Sadness is a selfish mistress and sometimes, to get out of my own head and do something for someone else, can helpful. What a perfect time to do some hard graft at the Rothley Vineyard.

You labour for hours, grappling with unruly vines and sadistic insects. You battle the ferocious heat under hats and long sleeves, to protect from sun, gloves to protect from secateurs.  You sip warm water to save from dehydration and then pour some over yourself in the hope that a wayward breeze might cool your skin.

Eventually, you get the satisfaction of standing back and looking at the order you have created out of chaos, the wild tendrils you have tamed, the elements you have subdued and the hardships you have risen out of.  “Right that’s one row done, only another 44 to go!”