Last June during a visit to Puglia I was reminded again of how privileged we wine writers are. I was standing on the roof terrace of a white masseria-like hotel overlooking an intensely blue Adriatic sea, surrounded by a lush green land dotted with olive trees. Many of them are centenarians, each of them carrying a a little sign with a number by which they are officially registered. It is the only way they can be protected from being cut down or dug out to make way for higher-density, and higher-yielding varieties, or being sold off to fancy nurseries...