Pewsey Vale

 Before we crush their flesh,
we crush their spirit.

Eager young grapes emerge on the closely planted vines of Pewsey Vale, hopes high of becoming succulent riesling grapes.

For most of course, this is a distant dream.

Indeed, what lies ahead is a nightmare for many.

They expect lives filled with sunny days and refreshing rain.

Foolish, foolish grapes.

Sun-starved days and bone-chillingly cold nights are their lot in life.

And the wretched few drops of water to occasionally fall from the skies could barely be described as rain.

Add to this torment, the nutrient starved and ghastly named yellow podzolic soil.

Oh, and let's not forget the unbearably icy frosts that are all too regular at an altitude of four hundred metres. (What sadistic sense of humour named this place Eden Valley?)

But there is a faint glimmer of hope for the hardiest of the vintage. A few survive to become strong and juice-laden grapes worthy of bearing the name Pewsey Vale.

Naturally, once they have achieved such greatness, we crush every last drop of goodness out of them.

After swapping QuarkXPress for Microsoft Word, this was one of the first ads I ever wrote and was fortunate enough to be judged Best Copywriting in Australia at the Caxton Awards.