Vieilles Charrues @ Brittany, France

Yep, the secret is out, for along with images of weather-beaten fisherman and friendly cyclists in striped tops and berets, 'La Bretagne' is also acquiring a reputation for top bands, hedonistic music-lovers and lashings of beer - because this is also the home of France's largest music festival.

Going for 18 years, Vieilles Charrues pitches up in the middle of July in the otherwise sleepy market town of Carhaix. The French have known about it for years, and has played host to the likes of Bruce Springsteen, New Order, The Killers and Motorhead.

But despite being just a hop and skip over the Channel, we Brits have been slow on the uptake. Until now.

Vowing to find out what we've been missing out on - and jaded by years of mud, rain, high prices and bad food at English festies - I headed down to Finistere to check it out.

VIEILLES WHAT?

Vieilles Charrues… it means Old Ploughs’ and is a local in-joke, poking fun at a rival Breton festival on the coast called ‘Old Ships’. It’s all a bit of gentle coast vs country joshing.

The theme, incidentally, changes every year. Last year had a space theme, while this summer’s was the Wild West – with a small number of punters dinning cowboy hats, cap guns or feathered headdresses.

IT SOUNDS LIKE AN EPIC TRIP…

To be honest, the worst bit was getting to Plymouth (if we exclude the drive through the city itself, which takes a bit of recovering from). From there it’s a joy.

Tuck into a full Breton breakfast, check into a cabin, and you’re soon being shooed off onto the quay at Roscoff (which gets my money as the loveliest ferry port on the Channel).

From there it’s a pretty drive along traffic-free roads through the Breton countryside to Carhaix.

SO HOW DOES THE FESTIE COMPARE TO OURS?

Well, it’s France’s biggest, with 200,000 people, allegedly, but with only three real stages in an arena the size of Reading, it’s far cry from the likes of Glasto or Bestival.

The field never felt excessively crowded, though, and that Gallic devotion to good times strikes you as soon as you step onto the site – as did the attention to detail – with lovely giant illuminated flowers and archways peppering the field.

BUT ENOUGH OF THAT… WHO WAS ON?

The line-up was a right old mixed bag. Headliners ranged from camp crowd-rouser Miko, and ‘prat-in-the hat’ Jamiroquai to French rock dinosaurs Indochine, and our very own Muse – who are, this summer, pretty much the coolest band in Europe.

In between there were the likes of one-hit wonders the Raveonettes, ultra-sharp generational spokesmen Dan le sac vs Scroobius Pip, the mighty Pheonix, The Strokes’ iconic frontman Julian Casablancas, and delicious indie-acts Midlake and Fanfarlo.

And then there were the French bands. And why more of them aren’t better known on this side of La Manche remains a crime.

Highlights were crooner Alain Souchon, Sexy Sushi, techno DJ Mr Oizo (yes, he of Flat Eric fame), rappers Supreme NTM and Vitalic, and dance superstar Etienne de Crecy.

AND WHO ROCKED?

Well Muse were stunning – with an epic light show backing up their skyscraping epic anthems… despite playing in pouring rain. Yes, it seems Brittany has something else in common with Britain, other than a shared ancestry and fondness for cider. It also rains. A lot.

Like Cornwall, Finistere juts out into the Atlantic, with predictable meteorological results. Raincoats or ponchoes are a must, not least because umbrellas are banned because they block punters’ view of the stage. Yes, it seems harsh, but ask anyone who's ever spent a rainy set trying to peer round the side of a thoughtlessly placed golf unbrella - while being dripped on and risking having their eye taken out by a spoke - and they'll agree it actually makes a lot of sense.

Still, it only rained on the first two days of the festival. And Devon’s finest were still awesome - even in the deluge.

Also amazing were Essex duo Dan le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip - who whipped up a midnight crowd with punchy rhythms and a surplus of crowd surfing – not by the audience, but by Pip!

Local hero Etienne de Crecy, by contrast, was cool, slick and almost clinical, playing a chunky arms-in-the-air set, from the comfort of an illuminated cube towering over the crowd. A triumph of art, music and design - it provided one of the most enduring moments of the entire weekend - and left everyone grinning.

Elsewhere, Vitalic were tight and full of bite; Alain Souchon was engaging and evidently hugely popular (in a French 'Tom Jones meets Sinatra by way of Gainsbourg' kind of way); Sexi Sushi were hypnotically bonkers - throwing pot plants into the crowd, inviting a stage invasion, and stirring up near hysteria; while Julian Casablancas was superb – serving up crowd-pleasing Strokes hits – and that random Christmas song – which was particularly surreal on a blistering hot summer afternoon.

Amusingly, he engaged with the crowd in the worst French I have heard since I was about 14. “Bonjour everyone... this is a ‘nouveau’ song,” etc. Fabulous!

Even Mika... and please don’t tell anyone I said this... was good – perfectly judging his audience, singing in perfect French (Julian, take note…), and sending fans and sceptical onlookers alike singing and smiling into the night.

AND IN BETWEEN BANDS?

There were a few diversions – namely a turn of the century-style freak-show – complete with spookily realistic waxworks, a grown up, possibly satirical Punch and Judy show (my French isn’t that good to tell you what they were on about, sadly), a burly techni-coloured L’Homme Tatoue (tattoed man), and a lass playing a piano up a tree.

Oh.. and there was a rock-up-and-fight Breton wrestling corner (like Cumberland wrestling, but marginally less mud and tougher women - all the bouts I saw featured victorious girls) and a Cabaret Breton - with everything from local folk to banging electro.

WHAT ABOUT THE BOOZE?

As you’d expect, this was a festival of many bars. Unfortunately, most all sold the same thing – gassy Kronenbourg in tiny festival-branded tumblers – for which you pay a deposit.

I eventually twigged there was also real ale and local cider to be had, but they did involve a hefty walk – during which it was all too easy to lose the contents of those cursed cups.

And forget about carrying any booze into the arena. Like most UK festies, it is strictly ‘interdit’.

AND TO EAT?

This is where the bash shows its real French pride. The food is superb. Forget dried-up chips, greasy burgers, stodgy noodles and rubbish curry. Here you get luscious tartiflette, fresh crepes, delicious bacon and potatoes (so much better than it sounds), steaks, and, best of all, tuna risotto. And nothing costs more than about three euros.

Come here for an eating holiday – then have a mosh and burn it all off; perfect!

SO, WHAT WAS THE BEST THING?

The crowd. Generous, smiley, permanently upbeat – even during the worse of the Breton weather, with open minds, and an infectious sense of excitement. People seemed genuinely delighted to welcome a Brit too.

I hope a Breton would get the same welcome over here. They certainly will from me, now.

AND THE WORST?

Well they could do with sorting out their weather. But, joking aside, it’s a great festival – though does suffer from a slightly amateur approach to its organisation.

For non-campers, the parking seemed a bit haphazard, and the choice of drinks could do with being as good as the food (though the same could be said for every festival dominated by one beer supplier - which is practically all). But most seriously, they need to sort out their security.

Despite the punters’ easy-going nature, and the complete lack of trouble, the bouncers were surly and uncompromising – choosing to clear the site at the end of the night by herding crowds through one gate – regardless of where they needed to get to – and, get this, with the use of a length of rope, stretched across the field. Hmmm… Still, I guess that's what happens when you staff a festival with volunteers.

SO WOULD YOU GO AGAIN?

Absolument! It’s tremendous fun, with great people and a wide-ranging and utterly unpredictable musical bill. It really is a tonic for oppressed Brit festie-goers. And if you decide to unwind by tagging on a holiday in this dreamy region with its gorgeous beaches, craggy headlands, ancient forests, awesome seafood and quaint villages, then you’ll be laughing.

For more details, go to www.vieillescharrues.asso.fr