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.
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