Anticipation. And then. Pain.

Writing on the TGV to Bordeaux after very little sleep, I realise I am more nervous than expected about the trip. The Chateau I'm off to is owned by a husband and wife team who look kind on their website. The place looks stunning online, real picture book stuff and when I learn that the couple are friends of my course leader, I am relieved. You're usually safe with personal recommendations, no? I'm armed with a giant suitcase (vineyard work clothes combined with outfits for dinner) and a Mulberry handbag stuffed with wine notes. I decide a three hour plus train journey is best used revising vinification process so I'm better prepared for what lies ahead but keep being distracted by the Japanese fashion crowd to my right who are intent on peeling eggs, applying eye liner and loud gossiping the whole journey.

Fast forward to the reality of immersion in a Bordellais harvest and I am gasping for a cigarette (I don't smoke). Or a tequila slammer. Anything to numb the pain. I pray to the God of Massage for help with aching limbs, back, head, it all simply hurts. Brain pain too due to crash and burn information overload but boy, is it all fascinating. Utterly different from concepts outlined in the books. Never again will I criticise a bad glass of wine. Not being fully aware of the blood, sweat and tears - literally in my case (not quite the blood) that go into the 25 foot high vats, and after, each sip.