The raucous screech of a lone cockatoo punctures the still air of what’s an eerily quiet morning, but the band of broodmares, grazing metres from where I’m drinking my coffee, can’t be bothered raising their heads. Its 6.30am and I’m sitting on the timber deck of The Barn Scone, mesmerised by the view of bruised skies, gentle foothills and clumps of bleached grass emerging from the early morning mist.