It has been six weeks since my last visit to Gusbourne Estate, so I wondered how different it would be down there. The people, at least, hadn’t changed: I was picked up at Appledore Station by vineyard manager and professional Yorkshireman Jon, whose mordant sense of humour instantly set upon the fact that I happened to be carrying a rather formal looking brolly. My defence that the forecast had been biblical was not good enough: I was a soft-centered townie. Bit o’ drizzle ne’er hurt ‘owt. At the vineyard there was, as usual, the redoubtable Tom, the cybernetic organism with an indefatigable work ethos who is currently...