A personal and subjective account of a thoroughly enjoyable grape harvest in Burgundy. No part of this story is intended to cause offence to anyone, least of all characters real or fictional!
The story is long, but here is an extract:
...we blast through another plot and suddenly the grape
‘sergeants’ blow the whistle to indicate a break: time is 9am. They pull out breakfast for us! And it is a godsend, because I am ravenous! Everyone is already filthy dirty from battling the vines so it is just as well this is not a sit-down jobbie: Out of big sacks come baguettes, chunks of cheese, pate and salami. And wine! I don’t often get served wine with my brekkie. In a plastic cup. It seems to be taken for granted by all the (mostly French, say no more) pickers...