Two big Champagne houses in one day in Reims. Down into the Veuve Clicquot chalk cellars, the story of Madame Clicquot, a tasting of four Champagnes and the whisper of Champagne, then lunch under the trees and a very commercial visit to Pommery.

Two weeks into Champagne, a second visit to Philippe at Champagne Brugnon for the sabrage technique, a day exploring Reims' wine shops and bars, dinner at Aroma, and a look ahead to Épernay and Beaune.

Riddling down in the cave is slow, meditative work, three-quarter turns every day for three weeks. Then a proper sabrage induction with Philippe, ceremonial French delivered with total sincerity in the middle of the cellar.

The morning after picking wraps at Marc Chauvet, racking and blending in the cellar with Jules, feeding a fermenting wine and finally trusting herself on the pump, plus the story of the one bonus red only possible because this vintage was good enough to spare the fruit, left to ferment on wild yeast at Jules's own risk.

The last day of picking at Marc Chauvet, one of the best seasons on record, small berries in great condition, a final press load charged alongside Jules, and a harvest party where a daft drinking game became the whole team's phrase for the night.

Settled into the rhythm of vintage, then a morning walk into the village turns into a family moment when Dedette Chauvet, the winery's founder and Clotilde's mother, is spotted buying her daily baguette. By afternoon a trolley and a village-wide prank send me hunting for a Champagne tool that doesn't exist, and revenge comes as a bottle of salted fizz.

The routine's set in now at Marc Chauvet, taking apart the two and four tonne cages each morning, charging the press, first run juice, and champagne with leftover cheese pie by half eleven. Then another prank catches me out at the crate washer.

Inside the winery now, moving off the vines and onto the cellar team. Water instead of detergent, the logic behind discarding the first press and anything left overnight, a sabrage knock back from Philippe for being too grubby, and a food fight looming in three days.

Ten minutes from Reims by train, a Premier Cru village most visitors only pass through on the champagne trail. This is the same village from the inside the chai.

A day picking premier cru grapes in Rilly-la-Montagne, working the rows with a crew from all over Europe, and starting to feel like part of the Marc Chauvet family.

Filling buckets with premier cru grapes, working the rows with an international harvest crew, and the secateurs saga that became the joke of the day.

Landing in Paris, a solar eclipse watched in a field with new friends, then straight into the vines within 24 hours of touching down. Low trained vines, chalk soil, forty degree afternoons, fast friendships, a tattoo in the works, and a shift into the winery where quality always beats shortcuts.

Kicking off the trip to Champagne with a Sydney stopover, Laurent Perrier to toast the journey, corn fritters and birthday bubbles for Libby, marshmallows by the fire with old friends, and a proper little tour of Australian wine before flying on to Paris.