Sour Grapes and Sodding Croissants
In France, the vendange is starting, but I shan’t be there to see it.
My days of riding out on the wheel arch of the tractor to spend hours gossiping my way along the rows of vines are over.
I live on the other side of the world now, where the wicker basket at the waist has replaced the plastic bucket, fingers replace the secateurs, and the bright coffee berries the dark grapes of my Loire Valley.
What follows is an acount of my twenty odd years in rural France while the twentieth turned into the twenty first century and the society around me changed from the old ‘System D’ – making things work – to bone headed adherence to rules.
It is my view, based on my own experience and those of my French friends who taught me so much.
There are plenty of other views…..usually featuring sunflowers, lavender fields, pink wine and sodding croissants…..but they are not my views.
Here you will meet people.
Gendarmes, lawyers, local politicians, vignerons.
Bakers, butchers, civil servants.
Expats even….but above all elderly ladies and gentlemen with long memories and caustic tongues.
To be continued…slowly….