In the vineyards, the grapes are in various states of readiness — some as small and hard as green peas, others already dark and shrivelled, a few slowly ripening, as they should, under the summer sun. The strange weather of late plays havoc with vigneron schedules. Fred runs here and there, up and down the rows of vines, chasing scents, then returning in the hope of more stale baguette.
