But big team so finish by ten. Back to Chai to sort until lunch … However, coach arrives with this week's 'le staf' as they call it here; a tour group of DW staff. Clamber aboard with relief, steer driver through Faugères estate, up round past their one week old 'wine cathedral' to something a bit older.
Parts of Chateau Pressac date from the C15th and it was where we signed the surrender at the end of the 100 years war when we - the English - lost Aquitaine.
Modern history is nicer. I first knew it as a spooky Gothik sort of place perched on its hill so hidden in pines you could only see the turrets. Transylvania -in- Bordeaux. And it made terrible wine. Jean Francois Quentin bought it a dozen years ago, clearered the trees, built terracing and planted 40 hectares. They said he was mad. Terraces! Impossible.
He works those terraces with a horse. He's bought the finest bit of oak forest in France to ensure his supply of prime oak, and done simply everything to take this wine up to Premier Cru standards. Today he was showing off the very latest bit of kit. This one uses lasers and puffs of compressed air to remove any non-perfect grapes. And it goes so fast its a blur. Hey-ho, humans being phased out again!
Fascinating tour and pleasant lunch. This is a very undervalued wine because it’s still unknown.
(Interesting fact; one of the grapes planted at Pressac is called - throughout Bordeaux - 'Pressac'. It came from Cahors. A Monsieur Malbec changed its name to his own and exported it round the world. It found great success in Argentina.)
Walk home to find that, harvesting over, they're having a hen race. Six hens, first back to the pen. Sheila, the favourite, a very smart hybrid, wins.
Catching up on emails and diary. Tonight eating with 'le staf' at 'L'envers' wine bar St Emilion.
Tomorrow is Sunday. I may not get up.
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