My first trip to England was in the early 1970ies, I think I was 6. Day trip with my parents to visit my big sister who was spending part of the summer holidays at her pen pal’s in Herne Bay. Hovercraft from Calais to Ramsgate over a choppy channel. A bit of sightseeing in Canterbury. My first proper sandwiches. A grand day out!
Anyway, one of Mr. G.'s hobbies was to turn everything that grew in his garden into wine. Be it fruit, vegetable, or anything vaguely plant-ish. Every room in the house had a couple of flasks or canisters or buckets with his creations in various stages of development (or deterioration, I wouldn’t know) in them.
And this is what I think of when I hear English wine.