This is the season of madness. As a wine writer, three to four invitations hit my desk or inbox per week: wine tastings and launches, awards, vineyard and cellar tours. Some invitations are to events potentially unique and entertaining, like the one to go and eat baked sheep’s heads with the residents of an old age home in Stellenbosch. Others get deleted ASAP: Who really wants to drive two hours up the West Coast to taste another Shiraz-Merlot blend, “made in the vineyard”?
Point is it’s getting too much. I can’t write about it all. And therefore can’t attend all the events. So speaking for myself, and with respect to the consummate and other professionals who entice writers to whatever function, I wish to take the liberty of stressing a few general points that extenders of invitations and issuers of press-releases should take to heart. Just like any budding ornithologist knows, a better understanding of the creature will place you in position where your endeavours stand a greater chance of being rewarded.
• By this time I really know that “wine is made in the vineyard”. The next time these words appear on an invitation, in a press release or heard as part of a speech – usually after a dramatic pause – I will personally pull out one of these particular vines and set it alight on the cheeseboard.
• If I am invited to a function on which I am expected to report and my communication vehicle is Afrikaans, then your chance of results will be escalated by having the common decency to draft the invitation and the relevant publicity material in Afrikaans. The reason for this is not because we Afrikaners can’t understand English, but because we love laughing at some of the weird translations we receive.
• According to a study done by GaljoenGat Communications Consultants, an average wine writer is incapable of digesting the contents of any speech that exceeds 3 minutes and 47 seconds. Attempts to disregard this research will result in a FCA (failed communication attempt), which cannot be cured by the largest doses of Ritalin or even Cabernet Sauvignon.
• Wine writers actually know how to tie neckties, button jackets and iron our skirts. We really just dress like we do at functions so as to recognize one another – who can read a bloody name tag after six glasses of wine in any event?
• Just because some of us are vegetarian doesn’t mean most wine writers eat like Burmese monks. All this haute cuisine we have to endure at swanky functions leads to us writing articles that are - like the food - beautifully arranged, but awfully small.
• When inviting a wine writer to an evening function, be so polite as to extend the invitation to the writer and his or her partner. Not only does this allow us to show the rest of society that some people actually don’t mind sharing their lives with a cynical wine critic, but it also brings a designated driver into play should the working journalist decide to enjoy the party by getting trashed. Those wine writers who despite their charm, intelligence and wit are for some or other reason still unattached can use this occasion to bring along a date and thus proceed in (once again) attempting to get the lucky.
• One of the few pleasures our job entails finding a reason to employ floral, verbose prose and poetic wine descriptions. Press-releases should thus not spoil our fun by trying to do this job for us. We will decide whether a wine maker is “thrilled” at a new wine or whether winning two silver medals at the Ipswich Red Wine Review is a “tremendous achievement”.
• Wine writers are extremely fond of each other and harbour no feelings of envy or spite towards others of their ilk. Regular efforts by other lesser elements of the media and the wine fraternity to tar us as a bunch of egoists eager to plunge a Laguoile corkscrew into each other’s backs, is nothing but a cheap attempt to break this fortress of unity around us. An injury to one is an injury to all!
• Despite our high moral standards and ethical journalistic practices, wine writers do, in fact, accept complimentary samples of wines. The odd apron, chef’s jacket and jug of organic olive oil won’t do any harm either. However, when dishing out a sample pack containing more than three bottles, please provide a suitable helping hand to assist in carrying the load to the car. Walking out of a function with eight bottles of free wine could lead to aforementioned lesser mortals jumping to all sorts of conclusions, not to mention the strain it places on one’s shoulder muscles.
• To the PR agency: we will call you should we need anything else. Post function telephone calls asking if we “need anything else” or “are going to write something” are greater sins than expecting us to pay for our own lunch.
• Despite our inherent modesty, we wine writers do not take unkindly to the odd compliment. Complimenting us on a (deserved) well-written article or witty comment is in order and sometimes works as well in getting positive publicity as two bottles of single-vineyard wine and a three course meal.
• Priding ourselves on our individuality, wine writers do things differently. Therefore most of us still hang onto those quaint dial-up internet connections that are as stylishly old-fashioned as a pair of scuffed brogues or ostrich skin hand-bags. What it also means is that any e-mail of more than 1.9 MB is going to cause a crash of our systems, resulting in much hysterics including a chance to do what we don’t really want to do, but know we must from time-to-time: vent our spleens at the PR world.
And just be glad it’s the spleen – the liver would kill you.