My favourite is ‘I don’t know how we’re going to manage without you, but we’re going to give it a try’, which is quite a satisfying line to deliver but it’s a bit glib and disrespectful to the listener.  On a different tack a few years ago, when we had to part company with a vineyard worker called Jacques, I had to resort to the only other area of common ground between us, which was football.  ’Jacky’, I said, ‘I’ve given you the yellow card, and now, with regret (a touch of Sir Alan there), I’m afraid it’s the carte rouge‘.  I thought of that conversation when Jacky and I bumped into each other again in the local supermarket last week. We talked about vines, and football.

Of course, our accountant doesn’t actually work for us, he’s an external resource, but after nine years of working together, a delicate touch was required and there was to be no reprieve.  As it turned out, my resolve was strengthened on the way to his new pad because the ‘directions’ on his email simply linked to google maps.  That’s fine as far as getting to the industrial estate is concerned, but I went around in circles trying to find the small, unmarked office block.  Whatever happened to (a) company signs, (b) street numbers or (c) helpful hints like ‘when you get to the big building marked Gem Distribution, we’re next on the right’?  (You could say that I’m a bit obsessed about making it simple for visitors to find our place, given that we’ve got a dozen little claret-coloured arrows marked Chateau Bauduc around our local town, Créon).  

In the end, because the answerphone at his office had the standard French message of everyone being on holiday for the entire month of August, he had to come out and spot my car after a text to his mobile.

After the usual pleasantries, I found myself setting the scene. ‘This is a difficult meeting, as we have worked together for a long time,’ I said in sombre tones, sticking to the script.  ’Imagine, if you can, that we’ve been married to each other these past nine years’, I ventured, veering off-piste. ‘Well, I’ve been seeing someone else’.  

Yes, it’s true, I’ve been seeing another accountant on the side.  And now that my new beau and his assistant have proved themselves as being rather more attractive – quicker to respond, more helpful on the day-to-day stuff, less snooty to our assistant Monique and, let’s not forget, quite a lot cheaper – a change is long overdue.  

I parried any questions from him winning back my affections quite well – firm but fair – and, in the end, he was gracious in defeat.  (I say ‘defeat’, although by now he’s probably skipping merrily off on his annuals at the beach, without caring a figue.)  He consoled himself by saying that he was perhaps a bit too intellectual for us, and I thought it better to acquiesce on that one by nodding sagely.  I think he meant that he wasn’t hands on enough.

I am told that individuals stay loyal to their banks far more than they probably should, despite poor levels of service, and I imagine small firms do the same with their accountants.  There are occasions when we’d like to do the same with the two banks we use, (one of whom, Credit Agricole, is the biggest owner of vineyards in France, no doubt thanks to defaulted loans). Trouble is, we wouldn’t be much of a catch and, as for my punchline, I wouldn’t be able to do much better than the old classic, ‘You leave me no alternative but to take my overdraft eleshwere’. 

Let’s hope the new accountant can help us get to a point where we have a choice.

If this sort of thing matters to you, one press agency report has resulted in several columns confusing the terms ‘Grand Cru’ with ‘Grand Cru Classe’.  The recent 2006 classification has been thrown out, meaning that ‘Grand Cru Classe’ cannot be put on the label, but there’s no change to the use of the words ‘Grand Cru’, which, confusingly, is not part of this classification or ruling.  ‘Grand Cru’ is part of the qualifying process for the St-Emilion Appellation, not for the Classification, and, as far as consumers are concerned, the words ‘Grand Cru’ in Saint-Emilion might sound grand but they mean rod all, unlike in Burgundy or Chablis.  There are hundreds of wines from Saint-Emilion bearing the words Grand Cru which, frankly, are pretty grim, while others rank as some of the most sought-after (and unclassified) wines of Bordeaux.  As for the words ‘Grand Vin de Bordeaux’…

I feel disappointed for some of the losers in this new ruling, such as Nicolas Thienpont of Pavie-Macquin and Christine Valette of Troplong Mondot, both promoted to Premier Grand Cru Classe, but their wines have been recognised as being at the top level for many years (and comparative bargains pre-2005).  But the 2006 ranking is already out-of-date, in my opinion.  Who knows, with everyone back to square one, perhaps no-one will rest on their laurels and others will try harder each year, without the prospect of having to wait almost a decade for the next re-assessment.

For all it’s faults, at least the ‘en primeur’ method of selling top Bordeaux is completely unregulated and provides a swift insight into what’s happening.  God forbid that the rules should ever by controlled by committees or the courts.  If a chateau raises its game and makes great wine, professionals will chew it over and market forces – and customers – decide as to whether it’s worth buying or not.  (If they don’t want to take part, they can still sell their wine through other avenues – just like the rest of the world).  If like-minded owners want to present their wines as a group or association, there’s nothing to stop them.

Over a relatively short period of time, the good guys succeed and the sloppy ones get found out.  Just ask the people in Pomerol next door.  No classification there – just plenty of classy wines, from Petrus and Le Pin, to Petite Eglise. 

Our new rogneuse arrived this week, complete with numerous spinning blades.  New to us, that is, after one careful owner and just twelve months on the road, allegedly.  It is immediately being put to good use, trimming the rows of vines after a team of mostly seasonal workers, or saisonniers, have lifted all the vines up through the training wires.  Our old machine could just about cope but it’s seen better days, not least during our first full season in 2000 when we bought it brand new.  (It should have lasted longer but the both the manufacturer and the distributor have closed down, so it’s tricky to get it fixed each time it goes wrong.)  We still have the really old, lethal one that we inherited but we can’t show it here because the inspecteurs de travail would close us down if they knew we still had it.  Even visitors to the vineyard exclaim ‘oh my god, what’s that?’ when they peer inside the tractor shed (all part of the longer, more exciting tour), but head boy Daniel is quite attached to it and, besides, he never throws anything away.  I should get him on to eBay.

Using the rogneuse (pronounced ron-years, in case you wanted to point one out on your next vineyard tour in France) is a highly skilled job, carried out this week by Hafid while Daniel works on one of the other tractors.  By far and away the most labour-intensive aspect though is the work by the saisonniers, lifting the branches of the vines up through the training wires, taking care not to damage the newly formed bunches at knee level. 

This is the second phase, after they had been through the vineyard once a few weeks ago when the shoots were shorter.  We reckon on one person taking 2 hours per 1000 vines with the first bit, and 5.5 hours to lift the branches of 1000 vines this time around.  As we have over 100,000 vines, you can see why it’s a busy time.  And that’s just the paperwork.

The picture shows a ‘vigorous’ parcel of merlot where the soil is a bit too rich and encourages a bit too much vegetation.  With all the rain that we have had since mid-April, and then sun since mid-June, you can see how quickly the vines have grown since the first buds appeared.

I was invited to what I thought was going to be a routine meeting this afternoon, between a few fellow vignerons and a Directeur from the Syndicat de Bordeaux.  I realised when I walked in to the Salle André Lurton in Grézillac that the session might go on for a bit longer than I had anticipated, as there were 200 people in the room and more arriving.  There was a choice of standing room only at the back, or a seat in the front row, and I realised my mistake in opting for the latter when the main presenter gave everyone a peep at just how many Powerpoint slides he was about to share with us all as he set up his laptop with the overhead projector. There was to be no escape.

To be fair, Monsieur de la Bretesche certainly understood his topic, and he introduced the reforms by saying that, after two years labour, this was the 16th and final revision of the new rulebook.  Worryingly, there wasn’t much humour in his voice when he said this, and it was clear that here is a man who is absolutely committed to his work. I imagine that all he has ever thought or talked about for years are the rules for those involved with the production and distribution of wines of the Appellation of Bordeaux Supérieur and AC Bordeaux.  He pointed out that Bordeaux is at the forefront of all the changes that are about to happen across France, in terms of putting rules into practice.

He presented the new plan for the next three hours, pausing for breath only when he was asked a question.  (It was a bit like parents’ meetings at schools here: instead of waiting to ask a question at the end of a presentation about a school trip, anyone can chirp up with a query; it wastes an awful lot of time.)  God knows how long the meeting would have carried on for if France had not being playing Italy in the Euros this evening.

It was hugely informative but I have to admit that, like the flopsy bunnies after they had eaten cabbages from Mr. Macgregor’s garden, I found some parts quite soporific.  You may feel the same about this subject.

Authenticity rules

The framework works like this.  In France, there is an obsession about where something comes from, which is usually a good thing, but not always.  Authenticity and sticking to the rules of production are often seen as being more important than, say, overall quality or customer needs.   The INAO is the controlling body for all Appellation d’Origine Contrôlée products – including wine, cheese, certain potatoes etc – and they have passed the guidelines for the extensive changes down to the individual Syndicats to come up with their own rulebook at a local level, which in turn has to be ratified by the INAO.  At Bauduc, because our vineyards fall within several different appellations (Bordeaux or Bordeaux Supérieur, Premières Côtes de Bordeaux and possibly Entre Deux Mers), we have to sign up to the directives from three separate Syndicats.  

The old way: strict rules and tastings

Under the old rules, producers had to conform to a detailed set of rules concerning grape varieties, viticulture and winemaking.  They also had to provide samples to inspectors who would come and collect different lots of wine from various tanks or barrels, and these echantillons would go before a tasting panel. If a wine failed the tasting test, there were two more chances later.  Ultimately, few wines were rejected.  As soon as you had your certificate or label, you could sell your wine with Appellation Contrôlée on the label. 

The main problem was that these tastings took place long before bottling, and there is absolutely no guarantee to the consumer for the quality of wines once they are bottled (which of course is the case for bottles being sold today).  Huge volumes of AC wine are bought and shipped around in bulk by negociants to blend under different brand names – at a current market price en vrac (in bulk) of a euro a litre – but more risky than this is that ‘approved’ wines could sit in a tank for ages.  Most consumers would assume that having Appellation Contrôlée on the label is a guarantee of quality.  It is not – it’s a guarantee of origin. I lunched alone recently at a Routier restaurant, La Puce near St-Emilion, and got talking to a man who runs a mobile bottling company in Bordeaux.  He told me that over 10% of what he bottled was ‘imbuvable’ – undrinkable.  I asked him how much he bottled each year. 11 million bottles, he said. 10% is a lot of bottles.

The other problem was the validity of the tastings. As the Directeur pointed out, tasters were likely to know whose wine was in the second round since wines were tasted by commune.  He gave a typical example – 2 wines would fail a first tasting out of 25 wines. He said that the tasters for the second round, who all came from the trade in Bordeaux – a team of three made up of a fellow vigneron, a courtier (broker) or a négociant (Bordeaux wine merchant) – would have a pretty good idea about the origins of the remaining wines.  If the wine came from a friend, then this might influence the vote, or vice versa.  (This could be why a single tank of our red 2004 failed the third and final test some years back, even though it tasted better than a line-up of wines which had passed, when we ran our own tasting afterwards.  Two Customs inspectors, who tasted it before the wine was sent to the distillery, joked ‘It’s because you’re English’.  To be fair, we had applied for Bordeaux Supérieur status rather than straight Bordeaux, which, I found out later, was a foolish error after it had failed the first test). 

The new way: stricter rules, dossiers and spot-checks

A new controlling body, called Quali-Bordeaux, and no more tastings.  At least not unless we are investigated or ‘controlled’.  We must stick to the rules – which are unbelievably precise and detailed – and complete extensive documentation.  Each time we bottle, we must alert the authorities and they might come and check.  If there’s a problem with the product, there’ll be sanctions and penalties.

I’m going to read the enormous ‘Cahier des Charges’ now with a nice cup of hot chocolate. I’ll report back.

Times are tough for the UK wine trade. The pound has slumped against the euro, the cost of wine at source and fuel prices have shot up, and consumers face the credit crunch.  

If that wasn’t enough, the anti-alcohol lobby is winning the media battle, with middle-class binge-drinkers being portrayed as a drain on the nation’s resources.  So the same government that brought in 24-hour drinking (for health reasons?) softened the way for the assault on responsible wine lovers.

Britain now boasts the highest rate of duty on wine in Europe.  The Chancellor of the Exchequer slapped a record 14p on a bottle of wine in the Spring budget and pledged to increase duty above the rate of inflation over the next four years. 

Duty on a bottle of wine is now nearly £1.50, plus VAT on the duty as well as the wine, while there is no duty at all in Italy, Spain, Portugal, Austria and Germany, while France fleeces its citoyens for all of 2p a bottle.  And yet we manage to remain sober – well, most of the time.

Captain Darling even claimed that wine drinkers are better off under this Government:  ”Alchohol has become more affordable. In 1997, the average bottle of wine bought in a supermarket was £4.45 in today’s prices.  If you go into a supermarket today, the average bottle of wine will cost about £4.00.”  

Perhaps, but what he didn’t say was that the government has trousered 37p more per bottle in duty in that time, before the new rate came into being.  Producers have been forced to cut costs, and two thirds of wine sold in Britain today is on ’special offer’.

50% tax on an average bottle

On a £4.20 bottle on sale in the UK, which is the average price paid for a bottle of wine, £2.10 goes on duty and VAT, then there’s shipping, storage and distribution, plus the agent and the retailer’s margin.  After the bottle, cork, capsule, label and packaging (we spend 50p on all these) that leaves rod all for the wine inside the bottle.

From £1 to £14

And duty doesn’t just affect retail prices.  A wine merchant friend of ours buys a house wine with a nice label from a co-op for £1, adds 50p shipping and delivery costs, then £1.50 duty, and adds a perfectly reasonable 25% margin on top.  So he sells it to restaurants for £4.00 ex-VAT, who need to make a 66% margin.

The wine’s therefore listed at £12 before VAT: £14 including VAT.  Without the duty element, as on the continent, the bottle would cost half that – and the merchant and the restaurant would make the same percentage margin.

(Toot toot – it makes our £8 Chateau Bauduc Bordeaux Blanc Sec, sold direct, look even better value at Rick Stein’s for just £19 on the front page of his list at The Seafood Restaurant, or for £20 chez Gordon Ramsay. If you can get a table, that is).

Britain has a fine tradition of wine merchants offering choice and value, but the increasing cost of importing wine (£1000 in UK duty for a pallet of 56 cases, plus the VAT later) means it will be harder times ahead.  One wine merchant who bought wine from us over a year ago has yet to pay the bill.

Yet with the low pound, there’s hope:  the UK is now a great tourist destination.  If only wine wasn’t so bloody expensive.