I resisted GPS in the car for ages. I had one in the aeroplane. Actually I had two in the aeroplane. You can't have too many things that tell you exactly where you are when you're flying an aeroplane, but in the car, well really. Map-reading isn't rocket science. I still like the idea of maps, but I've finally succumbed to the satellites, telling myself that we've paid for the most expensive bit already - the orbiting transmitters - and that not having a receiver is a waste of taxpayers' money.
After plugging 'Millets Farm' into the box and half-an-hour's zig-zagging along local roads I never knew existed, let alone travelled, I somehow arrived once more on planet cheese. I couldn't have been far from home but I had absolutely no idea where I was. Since I became involved with this parallel cheese world, I've discovered that there is something pretty amazing happening there pretty much the whole time. A bit like in space. It's an acquired taste, but once it's got hold of you, the more you look into it and understand it, the bigger and more beautiful it appears to be. The Great British Cheese Festival, where I had arrived, Gulliver-like, is by no means the only cheese festival, but it is certainly the biggest.
Being the tastiest substance in the universe, cheese is a magnet for high-rolling foodies and everyone was there. There were news crews and a who's who of buyers, suppliers, and cheesy high-flyers. Within an hour, I'd met the two ladies who invented Tunworth, a beefy beauty in the camembert idiom that won supreme champion last year; Joe Schneider, whose unpasteurised Stilton-style cheese is the most eagerly anticipated and daring new archetype in recent memory; I also met the Cropwell Bishop team, the gentlemen of the old guard of Stilton who were keeping poker-faced about Joe's endeavours; Randolph Hodgson, the Charles Saatchi of dairy products, had invited me to his Moonraker-style London cheese caves; and I'd tasted the new vintage Lincolnshire Poacher, which rivals parmesan for fruitiness and twang. It was happening.
The highlight of the cheese year, the awards dinner, when the prize- winning cheeses are announced, took place in the big top later, under cover of the night. My friend Juliet, who organises the awards, took to the stage to rapturous applause. It was hard not to feel excited. The nation's entire canon of 867 cheeses had been appraised, some two months previously, by a large and distinguished body of judges. The best in category awards were to be followed by the announcement of the supreme champion. Last year's winner, Tunworth, was invented by two mothers who decided to start making cheese in their spare time and Tunworth was their first attempt. Anything could happen. The tension mounted through the roast pears and by the time the pork was out of the way the crowd were baying. One table had started singing. 'That'll be Gloucester!' said Juliet, raising her eyebrows, and took to the stage.
The winners were cheered on with good grace by the rest of the brotherhood. I held back tears as one lady accepted an award for a cheese she had developed with her late husband. She punched the air with her trophy sobbing, 'This is for him!' The entire crowd was on its feet, cheering.
Other popular winners were the cheddarvision boys, who won the media award for their online phenomenon where you watch cheese maturing, and cheese consultant Eurwen Richards, the 'cheese person of the year'.
At the judging, Eurwen had tapped me on the shoulder, clearly very excited and encouraged me to taste a particular piece of block cheddar. Block cheddar is not made by hand; fine cheeses usually are, so there were gasps of disbelief when it was announced that this very cheddar had been awarded the supreme champion. It was a highly contentious conqueror, but I have to agree it was very well-deserved. Sensational.
Satellites and cheese machines: it's the way forward.
· Watch Alex James's Cheese Diaries videos on our food blog
