Snakes, Sunshine & Sauvignon: Photographing Sam & Jess at Manoir Longeveau

South West France. A rustique-in-the-best-possible-way manor house. One tennis racket. Zero snakes. Infinite wine.

I'm going to level with you: I drove to Manoir Longeveau expecting a beautiful wedding in the French countryside. What I did not expect was to be volunteering as a human snake detector, swinging a tennis racket through a hay field like a deranged Wimbledon finalist while twenty well-dressed people watched from a safe distance.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

First Impressions: This Place is Ridiculous (In the Best Way)

Manoir Longeveau sits in the rolling hills of South West France like it was placed there specifically to make photographers weep with joy and couples fall even more in love. Stone walls draped in character. Grounds that whisper centuries of stories. The kind of venue where you half-expect a French aristocrat to lean out of an upstairs window and offer you a croissant.

I arrived and immediately knew: this was going to be that kind of wedding day. The kind you talk about for years. The kind where everything just works.

I was not wrong.

Sam & Jess: A Perfect Match

Let me tell you about this couple. Sam — groom, wine enthusiast, and (as I'd later discover) a man of exceptional generosity — had the kind of calm, joyful energy that made everyone around him relax. Jess was radiant. Genuinely, properly, stop-and-stare radiant. The sort of bride who makes you forget you're supposed to be taking photos because you're too busy just... watching.

They were married in front of the manor house itself, which served as the most spectacular backdrop imaginable — all that honey-coloured stone glowing in the afternoon light, the lawns perfectly manicured, the air smelling of lavender and very good life choices.

The ceremony was warm, funny, and genuinely moving. People cried. I nearly cried. My camera definitely got a little blurry around the vows and that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

The Secret Garden: Drinks, Laughter & Maximum Charm

Post-ceremony, the guests were ushered into the secret garden for drinks, and honestly, calling it a "secret" feels criminal — a place this beautiful deserves to be shouted about from every rooftop in the Gironde.

Prosecco flowed. Conversation sparkled. The bridesmaids and groomsmen — an absolutely brilliant, hilarious, warm-hearted group who seemed collectively incapable of being anything other than tremendous fun — held court in all corners of the garden. Within approximately eleven minutes of drinks beginning, it felt less like a wedding reception and more like a reunion of people who had been best friends for decades.

(Some of them had. Others had just met. You genuinely couldn't tell.)

The Hay Field Incident (A Story I Will Tell Forever)

Right. So. The hay field.

At some point — fuelled by golden hour light, collective bravery, and probably a glass of something French and excellent — we decided to head into the hay field for portraits. Tall grass, beautiful light, genuinely cinematic. Perfect.

There was, however, one small concern.

South West France is home to several species of snake. Not many. Not dangerous ones, particularly. But some. And someone — I believe the word "snakes" was uttered casually by a bridesmaid — planted a seed of mild concern that rapidly grew into a full hedge of anxiety.

Enter: the tennis racket.

I'm not entirely sure how it materialised. These things happen at weddings. One moment there was no tennis racket; the next, there was, and everyone was looking at me.

"You go first," said someone.

"You're the professional," said someone else, which is an interesting interpretation of what "wedding photographer" means.

And so I went. Into the hay field. Tennis racket raised. Sweeping the grass ahead of me with the energy of a man who has absolutely thought this through and is definitely not making it up as he goes. The wedding party watched from the edge of the field, glasses in hand, looking very much like they were enjoying the show.

We found zero snakes. We got the most glorious golden hour photographs. And I have officially added "Snake Wrangler (Speculative)" to my CV.

The Send-Off: Two Bottles of Red and a Heart Full of Gratitude

As the evening wound down and I packed up my kit, Sam — brilliant, thoughtful, wine-knowledgeable Sam — pressed two bottles of local red into my hands as a thank you.

Reader, I nearly cried again.

Not because of the wine (though it was, predictably, excellent — this is South West France, they don't mess about). But because it was such a perfectly them gesture. Warm. Generous. A little unexpected. Exactly like the whole day had been.

The Bit Where I Get Slightly Soppy

I photograph a lot of weddings. It's the best job in the world, and I mean that sincerely. But every now and then you get a day that reminds you why — a couple so clearly made for each other, in a place so absurdly beautiful, surrounded by people so full of love and laughter that you drive home feeling genuinely lucky to have been there.

Manoir Longeveau is magic. Sam and Jess are magic. The bridesmaids and groomsmen who made the whole day feel like one long, sun-drenched party — magic. The secret garden — magic. The hay field — also magic, and mercifully snake-free.

The tennis racket is available for hire. Enquire within.

Congratulations, Sam & Jess. May your marriage be as golden as that hay field light, and may your cellar always be as well-stocked as your send-off suggested.

🥂🐍🎾