30 years, twenty performances of a slick, professional, son-et-lumiere re-enactment of C15th life and the bloody Battle of Castillon, (800 actors, 60 horses, oxen, goats, geese, you name it), has just never seemed able to introduce its great wines in any effective way to the world.

Anne-Marie has done it in 6 months. You have got to see this place. It’s full most lunchtimes of St Emilion merchants and producers, finding out what their neighbours can do. And worrying a bit maybe. There are tourists and there are locals.  She's got it just right. €14 all-in lunches and wines at cellar-door prices (just €6 corkage to drink it in the restaurant).  It opened in June and has been pretty much booked-out ever since. So in a way, last night's Big Opening was superfluous. In another way it was vital for all the young team to get their applause, and for the good growers of our region to get together - on the eve of a promising vintage - and let their hair down.

Wine flowed, Chef Lucie sent round plate after plate of delicious morsels and little St Genes had probably the brightest night in its entire existence.  Remember the name; Comptoir de Genes.

Me, this morning, I'm not remembering too much detail at all. Except to see something like this pulled-off in the face of implacable 'Non's' from the world's most stifling bureaucratic culture, gladdens the heart. Gives hope.

Ann-Marie looked radiant but we saw, in the tears shed during her speech, what this has taken out of her. She needs a little rest. Then on to Phase 2. Oh! Yes! There's more to come.

Comptoir de Genes. Google it. Visit it. Say I sent you.


Visit laithwaites.co.uk

Sorry for being quiet but been up walking in the Cumbrian rain.

And on the wagon due to excessive weight gain over the summer. Very difficult to do a wine diary under such circumstances. A water diary just wouldn't work. If you want wine action, I suggest you log on to our winemaker Mark's Blog. He's just a bit busy...

Visit laithwaites.co.uk

France is so special. I just love it.

Our village Maire is at last marrying off his son on Saturday. This has brought us considerable benefit already …

For, you see we live on the cross-roads by the church.

The Maire lives 200 yards down our road to the west.

His son – a lovely lad – lives, with his long term fiancé and their kids, 200 yards down the road to the south.

For the last week our Maire has lived on our two roads; just those 400 yards, directing all kinds of heavy state machinery.

The roads around our house have been manicured to perfection. Hedge-cutters, ditch-excavators, road-diggers, road sweepers have been going all day. The electrics have been tidied and the drains cleared. They even remembered to collect our bins this week. Ah! And now the bracing smell of fresh tarmac is wafting across our deckchairs.

Maires have such power in France!

It’s rather magnificent. We say that because we're not complaining, of course; our place has never looked so neat!

And – going on past experience – the nuptial feast on Saturday will be a wonderful finale to our holidays.

Home to England on Monday.

Visit laithwaites.co.uk

Am getting bored with hols and the harvest preparations here are making the blood run faster.

Excitement mounts. See Mark's blog from down at the Chai. They're not on hols there. New casks came in yesterday and new tanks tomorrow. A fork-lift instructor is here from Gloucester to train them so not too many cases end up in the Dordogne.

Our Annual Aussie has arrived and is Bonjouring everyone to death.

Grapes here are looking black and ripe. Actually they're not ripe. Month to go. But then this time last year they were still green. And we still made really great wine. So what's this year to be? If this weather holds I fear it'll be yet another Wine of the Century!

I need to get home to talk over all the news with the brains back at Theale.

In wine, basically the whole year is decided in just a few weeks Sept-Oct. You gotta get it right. And get the best stuff before anyone else. You wouldn't think something like wine required split-second decisions. But it does. At Vintage time. Right down the line.

Visit laithwaites.co.uk

Sorry to all at home, but the sky has stayed pure blue for 3 days here since Sunday, when it stopped raining.

This is like the Bordeaux summers we've not seen since '05. If you're still in the vineyards after 10am you could die! Even Scottish Moira has a bit of a tan. (A 'Scottish Tan' she says; meaning no longer blue).

Last night was shooting star night. Our old tradition here. Lying flat looking at the stars which are always brighter here (and the ground less damp) than the UK. Bagged over 30 in one hour (well, those with good eyes did). A record. Good omen?

So got up too late. Hence got fried in the vines.

But only 14 rows to go. Then every bunch will be hanging free, untangled and exposed to morning sun and the drying breeze. All potentially festering clumps of bunches will have been 'de-fankled' and there'll only be two bunches per shoot, and just one on the weedy shoots.

Getting quite nerdy aren't I?

I may have mentioned this before but as I work I just cannot seem to stop this rude schoolboy ditty going through my head; (But, err, adapted!), You know it? To the tune of The Sailors Hornpipe"?

Begins...

" Oh! ... Do your grapes hang low? Can you swing 'em to and fro'?"

It’s crucial, you see, that they do swing well and that they must NOT be left in a knot – or even a bow.

But it's very promising for the vintage. Says he, touching wood with crossed-fingers.

Wise Alain says the value of a Bordeaux vintage is actually based on the sea temperature at Cap Feret in August. This may or may not affect the grape ripening process. But a couple of degrees warmer sure affects the mood of all the Bordeaux Merchants traditionally holidaying together there. They return to work all happy, fit and optimistic. And this 'bounce' somehow transmutes into a 'great vintage'.

Not heard that theory before. But maybe ...

Visit laithwaites.co.uk