My journeys around our little corner of France reveal that progress has been slow and hard won, although I’m not sure if won is the apposite word. Improvement is often not in the gift of winning. Winning can equally mean progress and betterment or a shoreline littered with the dead and dying. Progress is the birthright of the young and the contentious debating point of the passing generations. That said, I think that I like the old tractor as much as the wind turbines. The young viniculteur, on whose land are situated these magnificent aerodynamic triffids, was a moving force in their arrival as they benefit the electric supply to his modern “chais”. The old tractor is being driven by an ageing relative who is the only other person to work the vineyard apart from the viniculteur and his wife. Both old and new seem to be functioning in harmony. The wind turbines will be as normal as trees to the new born of the area and the old tractor will be of some interest, and maybe of some use, but the children of the wind turbines will be the grumbling doubters of the technology of 50 years hence.