Waiting for God Boys and the Label That Found Us

Some of our wine labels begin with a concept. Others with a conversation. But sometimes, if you're lucky, a label finds you.

We were in Cornwall, winding our way through quiet back roads near St Austell, when we passed what looked like a small classic car show tucked into a field just off the road. One of those blink-and-you-miss-it moments: a few signs, the glint of polished chrome, a bit of bunting flapping in the breeze.

We drove past at first — but about a mile down the road, we looked at each other and knew. We turned around. Sometimes it pays to follow the detour.

It wasn’t grand, but it had soul. Rows of lovingly kept machines, the smell of polish and bacon rolls in the air, and people who'd turned up more for the conversation than the competition. That’s where we met a group of scooter riders — or Mods, as they were once called — all in their 50s now, still riding with pride.

They called themselves the Waiting for God Boys.

There was something quietly moving about them. Their scooters, mostly 1950s and ‘60s Lambrettas, were beautifully kept, their original paintwork worn smooth by decades of polishing, each one draped in chrome, lights, mirrors, and stickers — less for speed, more for style and story.

One man stood out. He was riding his late father’s Lambretta, and wearing his dad’s original parka jacket, the kind with fur around the hood and years in the fabric. He wasn’t just honouring the machine — he was carrying on a legacy, one ride at a time.

We have been looking for a label idea — something to match the light, expressive character of our new Pinot Noir. It needed charm, nostalgia, a little movement, a lot of heart. And in that moment, the Lambretta became obvious.

It’s a contrast, too, to another label in our range — the one that carries our bolder, more muscular red: a Triton motorbike, the kind that roared through the 1960s and left its mark on the Isle of Man TT. That wine is all torque and tannin — the bruiser in the line-up.

But our Pinot, like the Lambretta, is lighter on its feet. It’s less about power, more about presence and style. The Lambretta doesn’t shout — it tells stories.

So that’s what we chose. A little two-wheeled time capsule from a Cornish field, looked after with love, and passed down like good wine — across tables, generations, and winding roads.