Twas the fête de St Mont,
And all through the region,
In buses and cars,
Folks arrived by the legion.

There was music and theatre,
And of course, wine to taste,
To be bought by the bottle,
Or cheaper, the case.

While we lunched on foie gras,
A group sang some songs,
Not any old singers,
But St Mont vignerons.

Ok, I can’t get my head round any more verse today, so that’ll have to do.

On Saturday we went to St Mont, one of several villages where the St Mont wine is produced, all of which celebrate this festival over the whole weekend.

There was a play in the grounds of the château, before the ceremonial piercing of the first barrel of last year’s wine, then lunch in the village hall. We wandered around the market that filled the centre of the village, selling all sorts of artisanal produce, from Gascon berets to fresh farm cheeses, from home made brioche to wooden chopping boards and pottery.

Then it was down to the serious business of wine tasting and buying; on arrival, you can buy a wine glass that sits neatly in a holder on a cord round your neck; Nick buys a new one each year as he always loses the cord. The wine tasted, bought and stashed in the car, we decided to head home, passing the policeman breathalysing drivers at the edge of the village. Good idea, I bet he caught plenty.

On Sunday we went to see Didier demonstrating the art of barrel making where he works in Plaisance. It was fascinating to see the different stages of the process, and how they use water and fire, but the photos probably show it better than I can explain it.