Sleeping dogs

Tomorrow it starts. Grape harvest. Our Romanian workforce will rock up in a bus and armed with their own secateurs, they will join us in the race against time. We need to get the grapes off before:

  • the weather changes to very wet and warm and the mould develops inside the bunches
  • the pheasants discover that the grapes are ripe and eat them all (Have you ever seen a pheasant doing a high jump? No? Then plant a vineyard.)
  • the first frost arrives and burns the delicate fruit
  • the acid level in the grapes starts going too far down
  • birds other than pheasants discover that there is a banquet table awaiting
  • somebody else snatches our hired Romanians and we will have to pick everything on our own (now that would take weeks)

The chickens are also partial to the odd grape and now greet my husband, as soon as he enters the garden, in the hope that he will rip the last remaining fruit from the three poor plants growing on our fence. I must say, where food is involved, they can be trained to do anything.

Fred the dog is getting mentally ready for the activity overload. By sleeping. I suggested that he could have a quick bath as he will insist on welcoming every person individually. He looked at the kitchen sink, where this atrocity usually happens, then he gave me filthy look and went to sleep. Apparently not then.

As for us, my beloved is preparing by playing golf and I am planning a portable lunch that doesn’t require heating up. Over the years we have become fed up with sandwiches so tomorrow – cue fanfare – some kind of omelette! Yes, still utilising eggs every day…

My eye landed on an old supermarket magazine which shouted ‘frittata issue’! They are easy, involve eggs, potatoes pre cooked and sliced, cheese and whatever your little heart desires. I desire blue cheese and chorizo and some herbs.

Of course I could shoot off from the vineyard tomorrow before lunchtime and whip up a fresh one and bring it to my man still steaming hot (I actually once did that!). But he wants me to pick as well (the brute!), so it will have to be ‘one that I prepared earlier’.

Anyway, must dash, the potatoes won’t slice themselves! 🍳

 

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