Marlow's first English vintage

What fool says 2012 English Sparkling is a write off? 

At Henry and Kaye's first vintage this w/e, their Pump Lane vineyard at Marlow, produced its first crop. And it was rather impressive, considering the foul weather of the Summer and Autumn. If Pump Lane (nobody knows where that name came from) can produce two healthy tonnes on baby vines not yet trained to the wire, what might it do in a season with some actual sunshine?

The good result was, I think, largely due to the intensive – well, maybe fanatical – attention that small-scale family wine growers give to the vineyards they so love. Like small children, vineyards have to be watched constantly. You daren't take your eye off your darlings for a minute or they're falling over or coming down with botrytis or something. In just hours, all may be lost. 

Big corporate wine producers, I suppose, find it hard to achieve such levels of obsessive motivation across all their widespread holdings. Which is why, presumably they decide to 'pull out' of difficult vintages.

Fair enough.

But for them to do it in such a way as to imply that if they – big, wonderful they – cannot produce a decent wine this year then nobody can? Well, it makes them … bloody unpopular.

Some very good sparkling wine will be made this vintage. Not a lot. But then quality and quantity rarely come together in our line of work. 

It was a misty start, just like most mornings in Bordeaux. Barbara and I set up the tents and tables with secateurs, gloves, baskets and lunch … for later. Henry laid out grape samples; "these you pick; these you leave". Kaye couldn't wait for the others and skipped off with cries of joy, to pick her real own grapes … at last! Three-year wait over!   

The wet clay soil though made it heavy going for the rest of us. Just like at Ascot. No Frankel's here.Told to start with the Pinot Meunier then move on to the Pinot Noir. About two hectares’ worth. Quite a lot for a small team of friends and family.

Henry fairly cracks the whip too. Hadn't seen my cousin Isobel in ages but "never mind the chatting, get picking!" From as far away as Cheltenham and Sheffield they came. And broke their backs. Real friends do that.

"Just till lunch" was what we were told. Nearly 4, it was. But then, in a year like this you don't want to leave a single grape … and that makes for very fiddly picking.

Home to hit the Radox.

Out again Sunday early. God, it hurt. But maybe because the bug that has laid low most of our Bordeaux team at some time finally got me too. I am ashamed to admit I left the field at half-time. Got in the car and fell fast asleep.

But was woken to see the final result: all those baskets of lovely Chardonnay. 

Like yesterday's they were all then rushed down to Sussex. (Not ideal, but if you haven't built your winery yet …) Mike Roberts down at Ridgeview seemed happy with the quality of H and K's black grape juice, we hope the white does as well.

We'd picked everything in the dry but as we packed up to go, the rain started again. Spare a thought – and a prayer – for Barbara. Her harvest is next weekend. Which, looking at the weather, seems an eternity.