An attempt to bring a touch of gaucho chic to Dorset doesn’t go well for our columnist.
My grandmother was born under the wide skies of the Argentinian Pampas, on an estancia that belonged to her father; he’d made, lost and made a fortune, as only Victorians could, by investing in cattle and land.
Back then, the Argentine, as my mother’s family called it, was close to being a British colony. Scottish engineers laid miles of track, British bankers laid out wads of…
