We all assembled outside the classroom and were introduced to Kevin, the New Zealander in charge of the College's two vineyard sites. He was suitably dressed down for the occasion in T-shirt, shorts and hiking boots and possessor of a skin several shades darker than my own pallid complexion, this no doubt as a result of hours spent outdoors tending to grape vines. We all got back in the mini-bus and were driven at breakneck speed to our first destination. After exiting the mini-bus a further shade paler than when I got in Kevin immediately snapped a few sharp questions at us. 'Is this a North or South facing slope?' silence 'Why is there a row of tall trees on this side of the vineyard?' much shuffling of feet. 'What did you eat for lunch because you guys are pretty slow?'
The vineyard backed onto the hills of the South Downs. Cows grazed obliviously in the next field. It was slightly weird seeing lines of grape vines growing against such a quintessentially English back drop. A fair old wind blew as we wandered up and down the neatly trellised rows of vines.
'This is a Scott Henry' Kevin informed us 'and this is a Geneva Double Curtain.'
There was more to vine growing than just plonking them in the ground and hoping they sprouted forth perfectly ripe grapes. The vineyard seemed to contain every example of a trellising system known to man, all designed to aid the ripening process crucial in places like England with such a marginal climate.
Kevin told us about a frost that had 'burnt' half the vineyard one chilly morning a few years back. I was full of admiration for this Canute like stand against the forces of nature but couldn't help wondering whether it was really worth all the effort.
Kevin showed us his automated bird scarer that mimicked the distress calls of most of Britain's indigenous bird population. He flicked a switch and suddenly the air was filled with the sound of frantic bird noises. I was suddenly in a Hitchcock film and gazed nervously at the skies. I couldn't help noticing the line of sparrows twittering away obliviously on a telegraph wire above our heads unfazed by the noise.
There followed a question and answer session. Now was my chance to grill and expert. I was curious to know how many vines were in a row and how many vines might I need to make a bottle of wine. Kevin looked at me, a slightly bemused look on his face. It seemed a bit of a stupid question. We were here to learn about trellising systems not waste time with irrelevant hypothetical scenarios but I needed to know whether my whole project was a waste of time. Better to learn the harsh truth now than later.
I asked him how much it might cost to set up your own vineyard.
'if you don't already own the land' he said, which of course I didn't, 'after you've paid for the posts, the wires, the rootstock, the equipment, not to mention the labour, you're looking at tin to fifteen grand'
Tin to fifteen grand. That's that option crossed off the list then.
We clambered back into the mini-bus, me feeling deflated. I noticed a blueberry bush growing from a hedge. Maybe that was more my level. Pick some blueberries and buy a kit from the internet. Far less hassle but I had my heart set on the real thing, nothing less.
After another high speed journey through the beautiful countryside and picturesque villages we tumbled out into the next vineyard known as Rock Lodge. This one was much bigger, about the size of two football pitches. It was surrounded on all side by trees. As we admired the trellising systems Kevin suddenly spotted two pheasants wandering aimlessly onto the patch. In an instant he was off, doing the impersonation of his national rugby team doing the Haka. The pheasants scarpered into the safety of the woods as the mad eyed Kiwi raced towards them.
One up for humankind. Kevin looked like the kind of person who could handle himself in the great outdoors. I was more the indoor type, cursing the fact I'd forgotten to bring my hairdryer along on this trip. Roughing it goes with the territory with winemaking. It just all seemed a million miles away from my comfortable urban life. As we walked back to the mini-bus I couldn't help thinking there must be a simpler way of doing this. People have been making wine for thousands of years. OK it might have had the aromatic appeal of a Legionaires jock strap but at least they'd managed the alchemy from grape to alcoholic juice which is essentially all I'm aiming at. It was a bit of a wake up call. I had to get real and quick.
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