My home town
Carlisle is the north-westernmost town in England, a very, very long way from the fleshpots of London (usually well over four hours by train, thanks to the vagaries of Sir Richard Branson's Virgin West Coast line). I grew up in a village of 45 people just along the Roman wall from Carlisle and return regularly to my roots. Every few years I have tended to present a wine tasting for someone's pet charity and have just returned from one that was revelatory. My home town suddenly seems to have turned into a hotbed of wine fanatics. How did that happen? When I lived there (okay, okay, it was quite a long time ago) people drank Spanish...
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