Toast Martinborough

We begin our day by heading to the yacht club for bubbles and a bagel. We are meant to meet a friend but he has cunningly disguised himself in a wig and hideous outfit. We stand next to him at the bar without recognizing him. Him Outdoors has trouble with technology – apparently stumpy Celt fingers are no friend of cell-phones and it doesn’t help when he’s trying to ring the wrong number in the first place.

Our friend announces, “I’ve got some spare moustaches in my pocket for later.” As he has organized the transport, it would seem churlish to question the relevance of this statement.

A group of us pile onto a chartered bus which winds over the hill to Martinborough. It is a little disturbing that when we play with the aircon, we manage to light up the ‘Bus Stopping’ sign. Fortunately it doesn’t until we reach our destination and we alight in the square, pick up a special glass and a programme, swap our money for wine tokens and we’re off!

It’s windy but sunny so we all liberally apply the sun cream – a group of pasty poms and Irish folk let loose with wine and sunshine; it could end in tears. The ladies all look lovely in their floaty summer frocks, floppy hats and flip-flops – the men have dressed up Kiwi-posh, which appears to mean a clean t-shirt.

Our first stop is Craggy Range which seems pricy but the Te Muna Road reisling is crisp and clear and the venison and rocket pizza is delicious. I bump into a friend – not literally – I have only just started drinking. She, however, is on winery number six and has come here for lunch. It seems a lot of people have.

Buses run between the vineyards but you can walk if you want the exercise – nowhere is very far apart. We head to Palliser Estate where I have some bubbles – they are light and cheerful, and the day is looking good. One of our friends has ‘found’ some fairy wings which look particularly fetching although I doubt they were designed to be worn with a Hacienda t-shirt by a thirty-something bloke from Manchester.

Him Outdoors ignores the old adage – red then white; you’ll feel like shite – and he is tucking into the pinot noir already. It is fresh and clean – you can taste the skins, stalks, earth and fruit which leaps out of the glass with a pinot punch.

All of the vineyards have bands playing on makeshift stages. The Beat Girls are due to perform here, but although they’re perfect wine and food accompaniment, no one seems to know when they are coming on (the lack of times printed in the programme would be my one criticism of the event) and we decide not to hang around and wait – so many wineries; so little time.

At Martinborough Vineyard and Burnt Spar people are starting to relax; stretching out among the vines, enjoying the wine, food, music and convivial atmosphere. One wine taster confidently asserts, “I can honestly tell you with all my experience as a connoisseur, that wine is definitely white.” Another helpful comment is “It’s a good drop; that will get you pissed.” I'm quite impressed by the insightful, "Too many lemons; not enough melons" until I realise he's not talking about the wine. I give up asking people to give me their tasting notes.

Margrain has a separate ‘bubbles bar’. Of course, I have to try the 'La Michelle' inaugural methode traditionalle bubbles and they taste like crushed digestive biscuits and are almost golden in colour. I also have some chenin blanc which the programme claims is very limited. It's also very tasty.

Ata Rangi has a delectable Craighall chardonnay which is my favourite of the day. Oak; butter; cinnamon; walnuts; peaches – all the things I like in a hearty chardonnay.

This is a good place to sit and take stock; we meet up with lots of friends and more money is exchanged. People wander about with bottles in picnic baskets – topping up drinks so you don’t even have to stand up or queue to get anther glass. This looks as though it could get dangerous.

The boys sit around smoking cigars and there is much hilarity as everyone has a go trying on the wig. The food here is Ruth Pretty Catering and includes gourmet steak and kidney pies which look extremely tasty and, although pies may not be particularly exotic, they go down a treat. Apparently the white chocolate and blackcurrant crème brulee is pretty good too.

We spot the staff having a lunch break round the back when we stray off the beaten track. This isn’t so easy to do, as the areas where you are meant to go are very clearly directed.

We are herded towards Alana Estate where a band belts out covers. Some people dance in a desultory fashion at the end of the day, while others nod off even more lazily in the afternoon sun.

The festival finishes at around six, which is probably just as well, as I think we’ve all had plenty by then (both wine and sun). Somehow we manage to have some festival money left, which is not exchangeable. Bottles are still for sale at the square, so we use up our remaining wine tokens. We roll back to our waiting coach which takes us back over the hill – as it were.