24hrs in the Wairarapa - the first 12

10.30am We pull into Martinborough after driving over the hill and head to the nearest café for breakfast. Reading the Sunday papers, sipping our cappuccinos and tucking into a plate of Mexican style eggs in Café Medici seems a fabulous way to fortify ourselves for a big day.

11.30am We stroll around Martinborough, which sits on the site of New Zealand’s first sheep station. Established by Irish immigrant John Martin in the nineteenth century, the streets are curiously laid out in a grid along the lines of a Union flag. The park in the centre where they meet features a small but poignant cenotaph.

We discover a couple of those home ware shops that sell candles, kitchen utensils and notepaper. At Peonies I buy a handful of cards while Him Outdoors rolls his eyes. The wallpaper is gorgeous and the people are pleasant.

12.30pm We drive to Haythornthwaite cottage and it is not yet ready for us. This doesn’t bother us at all as we park the car, dump our bags and set off on our own wine trail.

12.35pm The friendly and persuasive chap at Tirohana Estate pours a glass of pinot noir for Him Outdoors and a chardonnay for me, and books us in for a five course dinner later that night. It is only a short stumble from the cottage where we are staying, so we reckon it will be a good plan.

We sit out on the patio which is clear but chilly. Bob the dog accompanies us, but he has lots of fur. A party arrive and look at the menus, but they soon adjourn indoors telling us that they are not used to it – ‘We’re not from England’ they say, having noticed our accents. They are obviously not from Wellington either.

1.30pm The bloke from Schubert is keen to talk to someone – he is meant to be filling in his tax return. He has lived in England so we talk about football and cats and eating baby octopus – I’m not sure what those last two have to do with England, but I get the impression he will chat about anything rather that contemplate the complexities of the IRD.

The Tribianco they sell here is deliciously unpretentious and we buy a bottle to take back to the cottage. It is a wonderfully drinkable blend of chardonnay, pinot gris and muller-thurgau, with all the benefits of the tasty trio. We also pick up a Marion’s vineyard pinot noir and a sweet Dolce both of which we plan to ‘cellar’, or at least get home in the car.

2.30pm We clink off to Margrain where the lady serving the tastings is more reticent as she has many groups to serve, and probably no forms to fill in. The tasting notes more than make up for the experience, however with their blend of information and ridicule. For example, the chardonnay ‘brings an air of expectation as it works its way over eager taste buds with all the subtlety of a stealth bomber’.

Margrain also do a Methode Traditionnelle which they have named La Michelle after the lucky, lucky girl ‘who has recently returned from a decade of study and travel to join the family business’. Some people have all the luck – my mum is a teacher and my dad works with computers, and they both drink down the pub. Oh well, we bought a bottle of the bubbles which are, ‘Clean and tingling, it shows good manners while introducing itself then wags its tail in sheer delight like an overzealous Labrador puppy’.

Him Outdoors, as always, favours the pinot noir – ‘The nose is eager and brimming with warmth and generosity as it rises fragrantly from the glass, presenting juicy prune fruit combined with spicy tamarillo and plum chutney aromas. Grilled prosciutto on warm rye sprinkled with cracked black pepper tantalises while a hint of hedge-pig nest ensures that the wine is at once fruity and complex, like a teenage love affair.’ Should I be worried?

3.30pm There is still a tiny space left in our rucksack and half an hour of wine tasting time left, so we weave our way through sheep-studded vines to Martinborough Vineyard. Here a very friendly young woman raves about Toast Martinborough with us and we convince her to attend the Beervana event in Wellington at the end of August. Once we explain that there are lots of different tasty beers and hardly any fat men in lederhosen, she is more than amenable.

Meanwhile we try a fine range of wines, along with a load of other people who are picking and choosing (somewhat more selectively than us, it must be said). We decide to take home a beautifully balanced chardonnay and a gorgeously sexy Te Tera pinot noir. Guess who selects which?

4.30pm Back at the cottage we sit out on the deck to catch the last of the rays of sunshine as they filter over the vines. It is quiet and still out here and we have plenty of bottles to choose from as we sip at the fruits of somebody else’s labours. Mark comes round to light the fire and by the time we move back inside the cottage it is roasty toasty.

There is a selection of videos we can get out for free so we sit curled up on the sofa by the roaring log burner and watch Miss Potter and Kinky Boots. Both are pretty terrible – particularly the former but then I can’t stand Renee Zellweger and should have known better than to watch an American try to play a British icon – but we are comfortable and happy.

7.30pm We almost don’t want to leave, but we have dinner waiting for us across the road so we walk out into the chill night air. We are welcomed back to Tirohana with a glass of Sauvignon Squeeze and seated at a table by the fire. The ambience is fantastic and the service is exemplary throughout the night.

And the food is certainly something to write home about. For starters I have salmon fishcakes with a dill aioli on greens while Him Outdoors goes for the signature Kingsmeade Blue and broccoli soup served with fresh homemade bread. Main course is Moroccan crusted rack of lamb on a jewelled couscous served with a fruit tagine for me and fillet of beef, dauphinoisse potatoes, seasonal vegetables and wine jus for Him, although he mutters profanities about the word 'jus'.

All of it is so delicious that each mouthful is a delight. We are caught between wanting more because it’s so good but knowing we have eaten sufficient. We both have the Warm Apple strudel with a vanilla bean ice cream for dessert and then we finish up with fresh filter coffee and petit fours. I love the language of food – there is an art to making those menus sound as good as they taste.

10pm After Him Outdoors has waffled on to the guys at the restaurant about Burnley’s promotion (it’s a topic that they obviously find intriguing) we stumble back to our accommodation. With all that wine sitting around it would be rude not to have a nightcap, so we stir up the fire and sink a pinot before bed.

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.