Immature ruby. He’s enveloping and stern, layer upon layer of impeccable material, fully ripe fruit without a sniff of cookery. Cisterian grip: Barb mimics punching the side of her face as we drink. The finish is utter calligraphy, forged in iron, with enough mineral vibration to rattle your teeth. Nowhere near ready, still rising over a week of nights, he’s a staggering ’05, with much to offer and so much still to give. From 2020.