Wino Weekend

Picture the scene as we spent 5 days in the Rhone region en France last weekend:

– Hawksey, super excited at being in the home of several of his favourite wines (Chateauneuf du Pape, Chapoutier and far too many others) literally hopping from foot to foot, clapping his hands and making snorting noises, to demonstrate his 'pig in shit' delirium

– Janine & Ross, snouting away (that means smoking, no other pig imitations) in endless French cafes and squares, sucking up the sun

– Stewart and Helen, buying up an entire car bootful of wine to stock their cellar, so much so that they had to rush back and hide it all before picking up son number 2 from his weekend sleepover

– And me – when finally having the prospect of some booze I could drink (wine, whine…) having to face down the restaurant waitress whose repeated catchphrase seemed to be 'pas de sodas' before finally begrudgingly offering me either water (is that technically a mixer?) or apricot and mango juice – not exactly a 'ooh how lovely, crisp and refreshing with Smirnoff' moment. Cue Stewart remembering he had 2 cans of Coke Zero in his car and me consuming them over dinner under the 'pah, les Anglais' eyes of the disapproving Frogs.

Saw the Pont d'Avignon, tick. Had Foie Gras, yum. Chased down a plate of my favourite shell-inhabitant, les bulots (whelks, yes the big snotty ones, to you). Listened as Hawksey actually retched in one restaurant as his 'pig's trotter' (aka a plate of stinking tubes, flaps and unmentionably vile innards) almost had a second coming. And caught up with Les Macintoshes, our friends en France.

Next year – Scandinavia and the Absolut tour. Oh yes. And I'll be bringing my own Diet Coke.