It's the harvest in Chablis at the moment, and all is safely gathered in, as the song would have it. Much like a Playtex cross-your-heart bra.
I was there for some of last week and the weekend, and it was quite fascinating to watch it all happen. There are three enormous machines to press the grapes as they come in, and these machines (pneumatic pressure - no feet unfortunately) are used on just 8 days each year. They must take up the space of a small two-bedroom terraced house, but are really only useful for 1/52nd of the year. Amazing really, but without them we'd all have been pulling off our shoes and socks and contaminating the year's vintage with skin particles and the odd fungal infection.
Work-wise things are shimmying along wonderfully, I'm busier than ever with my translation/ interpreting business and aside from a rather hair-raising interpreting job that was way out of my league, I've been bumbling on quite well. It's a bit frustrating to know that the tax man is going to cream off a rather large slice of it all pretty soon, but that's France, and things could be worse than guaranteed health care, cheap public transport and free professional training.
It's pouring down now for the first time in weeks, which doesn't bode well for the rest of the harvest, just over 100 miles away. Rainwater in wine is apparently even worse than the odd athlete's foot breakout...