Laura R Gray writes originally from Scotland, Laura has lived in and around Montalcino since 1995 and is culturally Italian and bilingual. She was CEO of a boutique Brunello winery for twenty years and is still immersed in the wonderful world of Tuscan wine. Her book, The Magpie’s Guide to Montalcino, was published by Constellations Press in 2024.
The SG annual convention
Sangioveto leant back on the swivel chair, extended her arms to their full length and cracked her knuckles pensively. Any minute now they would all be here. In fact, no sooner had she had that thought than she heard the doorbell ring. It was no surprise that the first to arrive was Piccolo. He hung up his hat and looked around expectantly. He was a neat personage, with delicate hands and small feet. “No sign of Grosso?” he asked hesitantly – Sangioveto corrected him - “Surely you mean Brunello-In-Montalcino? No, not yet.” The old rivalry had solidified over the years into something more performative though, in the past, offence had been both given and taken. These days it had little to do with size, though Bim was without a doubt possessed of a thicker skin. There was a long-standing bet amongst the group as to how long would pass before the words fiasco or Ricasoli would be pronounced. After a small kerfuffle at the doorway about who would enter first, the two adjourned to the dining room to await the other guests. There they found Nielluccio, cigar in hand. He had arrived the night before; the journey from Corsica was too onerous to attempt in a single day. He was a robust character with a hint of a Ligurian accent, on the swarthy side and famous for telling wonderful jokes. The next to appear was Di Romagna; a gawky chap, larger than life and prone to making exaggerated gestures. In fact, he had a whole wheel of Parmesan under one arm while with the other he brandished a leg of prosciutto and was almost effervescent with good humour. In his wake Prugnolo entered the room, entirely without fanfare, and sat quietly in the corner. He blushed a deep purple but was too much of a gentleman to remonstrate about the lack of greetings. It was clear to everyone that he was waiting for Morellino; they always sat together and were great friends. BBS11, with her usual disregard for punctuality and an elegance that belied her age, appeared with a regal flounce and took her customary place at the head of the table. She indicated that Bim sit on her left, and he did, with a modicum of grace and a slightly acidic smile.
Sangioveto cleared her throat. There followed the usual speech, the necessity of celebrating differences, that they had more in common than they might realise and so on. Ships and rising tides were referenced and, naturally, the power of unity in these troubled times. As the evening wore on, the assorted bunch of guests began to look more and more alike. Following a particularly hilarious tale from Nielluccio, as they all laughed heartily, spluttering and wiping their eyes, it had become nearly impossible to tell them apart.
Image by diane555 via iStock.
