Monday, 28 August 2017
I'm not really treading grapes, I'm treading on them. All at once, every single bunch of grapes seems to have over-ripened and started dropping its slippery bounty all over the courtyard. I should, of course, have started picking them much earlier and a few bunches have already been harvested but there is nothing like having a glut of something to make me want to eat anything but. I'm also wary of step ladders. Last year a couple of friends found themselves in hospital after coming a cropper trying to reach high shelves and toppling over instead. I am not a lover of heights and just standing on the bottom rung of a ladder seems a risk, so I've been concentrating very hard this morning on the top rung of the steps, holding my breath and trying to convince myself that my balance is fine. Unfortunately the fruit are so ripe that each time I cut a bunch a shower of grapes hit me in the face. I didn't fall off but the experience reminded me that there is a very tall, practical hollow in my life. One that always picked the grapes.