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Posts Tagged ‘champagne’

We’ve had a bottle of cava ‘chilling’ for months now and we still haven’t popped it to celebrate our book deal. Anyone would think it was a bottle of Krug Clos du Mesnil 1995 Champagne ($750 per bottle) which might go some way to explaining the dithering. But no, this is a bottle of Valle de Juy Cava; €2.30 a bottle at Al Campo.
So why the delay?

Well, to begin with, back in July when we were first offered the deal is probably when we should have opened it but then we thought; “let’s wait until we get the contract just in case anything goes wrong; many a slip twixt cup and all that.” So we waited.

The contract arrived and we thought; “we’ll sign it and send their copy back and when they receive it, that’s when we’ll crack the cava.” So we waited.

For some reason the contract got mislaid in the postal system and it was several weeks before the publisher acknowledged receipt of it, by which time we’d already started drafting the book. So we thought; “OK, we’ll open it when we finish writing the book.” And we waited.

We submitted our first draft at the end of October and waited with bated breath to hear if it would be accepted or if it needed more work. Word came quickly that the book was considered “really excellent” by the publisher. Unfortunately, along with the acceptance was a long list of additional things that we needed to produce; a biography, author photos, testimonials etc. so there wasn’t a clear cut ‘finished’ point.
We dutifully provided everything on the publisher’s list and then said; ”That’s it. The moment this baby gets to print, the cork’s coming out of that cava before it turns to vinegar.” But then the typeset text arrived for proof-reading, and then the cover, and then finally, we were told it was at the printers.

By this time, we’d decided the cava was getting opened on Saturday night and hang the consequences. Unfortunately, we had a ‘difference of opinion’ on the way to watch the match and then, as we only managed a draw, we decided we weren’t really in the mood to drink the stuff.

So, as I sit here writing, four and a half months later, the cava is still in its virgin state in the fridge, chilled enough to burn your fingertips at the touch.

Going Native in Tenerife is now on sale at Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk and in e book form at Book Shaker.com and as long as nothing untoward happens in the next 5 hours, that damn cava is getting opened tonight.

I don’t know what it is about us that drives us to work so hard and yet prevents us from celebrating our successes, something which we both know from our former lives as executives is absolutely paramount to maintaining morale and recognizing good work.

It’s time to re-learn some of our management wisdom; from here on in corks are going to pop on cava bottles at the least excuse.

Then again, perhaps we should wait until we get our first sale…

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Invitations for the ball had been despatched and, although we didn’t actually receive one (office admin’ please note), our presence had been requested by Sean Coward, the Director of Living Tenerife magazine for which we’re regular contributors.
It was to be THE party of the year; a red carpet affair with 300 invited guests and double that once the doors of the Buda Bar were opened up to the public. There was going to be champagne, and wine and cocktails and fabulous dresses and music and dancing and oh! I couldn’t wait!

The reports of ‘severe weather’ heading our way first came to our notice about Wednesday. Heavy rain, they said, possibility of floods, and storms, from midnight Friday (well actually they said from 00.00 hours, which probably should have rung a warning bell in the first place as I don’t know in quite which timeless void the met office here work) until midnight Saturday. A deluge of rain, they said, 30 litres per square metre in an hour. I have absolutely no idea what 30 litres an hour looks like but I’m guessing it’s heavy. Avoid road journeys, they said, no camping or walking in areas prone to flooding.

I took in the washing, rang Sean to tell him we couldn’t risk the journey south and, feeling like a latter day Cinderella, sat at my keyboard and worked. And waited.
And waited.

Storm clouds over Mount TeideStorm clouds began to gather as the sun was going down and yet, the sky above Puerto de la Cruz remained obstinately clear, the bright blue of the afternoon giving way to bright stars in a cloudless heaven.
Still we waited.
8.30 pm. The guests would be arriving now, all looking their glamorous best, clutching their ‘welcome’ glass of champagne and looking forward to a night of unbridled fun. No storm.
9.30 pm. The party would be in full swing now, speeches being made, food being nibbled and wine flowing. No storm.
11 pm. They’ll be opening the doors of Buda Bar to the public now so that the regular Friday night groovers can join in the festivities and swell the ranks of people having a REALLY GOOD TIME. No storm.

Midnight came and went without sight nor sound of a carriage turning back into a pumpkin or a single drop of rain on the terrace. At 1.30 am, feeling like a 7 year old who’d just missed her best friend’s birthday party, I went to bed. No storm.

2.30 am. I’m awoken rudely by what seemed like 1000 watts of light across the retinas followed by the sound of the roof falling in. Leaping out of bed we unplugged every electric appliance we could find, given that our eyes were still closed at the time, and went back to bed. Another blinding flash followed by an end-of-the-world thunder clap. Then another. Splashes of rain the size of a child’s paddling pool fell onto the patio, just one, then two, then seven.
“Here we go”, we said. And waited.

I don’t remember what time I drifted back to sleep but I’m pretty certain there wasn’t another flash or another clap of thunder all night. In the morning the few random spots where the giant splashes had fallen looked like Freudian ink spots in the dust on the terrace.

In my book, there’s only one thing less reliable than a weather forecast, and that’s a bloody fairy godmother!

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