September 9th 2007 pm Cambridge

So here I am on the eve of the big push. The business end of proceedings, either the final or penultimate chapter depending on the events of the next two weeks. I've been looking forward to this for ages, although with changing jobs and moving out of London it's been a bit on the back burner. Hence the trepidation I feel and the lack of preparation. Anyhow there's no going back and I've booked two weeks off work and I'm excited about the challenge ahead.
Nico emailed me last week and told me that the grapes are fine and to get ready for the harvest. Mindful of the summer's toil when I almost lost the will to keep going, I'm taking along Juliet and Mike's son William to give me a hand. He speaks fluent French which will come in handy, I feel such a clot when Nico's mum and dad are there.
I'm not sure where we'll be staying. At Viranel for sure but Nico was a bit vague on that point. I'm presuming/hoping I'll be staying in the same room as last time. I feel a bit bad about William might have to put up with something a little more rough and ready. But hey he's a student and spent most of the summer living in the shed at the bottom of his parent's garden, so he should be used to it. It's only until Friday. I'm really grateful of the help and tomorrow night we'll sample the nightlife in Cessenon-sur-Orb to celebrate his birthday, September 11th. We'll probably hit the English restaurant, then a couple of sherries at the bar Europa. We'll see, there might be a bit of an early start on Wednesday morning, the day penciled in for the harvest. Four rows shouldn't take that long, a couple of hours perhaps. We might be finished by lunch.
Picking the grapes is relatively straightforward, it's what comes after that I'm not sure about. I've done a little swotting up though. There are some amusing videos of people treading grapes on YouTube which presumably I'll have to do at some point.
I can't believe I'm nearly there. This'll be my sixth visit in all. I've seen the vineyard in every season decked out in the golds and reds of autumn when Nico first showed me my rows to the barren earth and bare stumps of mid-winter when armed with secateurs in gloved hands we pruned the vines in preparation for the growing season. Then in Spring when leaves began to develop and poppies and other wild flowers grew at the end of each row to the heat of June and the tiny tight green bunches of grapes which I painstakingly thinned when the vineyard resembled a jungle almost reaching the point of no return.
I'm hoping against hope that in some way I might be able to capture some of the character of the place in my wine but I have to be realistic. The odds are stacked against it happening. I'm prepared for failure. Wine or vinegar? We'll soon find out.