A cheeky cascade of brambleberries wreathed in smoke, contrasted with the gloomy mist of brine, the smack of sea. A rush of sappy red fruit; the pop of cinsault cherries, the summer plums of syrah, the wildness of mourvèdre. The richer blue-blood of the grenache veins right through the palate. The core of blackcurrant pastilles with a chew of tannins juxtaposes the juice of the acid. Absolutely running away with fruit and drinkability, this exuberance is trimmed in spice and a deftly dry finish.