Sorry Diary but last 3 weeks have been a bit of a blur. Vintage time of course. Today, the 12th October, I fly home from Bordeaux and am trying to scribble something. As Alain takes me to the airport I don't see any vines still 'chargé'. All grapes are gone. And now, at last, the ruddy sky is clear blue. It’s hot. Summer has come at last! Great. Thanks! But, summer old sun, we did it without you. Unbelievably. Miraculously. We have tanks full of good wine. At the end of August I, along with everyone else around here, was fairly depressed by the 2007 wet, miserable weather. Western France had the same summer Britain did. We left here wondering if there'd be any point in coming back for harvest. A lot of critics were saying that 2007 was a write-off. Some guy wrote in July that the whole Bordeaux vineyard was a disaster. But, with vines, of course, you never know. It ain't over till the fat lady puts away her secateurs 'till next year. And she did that last night at seven. The whole crew did. With a huge sigh of relief.
For them: relieved to finish work. For us: because we had snatched a lovely vintage from the jaws of the dreaded grey rot. We got away with it. Almost every wine producer here got away with it. We have loads of good wine in the tanks.
September, you see, was kind. Whilst I was away the weather relented. It was sunny enough. Not excessively sunny. Not warm. But this probably saved the crop. Warm weather and the grapes would have rotted. The cold air kept them healthy. And slowly they ripened. This might well become know as 'The Longest Vintage' in Bordeaux. Because it started exceptionally early and finished exceptionally late, just now. And it looks like all that time was enough to cope with the lack of sun for most of the summer.
Elsewhere in the winemaking world, with the meteorological madness we now enjoy, it couldn't have been more different. In July I visited a Merlot vineyard on the Tuscan coast that was almost ready to pick. What sort of wine will such fast-ripened grapes make? What will be the style of Bordeaux's looong sloooow year?
The whites are great. Just not enough of them. And the reds? A lot - huge amounts - of colour reds, and big fruit flavours, and sweetness. But a wine's character is defined more by microscopic amounts of trace elements and they won't reveal themselves until next spring. However, we know it will be good whatever the 'style' turns out to be.
So here’s a quick run-down of what happened this vintage ...
Arrived here 25th September. Quick walk round the vineyards revealed healthy grapes. Careful crop thinning (removal of about a third of the bunches has paid off more than usual.) The lightening of the load not only allows the remaing bunches to ripen quicker but the removal of 'clumping' bunches and some low leaves lets the air circulate and dry the dangerous damp. Impeccable vineyard work this year. Proud of our gang.
But we arrived too early. To kick our heels all week. Just getting everything cleaned and working. With the odd treat.
Friday I get a call; it says Jonah Lomu is staying at Cheval Blanc would I like to go meet! Would I? The sons insist on coming too. Jonah very jovial. Lovely guy. Is a big wine fan. And certainly big. Get bear-hugged for the camera. Crack! A few glasses of Cheval B repair any damage though. He's off to Tonga match that night.
Monday the 1st October we start. Its eight in the morning, dark, raining, the bunches seem very low down, and the ground is slippy mud. Why don't we give up and hire a machine?
No, pride is a powerful thing. We bend to it. And no-one gives in. And the rain stops, the sun comes out and the silence is broken by attempts at humour. The grapes pile up encouragingly. A couple of us lose that important concentration and manage to half amputate our fingers. Much mirth. Unfair! Vines are such a tangle you work blind much of the time, groping amongst leaves. And secateurs are very sharp.
Midday arrives fast. The aromas of the 'Soupe' as we squelch into the hall! Nothing ever smelled better. A couple glasses of wine, proper hot food, - roast guinea-fowl from Bernadette's yard - strong coffee, and we are raring to go again. But by six ... dead again. Hot baths. Thank God for hot baths - so good for old bones.
And so it goes all week. By the end I feel fitter than I have for months. But not fit enough to carry on one minute more than necessary. But get co-erced into helping the son, Henry, harvest. Unpaid labour... for a competitor!
A lot of glistening black grapes are now enjoying their 'cold-soak' in their own juices. Jean Marc decides to draw off enough juice to make a rose. We've made a clairet before but never a pale pink. Be fun. And 'bleeding' the tanks will make our red richer.
Saturday, day off. The Aussie winemakers here take on the younger Brits for the 'Laithwaites Cup' (a plastic horror from the local bar). Its tennis up at the St Genes court, then billiards in the Bar, followed by cricket on the so-called lawn and then aqua-rugby. The Brits suspect they were allowed to win because of course they are going to get hammered on the real rugby field that afternoon.
But a day of surprises ends with being woken in the small hours by someone madly ringing the church bell. Which hangs just feet from our window. Suspect its one of our boys and we will have to apologise to Monsieur le Maire in morning. Turns out no; was the Maire's own son Fred, the culprit. He is captain of the Castillon XV so it’s probably OK with the priest.
This week's been pumping-over and plunging the tanks. Not as hard as picking. Time even for a lightning trip over the border into Spain with Jean-Marc.
Thursday all our 'flyers' – the southern hemisphere winemakers we bring in to harvest, brought up the fruits of their labours from Provence, Rhône, Ardèche, the Cote d'Azure, Roussillon and the Carcassonais. Big tasting. Moment of truth. But the girls – mostly girls now – done good.
After, Jean-Marc hosts our first dinner in the tank room at Le Chai au Quai. All tricked out with candles everywhere, the fire (to cook magrets) blazing, the steel gleaming, the barrel mountain looming, and outside the moon over the wide Dordogne. If I'd had time I would have wept at the beauty of it all. But I had guests to look after. Everyone happy. Magic moment. Passers-by goggle and try to get in. The place has never looked like this before. Can't wait to get customers down here for a similar do.
Yesterday picked the Cabernet Sauv (which always takes longer to ripen). And we are done.
Tonight is France v England but I'll be safe home I hope. That old bell will ring again tonight for sure. But will France or England be ringing it?
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