How little I knew.
Mark, it turned out, apart from a major interest in photography, wildflowers and bird life shared a number of interests with me, and as we strolled through the park the blokey conversation was interrupted by frequent indications of wildflowers, particularly the tiny orchids that were worth Madam's attention, along with the odd technical tip.
After the circuit around the park, we adjourned for coffee, and out of the blue came the observation that the light looked promising if we were inclined to visit the escarpment, and we were soon en route to Gooseberry Hill for further wildlife photography.
While I must admit it didn't do a whole lot for me, I should point out, as I did to Mark, that experience suggested that I didn't need another obsession. As I also pointed out, the train trip had been my indulgence, and the wildflowers were Madam's thing, so I was happy to tag along.
It seemed I'd done something right, since as we made our way down the zigzag hill I was asked whether, since we were in the area, I was interested in visiting a winery.
I obviously don't do please don't put yourselves out well enough, and though I suggested I'd be happy with a spot of lunch and maybe a tasting on a full stomach if time permitted, I found myself decanted at Sandalford, ushered into the tasting area and told to take my time.
With three people waiting nearby while you're the only one doing the tasting, taking your time isn't exactly easy, and while they're also discussing dinner options it's difficult to devote the attention that good wines deserve to a very attractive range. In any case, much of what I'd tried came from Margaret River meant I could remove one possibility from the list of places I really needed to visit.
From there it was on to Houghtons, where, as you'd expect going from one winery to another, the experience was substantially different.
Sandalford had been friendly, but the girls in the tasting room, while happy to pour samples and give a comment went about their other tasks and left you to it. The young bloke in the tasting room at Houghton, on the other hand, was a salesman, and a classy operator at that. Inquiries about varieties, regions and styles developed into an ongoing conversation that had Hughesy ordering half a dozen and placing himself on the email list.