Saturday, 27 June 2015

This is a winery. Where is the wine?

We've been over to Givry visiting my parents for a couple of days. Givry is a small Burgundian town dating back to the Gallo-Roman era and it's famous for its listed buildings and wine, but you don't want to know about that. You want to know about the night of the four accordions.

There was some kind of wine and music festival taking place. All sorts of interesting things going on. Despite this we managed to get tickets to see four Portuguese accordionists. On the plus side it was taking place in grounds of a famous winery - chance if ever there was one to get drunk on top quality gear.

The setting was spectacular - a grand winemakers court yard flanked by vineyards. The sun falling over the hills. The movers and shakers of southern Burgundy dressed to the nines.

We strolled in through the large gate. Where is the wine? I thought immediately. Nobody had a glass in hand. We sat down at that back. My father always recommends sitting at the back and close to the exit in case the event is dire. This is a winery. Where is the wine? A flicker of panic. I reassured myself, This is a winery. Any minute now they are going get a fire-hose out and soak the entire audience with their finest Burgundian red. They are going to throw buckets of chardonnay over us from the branches of the trees.

Four plump, swarthy, well dressed men emerged at the back of the crowd, shirts undone to below the chest, surveying us with disdain. Oh fuck. The accordionists have arrived. Where is the fucking wine? It was too late. I looked desperately at the trees above us. Nobody with a bucket in sight. I had the terrible realisation that we were in an event too posh for boozing. But... But... this is a winery? The Accordionists strode onto the stage as if they had been crafted from the ego of god. They gurned and made furious noises from their instruments for an hour. Everybody clapped. Nobody had any wine. As we left we noticed the winery setting up for some kind of wine tasting, but it was too late by then. They had broken me. We went home and I rubbed red wine into my eyeballs.

I asked my mother what she thought of the event: "Needed more accordionists."

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