There is No H in Wine

Shortly after arriving in San Francisco, we were renunited with the children, who we flew out to meet us for the last part of the trip. I always knew three days would never be enough to do justice to such a great place, but we gave it our best shot. So first thing the following morning we set off the to the Napa Valley, as you do.
Our host was Margo Montoya, a friend of our friend Jack, who lives in SF. She kindly hired a people carrier, so by 10.30 a.m. we were off; Margo, Jack, his friend and colleague Petra, Ross, Robin, Abi and I.
There is a song about it never raining in Southern California. I know why. Because it never stops in the North. (That probably isn't fair, but was certainly true while we were there) In fact calling it rain is a bit of an understatement. There was torrential rain all day, but I suppose they must need that as well as the sun for the grapes.
What surprised me was how close Napa is to the city. All you do is drive over the Golden Gate Bridge, drive for under an hour, and there you are. Whereas in England we may spend our Sunday afternoons driving around looking for country tea shops, the Californians drive from one winery to another sampling the goods, and very good they were too.
Robin, who most people know, failed his wine course at uni, (well, they do now) thoroughly enjoyed himself. Of course it was less fun for Abi, because in the U.S you cannot drink alcohol under 21. I warned her not to whine, but once you have had one bottle of water, you have pretty much had them all.
In the end, the rotten weather forced to cut the tour short, but for those of us full of champagne, it didn't seem to matter...