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ABOUT WINEWEEKENDS
Wineweekends is the brainchild of Jon Hurley who left London and the wine trade with his wife Heather and son Russell in 1973, for Cooley Lodge, a small stone cottage in Herefordshire after reading a book on self sufficiency. A few months of eating nettles and looking out at rain sodden cows, miles of green grass and bent trees he invented Wineweekends and registered the name at Company House.
After a few weekends a Rolls Royce nosed its way up the Hurley's narrow lane. "Is this where the weekends are held?" a plump Welsh millionaire asked a little doubtfully. "Come in" Jon said as cool as you like, "take a pew by the fire while I get my corkscrew out." The man left on Sunday morning after breakfast not knowing his Asti from his Alba.
The press soon got wind of this unusual cottage industry. Remember this was when Oz was in short pants and Jilly wore a teeth brace and pigtails. Every weekend a hack or two came down to dodge the cowpats, inhale fresh air, walk over fields, pick mushrooms and drink themselves silly. On one of those early occasions Heather hid the Port decanter from a particularly thirsty young hackette whom she decided had had quite enough. Heather didn't realise drinking is part of being a journalist. Anyway it didn't take the journo long to find the hiding place and when Heather appeared with the coffee there she was, as brazen as you like with a brimming glass in front of her. "For God's sake let her," Jon said, "it might lubricate her pen as well".
It did and soon news of this odd little shoestring business spread. Soon bookings were flooding in from all over the country, and even from abroad. Harassed housewives, friendless estate agents, alcoholic doctors, pilloried accountants, impoverished teachers, right wing brigadiers, burly stone masons and gay car mechanics came in droves.
And at least one well known wine writer cut his vinous teeth around the log fire desperate to wean himself off Babycham. Novices gained confidence and wine snobs felt sufficiently unthreatened to tilt their glasses to the fire, loosen their ties and exclaim, "Hey, look at those legs".
The Hurley’s didn’t have a freezer, or a microwave, and never will. Instead they toiled in the garden, growing all their own veges. Organically too, long before that became an obligatory, if somewhat diluted, term in supermarkets. One of Jon’s earlier memories was trying to find his parsnips after a snowstorm! Another was going into the dining room one icy morning after several hours cleaning and polishing to see water cascading onto the carefully laid table!
In those days Jon bought his wines from a promiscuous number of small merchants, or a small number of promiscuous wine merchants. Most alas, are now in prison or have passed to the great off license in the sky. The survivors still supply him with the multi choice and quality he requires. Hundreds of different wines are tasted every year at Jon Hurley's Wineweekends.
Such was the popularity of the Wineweekends the Hurleys were able to move into Upper Orchard, an eccentric 17th century former pub in the village of Hoarwithy, still in Herefordshire where the frivolity continued.
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