Labelled trouble; with friends like these

Alsace, 7 July 2012 – “Why?” said the two winemakers in plaintive unison, switching to English as they did so.

Laying down a cellar

Alsace, 5 July 2012 – I’ve arrived in paradise, it just isn’t finished yet. There’s a raspberry clafoutis on the table and the clanging of scaffolding being disassembled. From the chimney stack a pair of storks look on; a mechanical crane stands idle in the garden. At the end of the day, on a patio amidst the rubble, we sip flinty Riesling made from the vines that surround us.

Pret

1 July, 2012, Gatwick – Ready. Bleary-tongued with that pit in the stomach which is carved out by missing a proper breakfast. Ready with hair cut especially, albeit quickly, cheaply, shoddily. Looking like Tufty an alpine donkey, I will fit in.

THE PRONOUNCEABLE TRUTH

Like parsley, like dill

27th June, 2012, Wigan – It was the one time that I have ever, even faintly, felt that I understood motorsport. It was also the only time that I have been cast in the most likely of roles, that of translator. Naturally, food was responsible.