Wednesday, 6 May 2009

The Olive Festival’s over for another year

This year my Olive Festival was quieter than previous ones, mainly because financial embarrassment rendered me unable to have my customary Friday Night Olive Festival Kickoff Dinner. Instead, my housemate and winemaker Dean, our friend T (Max's mom) and I spent an evening in kitchen-industry, labelling his wine for sale the next morning. Here they are, hard at work. T was responsible for capping and drying the bottles, Dean did the main labelling, and I did some minor labelling (which was all, apparently, my shaky hands and less-than-eagle-eyes could be trusted with).

And here is our friend Johann, who became very weary after he’d watched us for an hour or so (and it was also tiring for him pointing out all the times Dean put his labels on slightly skew), and had to lie down for a while. That’s Dean’s wine, beautifully labelled and cased and ready to be had for a modest price by discerning drinkers.

The Olive Festival attracts a different crowd each year, and there’s never any telling what that crowd will be. Last year’s, for instance, was a bit yobbish, and there were several instances of fisticuffs and arguments.

This year’s, however, seemed a slightly more salubrious bunch, and although restaurants and bars were very busy and sometimes packed to and beyond capacity, people were good about waiting patiently and being understanding and not moaning when they didn’t get exactly what they wanted at the very instant they wanted it. (Three friends and I waited for two hours to get into Bar Bar Black Sheep, my favourite restaurant in the world – but since I pulled a ‘local’ card and only booked that morning for lunch, the fact that they were able to seat us at all says mountains for how they look after their loyal supporters.)

I was particularly proud of my two children and two of their friends, who worked the three days of the festival. These four teenagers left the house early each morning looking smart and gorgeous, worked their butts off all day, came back for dinner, went out jolling, got to bed at a reasonable hour, and were up early the next morning to repeat the process. Not only did I receive endless compliments on their great intelligence, beauty, charm and the like, but they took to heart my reminder that my house is not a hotel, and left each morning after having made beds and generally cleaned up after themselves. They earned good money, and they deserved every penny of it.

And here is Dean, in after-fiesta-siesta mode (with The Wobbly Dog and Monster Baby in close attendance as usual). This pic was taken at 2am on Monday morning, after we’d done our community duty by attending the village’s wind-down party at a local pub. Much fun was had by all.

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1 comment:

tonypark said...

Is it any wonder Johann is my role model. Dean, however, is a close second.