Where there's a Will..

I read in the local paper about a guy who had made a wine from grapes growing up the side of his house. The headline read Chateauneuf du Peckham. It had a slight Rodney Trotter ring to it akin to Peckham Spring water but it was intriguing. At least it could be done. Mind you I wouldn't like to try the bloke's wine and feel sorry for all his friends who would be receiving a bottle for Christmas. I began to wonder whether I could do the same. What if I was to buy a few vines from a garden centre, plant them in my back garden and wait for them to sprout forth. I began to be attracted to Garden Centres, erstwhile places to avoid and in particular the soft fruit sections. I decided to buy a puny looking thing, to put my toe in the water. It had a funny German sounding name but the tag described its produce as delicious. So I planted it in the back garden in the sunniest spot I could find. It looked forlorn and bedraggled as the rain began to fall. This is England afterall. I wasn't going to get much wine out of it, a thimblefull at most. It just too difficult to grow vines here. They need lots of sunshine. Global warming has at least made ripening grapes easier but you're still looking at hardy plants bred especially for these northerly parts. Some people are planting Chardonnay and Pinot Noir and making some noteworthy Sparkling Wines and English Wine is no longer an oxymoron but I'd still rather spend my hard earned cash on something French or Australian. Still when I saw a two day Viticulture workshop advertised at Plumpton College near Brighton I jumped at the chance. Here was a chance to get my hands dirty and drive a tractor as well.
As well as lots of theory delivered in a deadpan voice by he head lecturer we got to visit the college's two vineyards. We were shown round by Kevin, a New Zealander and viticulturalist par excellence. He fired off questions at us in an almost military manner. One theme kept emerging. How up against it vine growers are in this country. If the birds, the viruses and the insects dont get you the frosts will. Then there's the cost. I asked innocently how much it might cost to set up your own vineyard just so i could tick it off my list of options. 'After the posts, the wires, the rootstock, the labour and if you don't own the land around tin to fifteen grand' Kevin said. Not having tin grand to spare that option was crossed off. I did get to drive a tractor though. My overwhelming feeling though was one of disillusionment. After the two days making wine seemed an even more impossible task. What I needed was some help, preferably in a warm climate.
The internet is full of companies offering you the chance to have your own wine. The snag is you don't get to make it yourself. They rent you the rows and your welcome to come down and potter around but that's as far as it goes. To me that the musical equivalent of being in a cover's band. If I don't get to make the stuff myself then it's not for real.
The only person who I knew lived in a hot clmate was the old bass player in my band, Mart. Mart lived down near Valencia in Southern Spain. They grow alot of oranges there and also make a bit of wine. Before Mart and his wife Bev had relocated we'd been writing songs together and I'd been out a few times. When I mentioned the idea of making wine to Mart he was characteristically up for it. 'Yeah, we could rent an allottment and mek it in our garage'. 'Err, doesn't Bev use that as a laundry room?' 'Nah! she wont mind'. Somehow I think not. Nice idea though it was, it was never going to work. The usual run of events on my 'working holidays' to Mart's corresponded broadly to this sequence 'Get up, have breakfast, do some work in the studio, go for a swim in the pool, relax a bit, have a beer, that lounger looks very comfortable oh is it time for lunch already, have lunch, back in the studio for a bit, fancy a swim Mart?, fancy a beer Steve?better get something for the barbie later, watch Sky News or chill out by the pool while Mart goes to the supermarket, shall we listen to the mix?er what mix?let's come back to it tomorrow, cervesa??' No, if making music's anything to go by, making wine's doomed'
I'm left with few options. Louise who had watched my efforts with amusement and curiosity mentioned 'why don't you try Olly?'one day. 'What him, isn't he a bit of a nutter? As it turned out Olly was my last hope. I'd met him when we had gone for a holiday in the Languedoc region of Southern France. He ran the Maison des Vins in Saint Chinian, a quaint little town which gave it's name to an Appellation. Olly spoke good English. He was a very extrovert character. A lunatic might be a good description. He was very passionate about the wines of the area and very disparraging about English people trying to make wine in France. For this reason I'd crossed him off my list from the word go. But what if I disguised my true intentions? What if I made out I was writing an article on Languedoc wines for an English magazine? What if I said I just wanted to shadow a winemaker for a year to see how it's done?As a further guarantee against failure I got Mike, Louise's Brother-in-Law to email him. Mike and Louise's sister Juliette were friends of Olly and owned a holiday home in the region. It would be better coming from them. A week later and just when I was losing hope Mike forwarded on an email. In it Olly had come up with the goods.
'I have found a wnemaker for you. His name is Nicolas Bergasse at Chateau Viranel and he speaks very well English. He is expecting a phone call from you'
The only thing now was to contact this Nicolas Bergasse and arrange a visit. I checked out Chateau Viranel's website. It featured photographs of a middle aged man in various poses avec vines, avec dog, avec compost heap. He looked at one with nature. I wondered if this was Nicolas. I plucked up the courage to call the mobile number and managed to get through. It sounded like he was driving a tractor or something. Despite the bad reception I managed to find out when he was free. Armed with this information I booked a cheap flight through Ryanair. Fortuitously Juliet and Mike were heading down there at that time as well so I just tagged along. I'd finally found someone who could potentially make my dream come true, the only thing was how was I going to broach the subject that I wasn't actually there to write a piece on his winemaking skills but actually to use his vines and facilities to produce Chateau Hovington. Tricky!