La Rentrée
And not burning up.
The Danish island of Langenland.
There’s a whiff of exoticism about the ‘out-of-office’ autoresponse for the chronically self-employed. Oft do we read them, seldom do we set them. The last time I had mine on was October 2021, when my daughter was being born. Before that, I had set it for a few days in 2018 when we were moving house. And that’s it.
It’s a far cry from the approach of an old music administrator I worked with who was so bedevilled with emails she had her autoresponder set permanently, only un-setting it when she was actually sat down at the computer (I suspect this was a ‘hostile environment’ approach to email management). I don’t even receive that many compared to my wife’s 100 (!) a day at work, and many of them are simple yes/no invitations.
It’s a myth, though, that activities such as writing or performing constitute ‘flexible’ careers. What they are is irregular, but highly inflexible. Can I just move that concert back a day? Perhaps that wine could be released a week later? Hardly. Things have to happen when they have to happen (and the emails make sure of that). Best to stay on the ball.
There’s something about having spent a great deal of time emailing French people over the last few years, though, that has recalibrated my consciousness of time. Gradually, through towering, sticky millefeuilles of work, parenting, travel logistics and housework, emails have been forgotten for a few days without pangs of remorse. A certain pride I once held in never being that guy that took four days to tackle a one-line response has flipped into the upside-down world, where a little pride is taken in leisureliness.
Perhaps this is how it should be. And perhaps it is my dear Champenois friends - whose record is 32 days for a confirmation of appointment time this year- to thank for this contagious elasticism in communications. It infuriates us British-American-German-Nordics, but these things are dances; elegance is achieved by partners matching their pacing. If it took 12 days to receive a response, a counter-response in three minutes is unseemly.
Despite this, plans have been made for the autumn. Sadly I won’t be going to Franciacorta in September as our trip was postponed.However I will be off to Penedès in November for Tim Atkin, and there will be some reporting on Franciacorta and England here soon. Before that, I’m in Champagne for harvest this year, with a variety of producers large and small, before being back again in October for Decanter (which has, as you may imagine, plenty of Champagne to talk about between now and Christmas).
One of my projects for this Substack is to keep a directory of all the producers I’m tasting for paying subscribers. A paragraph, no tasting notes or scores, but rather a few thoughts and honest appraisals of where things are standing. It won’t be selective, either, but rather comprehensive. I suppose I’ll start with the As….
Meanwhile, the inbox is gently purring again. My rowan berries are turning red, and there’s a missed delivery of new school uniforms to pick up from the corner shop (I’m worried we’ve ordered a size too large, and my boy will be trotting off to school looking like Charlie Chaplin). La Rentrée - the re-entry - is on. The aim, though, is not to burn up.