As the wintry afternoon bends across the lawn, we’re on old pavers, each holding a glass of 2024 Grenache. It’s a long-weekend Sunday and Claire and I are at Samuel’s Gorge winery in McLaren Vale.

The world often tends towards complexity and so it’s a surprise to instead find delightfully simple things. Here, today, there’s no bombardment. No pizza or jazz quartets or cheese boards. I like these but also enjoy the twin pleasures of wine and conversation. Just as we did on winery visits last century.

There’re no sliders or other foolishly named foodstuffs.

Standing by a stone wall, we’re staring out at the bushy gorge below us — only half an hour from home. We wonder what the Sicilians, whose island we blissfully visited, would make of this — how a short drive tumbles from rural vineyard to sparkling seas. We live well here, clinging to the edge of the continent by the Great Southern Ocean.

The girl sporting a beret appears with a bottle. She’s attentive but unobtrusive and this is a skill I admire. ‘Are you up to the Tempranillo?’ All the winery staff are friendly yet efficient, brisk. Nodding, we thank her. Splash. In it goes. Her beret bounces off towards the veranda.

We’re both mindful of these blessings. I especially love the intimacy of the two of us being alone among a boisterous, indifferent throng. Nobody can hear our secretive, tumbling waterfall of chat. Everybody ignores us, cheerfully.

Claire mentions Bridge over Troubled Water by Simon and Garfunkel. From where do these topics come? Not her favourite song. I say, ‘Why do you loathe it?’ She replies that ‘It’s depressing. They’re so whiny. I think we sang it in church.’ I remember iconic Kapunda deli owner Reg Rawady’s baritone booming from the back pews. His big unmistakeable voice erupting from his jockey torso.

‘Don’t you think it’s uplifting?’ I ask. ‘I like the metaphor and hope we can be each other’s bridge over troubled water.’ The sun’s draping us in its rays. The soft blue of the sky encourages delight. Claire says, ‘Okay, this makes more sense.’ We’ve adjusted our views of Bridge over Troubled Water. We’ve moved towards each other a little closer, the way we do when we see something anew. I like when this happens in our marriage.

We skip to Love is a Bridge by the Little River Band. Now this, I say, is an uplifting tune. We laugh at the bridge repetition. Whatever they were, LRB did offer soaring harmonies. Nobody heard them in church. I don’t mention Under the Bridge by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers. For a funk band it’s a hideously dismal dirge.

An eager winery lieutenant appears again. Our tasting concludes with the 2024 Graciano. Purple gathers in our glasses. Across a warm-hearted hour, we’ve eased gently through a vinous succession. Uncorked some leisurely joy. Before summer arrives, we vow to return to Samuel’s Gorge.