Bumble goes to France

Bumble - my mini, Tracey and I, set off on our big french adventure, with a tape player/radio on the dashboard: a tent, which, we discovered at 11pm one evening in the middle of nowhere, had no pegs: a bottle of cider, and not a lot else.  We sang Lilac Wine by Elkie Brooks into the antenna of the radio, and braved narrow mountain passes that terrified both of us. 

We were nineteen, it was our first adventure together, and it was when my mind started to really thrive on the inflow of sights, sounds and smells.  Somehow I needed to capture all of it - and so my usual diary-writing routine moved up a gear, and I added poetry into the mix.  We started our trip grape-picking in the Loire, and this is a poem I wrote whilst there:

GRAPES

Little green ones,
little red ones.
Big green ones,
big red ones.
Mouldy green ones,
mouldy red ones,
all for me to pick
and squash
and cut my bloody finger
and get bloody back ache
and bloody dirty hands.
But, oh, how I love you, Grapes.