Harvesting

Things some people will do to get out of grape picking!

Like having a baby.*









"You work any slower, Dad, you'll be picking next year's" says Caring Son. Laughter in the vines.

Harvesting is no holiday. Up in the dark. Quick coffee, croissant. Start as sun comes over the hill. Damp and cold. The parcelle of vines behind Jean-Pierre's sister's place. She's out feeding her hens. As always. Our Alfie and her dog exchange insults.

Deep breath and in we go. I was thinking that maybe I am Britain's oldest grape-picker. Should I contact Guiness Book of Records? My first vintage was 1965 so am approaching my half century.

I have technique. Despite all my yoga the back hurts after five minutes. So I start the routine. Some I bend; some I kneel; some I squat; some I sit. Vary it and the pain is spread all over. Better. True, my sons go faster but they spew grapes all over. I catch every 'grain'.

I do not approve of Multitasking. In this Blackberry age there I am, snipping away and still getting "Tony, should we put in a comma here?" Switch it off.

All these years we've always stopped at noon. Used to be a siren went off down in Castillon. The entire valley stopped at noon. And ate. This year my son and wife have decided we do an extra 20 mins! I knew it was a mistake introducing them to my world.

Finally up to La Clariere and it’s my favourite soup: a 'Touran Blanchi' sort of garlic soup with noodles and egg. Bottles of damaged-stock 2003 and that liquid garlic. Wonderful reviver. Hors d'oeuvres sort of stuffed chickory. Roast pork. Wine in tumblers. Cheese plate. Gateau d'ananas. Coffee in same tumblers.

This, I think is living. For this, me, I'd turn down three Michelin stars. Without slightest hesitation. The people, place, time … and the aching body (so I deserve this … I have earned it.) And the memories! Oh the memories in this place. All my harvesting has been here. All my lunches have been either here in this barn or across the road in Madame Cassin's old Barn. And always – both places – Bernadette has been cooking. Cooking and scolding. No sign of flagging. That's what good food does for you.

*Retraction … T Laithwaite would like to say that he was quite wrong and that Kaye – his lovely daughter-in-law – did turn up and pick when she'd passed the baby to an Auntie.