Black Caviar Returns

Farmer Bill has been a member of the Victoria Racing Club (VRC) at Flemington since 1972 and still loves a day the races. Knowing how much both my parents enjoy watching a good horse race, chauffeuring them down to Melbourne for a day of metropolitan racing was on my list of goals for 2013. When Black Caviar’s trainer, Peter Moody announced she would be racing in Melbourne on the 16^th February I started planning a day trip to Victoria’s capital.

Black Caviar is a brown six-year-old thoroughbred mare; winning every race she has ever entered and has become an Australian equine heroine, following in the hoofsteps of legendary horses like Carbine, Phar Lap, Kingston Town and Makybe Diva.

She was famously flown to England last year to race in front of Queen Elizabeth II at Royal Ascot in June. I’d been lucky enough to be there that day as Black Caviar battled it out to win (in a heart-stopping moment) by the smallest of margins in the 1200m Diamond Jubilee Stakes. She appeared tired and worn out afterwards and like many other people, I thought her racing days were over and I had witnessed her final race.

Last Saturday she made her spectacular return to the racing world and Farmer Bill, Granny and I along with over 27,000 other race goers, made our way to Melbourne’s Flemington Race Course to watch a moment of history unfold. She was entered to run in The Black Caviar Lightning Stakes, a straight race of one thousand metres, renamed in 2012 in her honour.

Her transformation on Saturday was nothing short of miraculous as she entered the Mounting Yard looking relaxed and supremely fit. Her well-muscled frame is 16.2 hands high or 164.6cm to the top of her shoulder and she looked every bit the champion.

Watching thoroughbred horses on the final leg of a racetrack is a sight to behold, each one straining to outrun the other and every muscle fully stretched. Black Caviar made it look easy as she glided down the straight. Her enormous strides seemed effortless and she passed the winning post two and a half lengths clear of her closest rival in a time of 55.42 seconds, breaking a course record that had stood since the mare, Special had won the Lightning Stakes in 1988.

 

Black Caviar has become the first horse in history to win the race three years in a row since its inception in 1955 and it took her phenomenal racing career to twenty-three wins from twenty-three starts. Rising seven years in August, my only wish is that when she does retire, she retires uninjured and undefeated.

Bureaucrats and Birthday Cakes: How germs keep us healthy.

Last week it seemed to me that the fun police at the helm of our nanny state had gone into overdrive when I heard a news story about banning birthday cake candle blowing at childcare centres. Who were the mental giants behind this and were my taxes funding them? I wondered. After some brief research I discovered the original news story had been somewhat sensationalised. (Who’d have thought?!)

It turns out, Australia’s peak body for supporting health and medical research and developing health advice for the Australian community, the National Health and Medical Research Council (NHMRC) have released some new guidelines. (Bear in mind the NHMRC’s mission statement is: Working to build a healthy Australia…)

Their new guidelines, titled “Staying Healthy”, are aimed at preventing the spread of viruses and diseases among children in early childhood education and childcare services. One of the guidelines (see below) suggests to avoid spreading germs, children should not blow out candles on a birthday cake to be shared with friends.

1.2.2            Celebration cakes and blowing out candles

Many children like to bring a cake to share with their friends on their birthday. Children love to blow out their candles while their friends are singing ‘happy birthday’. Cakes and candles may also be brought into the education and care service for other special occasions. To prevent the spread of germs when the child blows out the candles, parents should either:

•            provide a separate cupcake (with a candle if they wish) for the birthday child and enough cupcakes for all the other children

•            provide a separate cupcake (with a candle if they wish) for the birthday child and a large cake that can be cut and shared.

It was at about this point I ran screaming from the room and wondered how the human race was going to survive for another generation.

No parent likes it when their child is ill. Not only is it upsetting and worrying to see your child unwell, it causes considerable inconvenience to the working parent. However, childhood illnesses are a fact of life and I believe, play an important role in a person’s long-term health.

From the moment we are born we are exposed to disease causing viruses and bacteria. Our immune systems are constantly put to work identifying the various strains of diseases and then working out how best to overcome any current illness (if we have one) and protect our bodies from future attack. Once children start attending childcare or school, their exposure to illnesses increases and quite naturally, in the early years, they often have increased periods of being sick.

While it is frustrating and upsetting for parents, not to mention miserable for the child, these periods of relatively minor illnesses are strengthening the child’s developing immune system.

I suspect our immune system operates under a “use it or lose it” arrangement. If we are over-protected against minor germs (like those that might lurk in the icing of a delicious chocolate birthday cake that’s just had the candles blown out by some random three year old), we will have little or no defense against more serious germs.

If the NHMRC is serious about working to build a healthy Australia, then I would hope their focus would be on building strong immune systems as well as minimising infectious diseases.

- Annie Barr

I don't know about you but there's a risk I'm willing to take!

A Trip to Melbourne to see War Horse

Last Wednesday as we began the final week of the summer school holidays, the boys and I enjoyed a day trip to Melbourne to see the National Theatre of Great Britain’s production of War Horse. This colossal theatrical production is currently being shown at the State Theatre in Melbourne’s Arts Centre.

Motoring through city traffic is not my idea of fun so we drove as far as Bendigo and then caught the train to Melbourne. By happy coincidence as the boys and I entered the second carriage we ran into former district local, Susie Wood, also on her way to Melbourne. Susie and I talked nonstop and the two-hour train ride passed quickly.

A short walk and tram ride transported the boys and I into the middle of the city for a quick, early lunch before the show. I’m always amazed at the sheer number and variety of food outlets in the city; how do they all survive? We covered French, Italian and Japanese cuisines with Henry having a toasted croissant, Max and Sam choosing focaccias and I opted for sushi.

From the city we caught a tram on Swanston Street, across the Princess Bridge spanning the Yarra River, to the Arts Centre. Trams have been operating in Melbourne since 1885 and are a quick and easy form of public transport to get around the city.

The State Theatre is underground at the Arts Centre and opened to the public in 1984. It has seating for 2,085 people and one of the largest stages in the world. Once we’d found our very comfortable velvety seats in Row J of the stalls and sat down, I turned to the lady next to me and asked if she was from Melbourne? No, as it turned out she wasn’t. Her name was Mary and she lived on a dairy farm at Cohuna… proving yet again, just how tiny the world is.

For the next few hours we sat enthralled, watching the enormous production of War Horse with its actors, life-sized horse puppets and puppeteers. Based on Michael Morpurgo’s 1982 novel, the story was adapted to theatre and premiered in London in October 2007 as well as being turned into a blockbuster movie directed by Steven Spielberg and released in December 2011.

War Horse tells the story of friendship and the extraordinary connection between a horse named Joey who is raised on a farm in the English county of Devon and his owner, farm boy, Albert Narracott.

At the outbreak of the First World War Albert’s father Ted sells Joey to the army where he becomes the mount for cavalry officer Nicholls. After Captain Nicholls is killed in action, Albert, still distraught at losing his horse, becomes determined to join the army, to find Joey and bring him home. Albert enlists underage and at sixteen, he descends into the hell of WWI trench warfare.

Theatre combines storytelling with 3D at its best. The story is portrayed vividly with spectacular sound and lighting. The puppeteers made the life-sized horse puppets move so realistically, we in the audience almost forgot the horses were puppets.

After the show it was time to catch the train back to Bendigo and then drive home to Barham. A big day out we all thoroughly enjoyed.

Australia Day and Lilo Racing

Last Saturday, 26^th January was Australia Day. A day to inspire national pride, put aside our differences and feel proud and grateful for the country we live in, no matter who we are or where we came from.

Australia Day was pretty much a non-event in my childhood, I can’t remember any significant memories of the day until 1988 when I watched via television, the tall ships sailing into Sydney Harbour, re-enacting the First Fleet’s arrival on 26^th January 1788. Since then however, the day has grown with people all over the country taking the time to attend community gatherings, Australia Day Awards and citizenship ceremonies and catching up with family and friends.

Last weekend arrived with a welcome cool change that dropped local temperatures to a very pleasant 30°C and sunny. Unfortunately a Saturday morning sleep-in caused me to miss our local Lions Club’s Australia Day breakfast in the Riverside Park but I survived nicely on Vegemite toast courtesy of Sam, with some of my favourite locally grown produce; avocados and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

Nowadays I celebrate Australia Day with epicurean patriotism. Like Hush, the baby possum from Mem Fox’s classic Australian children’s book, Possum Magic, I like to eat Vegemite sandwiches, lamingtons and Pavlova… as well as chops, salad and watermelon on our national day.

This year for lunch, the boys and I set up our table down on the riverbank and together with family and friends we enjoyed barbequed lamb chops, boiled spuds, a mixture of salads and fresh bread and butter. To finish the meal we indulged in that great Australian icon, the lamington. Squares of jam-filled sponge cake rolled in chocolate sauce and desiccated coconut, this marvellous gastronomic invention is attributed to Lord Lamington the Governor of Queensland (1896 – 1901) and his household.

Sunday was the day of the annual Great Aussie Lilo Race organised each Australia Day weekend by the Koondrook Barham Football Netball Club. Competitors gathered at the Koondrook boat ramp for what is arguably the most colourful community event of the year. A rainbow of air mattresses and life jackets, inner tubes from trucks and tractors and various other inflatable water toys.  The race is floated, swum and paddled (in varying degrees of competitiveness) from the Koondrook boat ramp, downstream on the Murray River to the Barham boat ramp. With cooler morning temperatures than Saturday, the boys decided 23°C was too cold and abandoned all ideas of entering the Great Aussie Lilo Race.

Although I felt deflated (like last year’s punctured lilo) by this family mutiny, I was still looking forward to the big float. A quick phone call had me securing a spot in the girl’s team, Aussie Sheilas, with Mandy, Erin and Theresa.

For just over half an hour we laughed and splashed our way downstream on our lilos with Erin setting a cracking pace in her hydrodynamic Havaiana inflatable thong. We emerged at the Barham boat ramp to bask in the glory of second team home – go us!
- Annie Barr

Team Aussie Sheilas

Loving Summer Holiday Traditions

For the last week the boys and I have been hanging out on the New South Wales South Coast, soaking up the sun, sea and sand at Merimbula. Since our inaugural trip to the coast in 2004, when Henry rather infamously broke his leg at seventeen months and Max discovered first hand why blue bottle jellyfish are best avoided, we’ve had eight trips over here.

The great “pack up” that leads up to this annual trip is something I prefer to ignore until the last possible moment; I detest packing. The upside of this, is the boys have all become adept at packing their own clothes, fishing rods and boogie boards from an early age. Typically I can be found throwing things into the Trusty Nissan around midnight on the night before we leave and promising myself that “next time I will be more organised and start packing earlier”.

There is no easy short cut to Merimbula from Barham but part of our family’s beach holiday habit is an overnight stopover at Sandy and Dave Litchfield’s property at Nimmitabel. A night at Sandy and Dave’s (along with Cloudy the little fluffy dog and Lenny the even fluffier and now somewhat matted and ancient cat) is a highlight and synonymous with going to Merimbula and makes the 770km journey a lot easier for all of us.

Last Tuesday, I woke the boys at 4.50am with the unrealistic view of embarking on our 680km trip to Nimmitabel by 5am… still we were on the road by 5.30am. Packing I may hate but driving is something I enjoy (so long as it’s not through city traffic), as we motored out of Barham on the Moulamein Road, I started to feel relaxed and that our holiday had begun.

The beauty of getting on the road early for a long trip is you can get half the day’s driving over with by the time you stop for a late-ish breakfast. Wagga Wagga is our breakfast stop and we arrived before 9.30am to indulge in our annual Scottish breakfast at McDonalds. I must say the menu of the Golden Arches global empire has improved over the years (either that or my nutritional conscience regarding mass produced fast food has slipped) and this year I thoroughly enjoyed my “Boston Deli Bagel” of bacon, egg, tomato, cheese and avocado.

From Wagga Wagga is seemed an easy, albeit slow, drive along the Snowy Mountains Highway, past Blowering Dam and through the Great Dividing Range to Nimmitabel. After saying goodbye to Sandy and Dave the following morning, we travelled the final 90km, down Brown Mountain to Merimbula and the little cottage above Bar Beach, kindly lent to us by cousin Vicky.

For a week we have swum; spent hours catching waves at Main Beach with our boogie boards (who would have thought hydrodynamic foam could be so much fun?!); buried ourselves in sand; fished; eaten a substantial quantity of delicious, plump Sydney Rock Oysters from the award winning Stirling Oysters of Merimbula Lake (owned by friend and former Hay district resident, Stirling Cullenward); Sam and Henry played touch footy on the beach in hotly contested Riverina versus Monaro matches; snorkelled around the rocks near Bar Beach; jumped off the Merimbula Wharf (well, Max did); enjoyed early morning walks along Middle Beach and caught up with old friends.

Heading to the beach for a week in January has built up over the years to become a summertime tradition for our family and even if we were never to come again, I hope these carefree coastal memories stay with the boys for a lifetime.

Setting Goals in 2013

“You are never too old to set another goal or dream a new dream.”                  – C.S.Lewis

With the arrival of the New Year, I looked back on my “Goals for 2012” list I had written twelve months ago. It always provides me with a sense of satisfaction and achievement when I’m able to cross a significant number of things off this annual list.

There were twenty-four goals I had written down on my list for last year and I managed to tick nineteen of them off as either achieved (Goal 19: visit somewhere new – hello Edgar and Annie’s Excellent Epic Adventure to England!) or partially achieved (Goal 14: de-clutter house and life…)

Of the five things that I didn’t cross off (Goal 23: put photos into photograph albums), two will go onto my list for 2013 (along with my partially achieved goals) and three I’m giving the flick to because I’m no longer interested in pursuing them. That’s the beauty of goals and dreams; you don’t have to stick rigidly to them. Goals can be passionately pursued, modified or completely discarded in favour of new ones as you wander along that long winding path that is uniquely yours in life.

Having a tendency towards making impulsive, spur-of-the-moment decisions based on whims, I feel it’s to my benefit to write down a list of goals at the start of every year. Like other people who believe in the power of manifestation, I am a firm believer that it at least helps to guide me towards what I’d like to achieve… even if it’s only on a subconscious level.

Taking the time to stop and think about what I’d like to achieve in the coming year gives structure and purpose to my day-to-day life and encourages me to try new things.

This year’s list is far from complete but one big goal I’ve written down for myself in 2013 is completing the Great Victorian Bike Ride (GVBR).

I first became interested in the ride when I lived in Melbourne during 1989 and 1990 and thought, “I’m going to do that one day.” Needless to say life got busy and I didn’t have the GVBR down as a priority. Move forward to 2011 and the GVBR landed on our doorstep (literally) as the ride came through Barham. Since then I’ve thought a bit more seriously about taking part; cue manifestation…

Once you start focussing your energy on something, it’s amazing how things start falling into place. Suddenly I’m running into people everywhere I go who have done the ride. Every one of them is wildly enthusiastic, full of helpful advice and encouraging me towards my goal. In my mind, this is clearly a sign…

Summer in the 70s

Happy New Year readers and hello 2013. This week we are being blasted by a heatwave like summers of old. While some people are convinced it is a sure sign of global warming, I’m lost in the nostalgia of the summers of my childhood on the Hay Plains.

When my mother arrived as a bride at Red Hill Station in 1966 there was only one tree on the 20,000+ acre sheep station. It must have been quite a shock to her system, arriving from her lush family farm in New Zealand’s north island, where she had grown up with hills covered in green grass and abundant trees, fat, white sheep and no bush flies, red-back spiders or snakes.

The Hay Plains are naturally treeless and the trees that my parents planted took years to grow into anything significant (those trees that actually survived that is). The summers in the ‘70s out there were hot and relentless with very little shade. When they built their new homestead in 1967, my parents had a “cool room” built into the kitchen; a large walk-in fridge that could easily hang a side of beef or several sheep, boxes of fruit and vegetables and other groceries. My mother still says it’s the best room in the house during the summer and we used to take turns at locking ourselves in it as kids (and snacking on whatever yummy food we could find).

The air-conditioning in the family chariot, our ’72 Datsun 240c consisted of rolling down the windows and you had to be careful when sliding in on the black vinyl back seat (I was always a little envious of those fluffy lambskin seat covers that Mum and Dad had for their front seats).

After the flood years of ’73 and ’74, I remember scorching hot summers that seemed to stretch on endlessly. Until the mid 1970s at Red Hill Station the only room in the house with air-conditioning was the dining room (where the bassinet was parked when we were babies), the rest of the house baked. In those early years there was just one portable fan that moved between the kitchen and the bedroom my brother Tom and I shared.

We loved that fan, not just because it kept us a bit cooler but because we used to amuse ourselves by talking into the spinning blades to distort the sound of our voices… we weren’t the only ones thinking distorted voices were fun; a couple of years later in 1977, George Lucas and Hollywood delivered “Star Wars” to the world and the now famous distorted voice of Darth Vader… “Luke, I am your father!”

The hose on the back lawn, with or without sprinkler attached, provided hours of cool, wet fun. Later on Dad set up an above ground pool; a circle of tin with a plastic liner and waist-deep muddy water from the ground tank; we all thought it was brilliant despite the fact the water was infested with water beetles that would get tangled in our togs and bite us.

At some point in either the late ‘70s or early ‘80s the four of us Simpson kids were presented by our Gran with what was (and probably still is) arguably the world’s greatest summer toy of all time… the Slip ‘n Slide. An ingenious invention of a long sheet of plastic you wet down with a hose, added a bit of washing detergent for extra slippiness and ran towards full till before throwing yourself down for an adrenalin-producing slide… ahhh, happy days.   

2012 Christmas Column

The magical day of Christmas is almost upon us for another year and so long as tomorrow’s forecast Mayan apocalypse doesn’t eventuate many of us will be mingling with family and/or friends next Tuesday. Just to be on the safe side, the boys and I will be doing our “Christmas Lights Tour of Barham and Koondrook” tonight.

At the risk of sounding like the Grinch who stole Christmas, with each passing year I seem to be looking forward to Christmas less and less. Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas lights, mince pies, ham and eggs, excited children, my mother’s traditional Christmas dinner with all the family and mixing a glass of Pimms No.1 Cup around 10am on Christmas morning… it’s the obligatory retail shopping lead-up to Christmas that gets me down.

Christmas for me now feels less and less about love and more and more about spending money on nonessential items that will be discarded or broken before the Christmas decorations are dismantled. I hate that.

Shopping is not one of my favourite pastimes; it causes me a considerable amount of stress. The reason behind this stress is decision making (another little thing I’m not particularly fond of) and shopping is non-stop decision making. Not only do we have to decide what we want, we have to decide on all the specifications that go with what we want e.g.: brand, colour, style, size, cost etc… and then when it’s gift shopping, we wonder if the recipient of our gifts will even like or appreciate them. Shopping is exhausting, not because you might spend hours walking around the streets or those huge shopping centres if you’re in the city but because of all that deciding you have to do.

The retailers have caught on to all this shopping angst and delivered us the “gift card” so we, the gift buyers still spend money at their shops without having to make any major decisions. Clever, very clever…

Back in the good old days when choices were limited and gifts only arrived twice a year on Christmas morning and birthdays, I imagine the lead-up to Christmas was far less stressful and a lot more enjoyable. These days we live in a world of hyper-consumerism and instant gratification, to say we are spoilt for choice is an understatement.

Yes, it’s enough to make one just want to book in for a full one hour massage and feel all that tension and stress melt away… did I mention I sell gift vouchers?

Regardless of where you are, I hope you’ve enjoyed reading Behind the Barr in 2012 and wish all of you a very happy and joy-filled Christmas and a new year of magical moments and excellent adventures in 2013.

Australia's 2nd biggest killer

A couple of Fridays ago my parents, Farmer Bill & Granny were enjoying morning tea at the Riverside Café with me before they headed north to their home at Red Hill Station… a few short hours later I was on the phone to Triple O requesting an ambulance to meet my brother, Tom, who was rushing Farmer Bill back to Barham. Out of the blue my fit, healthy and lively father had suffered a stroke.

Several times during the Triple O phone call I had to stop and take a deep breath to calm the feeling of panic that was ballooning rapidly inside me. My voice waivered badly as I explained to the operator where to send the ambulance and the condition my father was in.

A medical emergency is a frightening experience no matter where you are but more so in rural Australia where medical help may be hours away. Red Hill Station is 160km north east of Barham between Moulamein and Hay. We made the decision to bring Dad to Barham Hospital even though it was considerably further than the Hay Hospital due to Hay’s current medical crisis.

For some time now the $15 million Hay Hospital has been without a doctor. The two doctors in the town do not have Visiting Medical Officer (VMO) status and as such, are unable to access the hospital. This leaves the local paramedics with the job of transferring all medical emergencies to Griffith, a further 160km east of Hay (215km from Red Hill Station).

Our family is feeling extremely grateful for the high standard of medical services that were available to us. The ambulance and paramedics met up with my brother and Farmer Bill just south of Moulamein. He was given oxygen and transferred to the Barham Hospital where he was attended to by our very capable nursing staff and excellent local doctor, Michael Clarke, before being transferred by ambulance to Bendigo for further treatment.

In Farmer Bill’s case, his heart (for reasons best known to itself) went into atrial fibrillation (AF), where the heart’s normal rhythm becomes irregular. This caused a blood clot to form in the heart which then travelled to his brain. Although he was able to walk, lift both arms and speak without slurring, he spoke very quietly, was having trouble finding the right words to say and some of what he was saying wasn’t making sense. His left eye was slightly drooped but otherwise he just felt very tired.

My Dad has been extremely lucky and his sense of humour is intact. The stroke affected his speech and some of his memory. While he knows exactly what he wants to say, Dad has trouble finding the correct words. He has also found it harder to recognise casual acquaintances and remember in what context he knows them.

These symptoms are diminishing with his speech and memory now improving on a daily basis thanks to neuroplasticity; the human brain’s amazing ability to build new connections to compensate for injury or disease. With practice, patience and perseverance, Dad is hoping to make a full recovery.

Strokes can occur at any age, it is the second biggest killer of Australians and a major cause of disability; it is caused by one of two ways. The main cause of stroke is blood supply to the brain being interrupted either from a blood clot travelling to the brain or arteries to the brain becoming blocked. The other cause of stroke is bleeding within the brain from a burst blood vessel.

When it comes to strokes, time is critical. It is important that people learn how to recognise signs of stroke. The acronym is FAST.

FACE – has their mouth drooped?

ARMS – can they lift both arms?

SPEECH – is their speech slurred? Do they understand you?

TIME – is critical. If you see any of these signs or in any way suspect a stroke call 000 immediately.

The signs of stroke may occur alone or in combination and can last a few seconds or up to 24 hours and then disappear. So remember the FAST Test and act when necessary, it can save a life.

Surviving a heatwave in style

Summer arrived two days ahead of schedule last week with temperatures soaring to between forty-three and forty-four degrees around Barham and district by Thursday afternoon. After our very enjoyable but out of character, cool spring, it was a shock to the system I tell you.

Throwing fiscal caution and power bills to the wind, I turned on the air-conditioner and every ceiling fan in the house for about thirty-six hours. At least our heat out here is usually a dry one, like strolling around in a fan-forced oven as opposed to the energy sapping humid heat of the tropics and other places.

As luck would have it the boys and I were dining with the lovely Jo and Don Hearn out at their Restdown Winery on Thursday night. Jo had telephoned late in the afternoon to warn me that their temperamental air-conditioning unit appeared to have a forty-two degree cut-out switch… and had cut-out for the day.

Not willing to concede defeat, Jo and Don had an excellent Plan B: move dinner from the house to the winery.

For those of you who have yet to visit the Restdown Winery (just over half an hour’s drive from Barham), it is an ingenious design of concrete tilt panels. Jo and Don were first inspired by the residents of Coober Pedy, the South Australian outback town 846km north of Adelaide, where an estimated fifty percent of the town’s population live underground in “dugouts” to minimise the harsh extremes of their local climate.

Further viticultural research took the Hearns to Europe where they were impressed by the French technique of using underground tunnels to store their wine and champagne and thereby minimising temperature fluctuations.

In 2002 with the idea of minimising ongoing heating and cooling costs, Jo and Don built their winery. The concrete walls are 200mm thick and the concrete ceiling is 250mm thick with two Whirly Bird Spin Aways in the roof for ventilation. The building is embedded into the side of a sandhill and covered with over a metre of dirt. Native plants growing in the dirt add extra shade and also soak up any rain. The cellar door and only uncovered wall of the winery, faces to the east and limits the amount of sun contact to the building.

The concrete, dirt and plants insulate the winery without the need for powered heating or cooling. During the coldest of winter nights when the outside temperature drops into the minuses, the winery is still fifteen or sixteen degrees. Likewise, during the hottest of summer days when the outside temperature is well into the forties (like last Thursday), the winery remains at a very comfortable twenty-four degrees.

The cellar (where all their delicious Restdown Wines are stored) is at the back end of the building for the best insulation. The front half of the building is where the wine is made; crushing, pressing and fermenting etc…

So there we were last Thursday evening, surrounded by wine bottles and a balmy twenty four degrees, enjoying our sumptuous dinner of roast chicken (locally grown “Chooks for Cooks” from Mardie and Glen Gray’s Little Forest Produce) and a salad, accompanied by a glass of the award-winning Restdown 2011 Semillon and my new favourite non-alcoholic drink for summer – Restdown Verjus and soda. The meal concluded with bowls of (slightly melted) ice cream and fresh mangoes – all in all the perfect remedy for heatwaves!