Sunday 19 June 2022

'Three Bottles of Château Grandpa' by David X. Lewis

We hold the demijohn to the light. The juice I’ve trodden from Grandpa’s grapes is murky. 

Grandpa says not to worry: it will clear after fermentation.

The liquid wurgles for weeks in Granny’s airing cupboard, but stays cloudy and tastes vile.

Grandpa says not to worry: it will mature.

We fill three Lucozade bottles with the funnel he uses for motor oil. I make labels for our first vintage.

There is no second. Grandpa dies as new grapes grow in the greenhouse. 

I find the bottles after Granny’s death. Seven years on, when I’m eighteen. Château Grandpa tastes good. And light shines through.

Not to worry.

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