After the ball

Leaving the basement dressing room we could hear a distant roaring. Like a wild sea. But it was only our fellow Laithwaites people after two hours at the bar. We knew how gladiators must have felt. We were going to be torn to pieces. It was REALLY scary.

But it went off well. Very well. There is nothing more enjoyable than seeing your bosses make prats of themselves after all.

So a good night was had by all. Much time since has been spent trying to stop images leaking onto the net.

Then what. A backlog of writing.

Big session Monday as one by one the buyers have to come before the great panel of writers designers planners and such. They pour their wines and tell their tales. Must be a bit nerve-wracking for them. But everything was greeted enthusiastically. And many notes were scribbled. Though by late afternoon I'm not sure how much sense we were making. Straight tastings are much easier. You sip and spit automatically. But at these things there's so much chat, so much composing I find I forget to spit. Then I need a taxi to get home.

I joined the Company yoga class on Tuesday. With Sam Rao. Sam's my age. But everyone else is half my age. I've sort of done yoga for years but not at Sam's level. It's a challenge. The loud clicking noises coming from their Chairman as he tries to impersonate a corkscrew must have worried a few.

Then up to London for two days in a hotel for the Great Global Marketing Meet when everyone involved in buying or selling wine for us around the world gets together to present their successes and admit their failures. Four years we've been doing this and the quality of the wine 'finds', and ways of communicating them well goes up almost exponentially every time. This meeting was a blur. Very exciting. And again it's great for someone no longer young to be allowed to spend so much time surrounded by all that youthful energy.

Of which there was even more when Glenn and I finally raced out of the meeting and shot down the M4 to get to the Gloucester Cellar annual party on time. At Cheltenham Racecourse. Now they really are young; those who answer the phones and pack the cases. We don't have to dress up for Panto this time. Just say our words, have a few drinks and get out before it all gets too wild for us.

Good week.

Tony