The work continues over at the Spurriers' vineyard in Dorset. This week Bella Spurrier and her team face the arduous task of bud-rubbing...

So that's it for the bud rubbing, job done. And what a job. It took me, Zoe and the nephew ten days (weekends off). I must say that back-breaking as it was there is a certain satisfaction in having completed the first 'Great Vineyard Task'.

Straightening up at the end of a seemingly endless row was utter bliss, though I can't count the number of times I knelt down beside a vine only to put, simultaneously, my knee on a flint and my hand on a nettle. This hurts more than you might think. Even the nephew, with all the advantages of youth, was heard groaning towards the end of the day.

So then, onwards and upwards. The next thing was giving the vines their first spray. I suppose you could see this as the viticultural equivalent of baptising your baby.

Each vine gets a little squirt of anti-mildew stuff down the tree guard, while Zoe, who believes in talking to plants, murmurs encouraging words as we go along. It's much quicker work, two days to do the lot, and popular with the troops as we take turns to ride on the quad bike, a nice change from all that foot slogging.

In the middle of all this the new tractor arrived only to have to go straight back to the dealer. Too wide to fit between the rows comfortably. Maddening! It returned, re-adjusted, to the great delight of Andrew, the do-it-all man, who has been dying to get his hands on it. I must say it's jolly posh, air conditioning, CD player, FM radio. It's a long way from the tractors of my youth which didn't even have a cab as I remember.

What next? Well there's weed killing, and more weed killing, and cultivating between the rows, and then we spray again (every two weeks), and James and his merry men come to put the trellising up and then believe it or not we might have to bud rub again, and tie in, and pinch out the laterals and well you get the picture.....

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Thursday. Went to Vinexpo at 11.00 and did taste quite a few wines, but by lunchtime the fair was winding down, and sales managers were carting away their wines and posters, leaving some opened bottles on their stands so that passing alcoholics could tank up. By now my mind was more focused on dentistry than wine, as Fabien the chef had made an appointment for me with the popular local dentiste. Readers will be relieved to learn my ailment is not serious, but may not vanish for a day or two yet.

This evening 1500 guests were welcomed to the magnificent moated Chateau d’Issan for the Fête de la Fleur, the high point of the Vinexpo social calendar. Each participating château or négociant purchases a table and then invites guests. Usually they invite their friends or influential people such as their Asian or American importers. Journalists, understandably, are rarely at the top of their list. We have to make pathetic mewing noises until somebody takes pity on us. Not for the first time, Daniel and Florence Cathiard of Chateau Smith Haut Lafitte rode to the rescue, sprinkling French and British journalists among members of their family.

The usual Bordeaux grandees were milling about as I arrived. May-Eliane de Lencquesaing, former owner of Pichon-Lalande, was there, and Philippine de Rothschild appeared at my side as I grabbed some jamon serrano from a table. The Roman journalist, Ian d’Agata, greeted me but was wearing an ill-fitting jacket. He explained that he had been to see Gonzague Lurton, owner of Chateau Dufort-Vivens. Because of the warm weather they had removed their jackets and, on leaving, Ian had picked up Gonzague’s in error and was still wearing it. I assume they made a surreptitious swap later in the evening.

There was some speculation about the absence of the newly promoted St Emilion first growths – Pavie-Macquin and Troplong-Mondot – from the dinner on Wednesday. Since their legal status as first growths, after years of stupid wrangling, has been confirmed, it was reasonable to wonder why they were not represented. The promoted châteaux clearly felt snubbed, especially since they had participated at the same event two years ago. This is a knot I cannot yet untangle.

The dinner, in a vast marquee with the glorious chateau as backdrop, was catered by Michel Guérard, who duplicated two of the dishes I had eaten the day before at Bél-Air. I suppose this is down to economies of scale. But the food was delicious and washed down nicely by, among other wines, 1988 Mouton-Rothschild.

The main celebrity on display was the actress Sophie Marceau. I recognised her but for some reason she did not recognise me. After dinner there were fireworks and refreshing flutes of champagne or glasses of Cognac. Guests, including this one, started slipping away at 1 a.m. A day or two later we would be dispersed to the four corners of the earth, singing the praises of Bordeaux: its weather, its wines, its hospitality. Which is exactly what the organisers of Vinexpo intended.

Video: The Fete de la Fleur at Chateau d'Issan

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Wednesday. Woke up feeling dopey. Can’t imagine why: I must be working too hard. The Frey family, lithe and athletic, were at breakfast, and must have been puzzled to see their guest looking so bleary-eyed. Drove through traffic jams to Pomerol to taste some 2008s from the Moueix stable, and a vertical tasting of Chateau Hosanna.

Those invited then drove on to Chateau Bélair in St Emilion, which Moueix had acquired last year and renamed Bélair-Monange to distinguish the property from the over one hundred other Belairs in Bordeaux. Renovation of the property was well under way, and Christian and Cherise Moueix had decided to host a lunch at Bélair during Vinexpo.

In warm sunshine, but with a gentle breeze to refresh us, we sipped Roederer before taking our places within the open marquee. The menu was in the hands of the legendary Michel Guérard, who was present to eat his own food. The idea was to provide a ‘light’ lunch for the jaded guests, but how Guérard managed to combine a genuine lightness of touch and texture with the use of about a kilo of butter per course was a mystery.

A raging toothache meant I had to chomp with care but it didn’t stop me talking to my neighbours, especially Marie-France Manoncourt from Figeac, who was bemused, after over half a century of marriage, to be addressed by another guest as ‘Mademoiselle’. ‘I can’t remember the last time that happened,’ she whispered to me.

Also present were the wife and daughter of the previous owner, Pascal Delbeck, and I was surely not alone in sensing his gentle spirit still about the place. For his family returning to Bélair must have been a bittersweet experience, but they must know the property is in the best of hands.

I had intended to go to a Pomerol tasting at Vinexpo after lunch, but unhappy teeth and a touch of fatigue persuaded me to return to La Lagune for a fortifying nap.

Drove down to Chateau Haut-Bailly near Léognan for their usual Vinexpo dinner. The property likes to show its latest ten vintages, and follows the tasting with a good dinner. Véronique Sanders, who manages the property, likes to mix up her guests, blending négociants, importers, journalists, sommeliers, and others. I ran into Bill Harlan of Harlan Estate in Napa and he introduced me to the owner of Screaming Eagle, who was standing next to him. You never know who you see at a Vinexpo party.

Harlan was also at my table, as was Robert Wilmers, the American owner of Haut-Bailly, and journalists Jeannie Cho Lee MW from Hong Kong and Michel Bettane. On either side of me sat last year’s best sommelier of the world, Andreas Larsson from Sweden, and Shyda Gilmer, the Chief Operating Officer of Sherry-Lehmann in New York. Shyda was candid about the adjustments his famous company needed to make to weather the economic crisis. With Andreas, whom I have known for some years, I just gossiped.

Véronique had chosen to pour just three wines with dinner: 1998, 1988, and 1978. They were all delicious, showing the restraint, elegance, and perfect balance for which Haut-Bailly is justly renowned. The wines may seem understated when young, but how well they cruise through the decades. They brought together a hundred or so very different people, from diverse backgrounds, nationalities, and ages, but all united by a love of good wine.

The harmonious atmosphere was marred when, during Andreas’s eloquent commentary on the wines, a journalist intervened with some remarks on the 1978 vintage, only to be loudly rebuked by Michel Bettane, who said he had got it all wrong.

Guy Woodward, the editor of Decanter, made a prompt departure at midnight to join another party on a boat in Bordeaux. The stamina of youth! I was back at La Lagune by 1 a.m., but found the main door locked and all the lights out. I scurried through a side wing that led to the kitchen, rigid with anxiety in case I set off alarms (it has happened before, at other châteaux), but I managed to stumble to my room in the dark without waking everybody for miles around.

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Tuesday. This morning, after swinging into the press car park by the main entrance to Vinexpo, I ran into Dutch friends, who told me they spend four hours on the road each day getting into Bordeaux and back. That was a useful reminder that for most participants, Vinexpo isn’t just about parties. So today I resolved to be more industrious.

I tasted some Turkish wines and other odds and ends this morning, before driving to Le St James for more of Michel Portos’s cooking, in the modest form of canapés to accompany a tasting of some of the properties Stéphane Derenoncourt consults for.

The wines were lined up on the shady terrace of the restaurant, overlooking the city: the highlights included delicious Condrieu from Georges Vernay and Derenoncourt’s delicious 2007 Domaine de l’A. But the weather has been warming up, and it wasn’t easy to taste, even though the owners were thrusting their red wines into ice buckets to cool them down.

Back at Vinexpo I hiked to the Conference centre for the major biodynamic tasting. My heart sank as I walked into the hall. The sun was beating down on the glass roof, there were 104 stands and a tasting booklet as thick as a Bible. Where to start? The Burgundy and Alsace producers were crammed into a small hot room. I managed to wave to Olivier Humbrecht of Zind-Humbrecht, and I was reliably informed that Lalou Bize-Leroy was pouring wines behind a scrum of enthusiasts at her table, though it was impossible to see her. In another room I found Anne-Claude Leflaive going AWOL from her table, and she told me how thrilling it was to see so many biodynamic producers gathered together.

I began to feel I was at the College of Cardinals. I was surrounded by true believers, and although I have a great deal of time for biodynamism, I found the assembly rather oppressive. As was the heat. My resolution to work hard today began to ebb. I trudged back to the main Vinexpo halls and settled down with a range of wines from Egypt, which were better than expected, and called it a day. Back at La Lagune I pulled up a chair under a palm tree on the terrace and read about biodynamism to make up for my lack of application earlier this afternoon.

I am beginning to understand why my wife can agonise for hours about whether to take the green or the purple handbag. I have had to choose between two parties tonight. The first is being given at Domaine de Chevalier by Olivier Bernard for his wine-producing friends from all over France. I attended two years ago, and it was wonderful (especially for cigar-smokers). The other is a more discreet event organised by the first growths of St Emilion, this year at Angélus. The food and the wine will be great, but Olivier’s party will be more outrageous. As I stayed at Chevalier this spring, and enjoyed the Bernards’ hospitality then, I have opted for Angélus. A taxi will collect me soon, so for once I can drink as much as I want.

At Angélus the guests, just over one hundred in number, gathered in the courtyard, sipping Krug. The president of Krug, Margareth Henriquez, was seated at my table, which may explain the excellence choice of aperitif. Inside, we were welcomed by the president of the First Growths, Comte Eric d’Aramon, who announced that after twelve years at the helm he was retiring. The new president would be Hubert de Bouard of Angélus, who now seems to be president of just about everything other than Krug and France.

The concept of the dinner is simple: each château contributes a single wine of some antiquity, which is poured to all the guests. For the guest chef it is a challenge to build a menu around these grand red wines, but everyone agreed that Michel Troisgros, from the acclaimed restaurant in Roanne, did a stunning job, and when he was called in at the end of the evening there was a spontaneous ovation. Perhaps the razor clams weren’t ideal with 1999 Pavie, but they were so delicious no one cared. At my table there was some disapproval of the empty spaces dotted here and there around the room, and it was hard to imagine that anyone could accept an invitation to this exclusive event and then not show up. The villains were said to be three Italian journalists who had either driven into a ditch or gone to a different party. Then it was revealed that other no-shows included the bishop and his entourage.

There was fierce discussion about the merits of the wines, but the consensus seemed to be that Figeac had triumphed, just as it had done two years ago with its 1950, but this time with the 1964. Almost as fine were 1966 La Gaffelière and 1955 Trottevieille (though there were bottle variations). My neighbour at dinner, who owns one of Paris’s top wine shops, turned up his nose at the Pavie, but I succeeded in drinking it. Sweetmeats and digestifs were served in a different room, and I fell upon the 1970 Armagnac, since I was absolved from having to drive. So, apparently, was our taxi driver, who was nowhere to be found. Then he arrived, and his charges clambered aboard, only to realise he had vanished again. I heard some distinctly fruity language from a doyenne of the British wine trade. By 1.15 we were on our way, and my head hit the pillow at 2.30.

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Monday. At Lafite last night I had a chance to ask Philippe Castéja whether it was true that Chateau Trottevieille in St Emilion, a first growth owned by his family, had been wiped out by hail this spring. He confirmed that he had lost at least 90% of the crop.

This is the nagging story that few are talking about, although Gavin Quinney, the British proprietor of Chateau Bauduc, has been vocal about the fact that he has lost a substantial proportion of his vines this year. Behind the jollity of the Vinexpo parties, and Gavin was making a full contribution at La Mission and Lafite, is the grim truth that many Bordeaux growers, already hurting from the global crisis, have been cruelly punished by nature this year.

Drove into Vinexpo to do – gasp – a bit of work. I had agreed to present and comment on some wines from Cahors at a seminar, and had pre-selected three wines which struck me as particularly splendid. Rather to my surprise, two of the wines I had selected weren’t poured at the tasting, and I ended up having to talk enthusiastically about wines I hadn’t tried before. One of the organisers, once it was over, said it had been sporting of me not to stomp off the platform. I rather agree.

I spent the afternoon tasting Italian wines before returning to La Lagune, where I relaxed on the terrace in benign sunshine. I have been invited to Pichon-Lalande this evening, but only received the emailed invitation, not the official embossed one. An email to the château confirming my attendance has gone unanswered. Perhaps I have been struck off the list and will be marched out to the car park? I am taking with me the invitations for tonight that I had turned down, just in case I need an alternative dinner. In one hour all will be clear.

I worried for nothing and was admitted to Pichon, parking my car by the entrance to the guest flat where I had once spent a week researching part of a book. The mansion ruled over by my then hostess, Mme de Lencquesaing, stands empty now that the property belongs to the Rouzauds of Champagne Roederer. One advantage of going to a Rouzaud party is that, if they are in a good mood, you might get a glass of Cristal.

And so it was: Frédéric Rouzaud welcomed us with the 1999 from magnum. The 115 guests, glasses in hand, sauntered on the grassy terrace that carpets the underground cellars, with the river glinting in the distance, just beyond the reproachful tower of Chateau Latour.

The ultra-refined dinner was cooked by Michel Portos of Le St James, one of the Bordeaux’s top restaurants. The wines weren’t bad either. There were four more vintages of Cristal (all from magnum), including the sublime 1990, and 1962 and 1991 Pichon-Lalande from double magnums. My table was headed by the boisterous chef de caves from Roederer, Jean-Baptiste Lecaillon, and my fellow guests were British, German and French journalists, plus two sommeliers.

Lecaillon delighted us by getting an unstoppable fit of the giggles during one of the speeches. Ramos Pinto ports from 1970 and 1924 concluded the wine service, but small sips were all I dared manage, with a long drive back to La Lagune ahead of me. And so to bed, again at 1.30.

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