Aurélien Revillot: Time to Push
It was clearly time to get out and provide some grunt to support the whining, wheel-spinning efforts of the engine. I looked down at the sturdy boots on my feet, and was thankful for my choice of footwear. I have learnt from past experiences, having walked in winter vineyards where my foot and indeed half my lower leg disappeared into a mud-brown soup, that boots are always best.
It was at this moment I realised Aurélien, apparently not having anticipated this moment, was wearing soft suede slippers.
Undaunted, we both clambered out to put our shoulders to it. With a little rocking and a little shoulder-shoving we slowly inched the van forward, and eventually had it moving again. Reaching the crest of the slope we finally stopped, and having shook what clay we could from our boots (or slippers), we jumped back in and careered downhill towards the next plot of vines. Aurélien turned to me and chuckled, his grin illuminated by frosty moonbeams.
“I have no idea where we were then. I wonder whose vines they were?”
It was mid-January, and we hadn’t even tasted any wines yet, but this was already shaping up to be a strong contender for my most enjoyable visit of the year.
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