The Wine Widow on fruit, theft and varifocals
“A man watches his pear tree day after day, impatient for the ripening of the fruit. Let him attempt to force the process, and he may spoil both fruit and tree. But let him wait, and the pear at length falls into his lap.” Except Abraham Lincoln didn’t live where we do.
We have a pear tree growing, espaliered, against the side of our cottage that faces the lane. We planted it five years ago and Zam has pruned it beautifully. We love the blossom. We love the shape. And we love the pears which we watched, as Lincoln suggested, without rushing them but going out each morning for a gentle squeeze, waiting, waiting. Still not ripe we mutter before coming inside for coffee. And then … oh then… we go outside one morning and every single one of the seven beautiful pears has gone. Overnight. Not a shred of evidence to show they ever existed.
Squirrels? Seven? Or a random act of theft which in this case I would call vandalism because, BECAUSE, they weren’t YET RIPE.
I stare at the denuded tree through my new glasses which are varifocals and which are causing me some issues. My legs seem to be about 6 inches long, depending on how I tip my head. Escalators are a terrifying hazard. On Monday I smiled warmly at a vicar coming towards me in a London venue where I was waiting to see my godson play drums in a band. I always smile warmly at vicars because I worry that nobody else does and I thought he might be feeling a bit out of place. As he came closer I realised that he wasn't wearing a dog collar but a small white goatee beard. And a black polo neck.
In the winery, I take care not to trip over the pipes and hoses that are in full use as the freshly picked grapes ferment and everything is continuously scrubbed to a spotless clean. I notice that a couple of deliveries have come back, one because it was the wrong item and one because a bottle of the new pinot noir was insufficiently wrapped. By me. I formulate excuses involving my new glasses but in the end, I just fall on my sword and wonder if, or when, I will be sacked.
