We fell in love with wine in Australia. Chased it across Europe. Tasted our way through cellars, festivals and sun-drenched vineyards, and worked out exactly what separates a good tasting from an unforgettable one.

Cellar doors, festivals, sun-baked vineyards, questionable amounts of rosé — we tasted our way through the lot. And somewhere in there, we worked out what actually separates a good tasting from an unforgettable one. Spoiler: it's not what you think.

It's not the wine from the atmosphere-free cellar door where the tasting notes read like a thesaurus had a breakdown. It's not the second-cheapest bottle on the menu at the restaurant that thinks white tablecloths make the food taste better. And it's definitely not the "buy 6, get 25% off" deal you only remember exists in November.

The best wine is the bottle that turns up when mates pop round on a Saturday afternoon and nobody's left before midnight. It's the one cracked open round the kitchen table on a grey, rainy Sunday because the weather demanded it. It's the one passed round a campfire, in odd socks, because who's got matching ones anyway.

The best wine is the one you've never heard of — no fancy reputation, no queue of people telling you how to feel about it. Just a proper story behind it. Grown by people who actually give a toss about their land, because they know good soil makes good wine, not good marketing. Made by winemakers whose whole job is making the grower's hard work shine. And drunk by people who don't just drink it — they taste it, they share it, and they get that wine was never meant to be pretentious.

It's not about the label. It's about the laugh two glasses in, the story that gets better every time it's told, and just being properly, unapologetically in the moment.

And that's where Odd Socks started.

Unrefined wine tastings, served out of a caravan (now a "Caravin," because puns are non-negotiable round here). We won't tell you what you should taste. We won't expect you to know your tannins from your terroir. We just hand you the chance to try something new, from producers who actually know what they're doing, in the most relaxed, refuse to take ourselves seriously way possible.

So you can go off and be that friend — the one who turns up with the good bottle on an impromptu Saturday. The one re-telling tales of a misspent youth over a proper red on a rainy Sunday. The one cracking jokes and corks round a late-night campfire, odd socks and all.

So whether you're hunting for new wines, keen for a tasting, or just starting out and don't know your Merlot from your Malbec — sign up, jump in, and come along for the ride.