The summer meant only one thing for me when I was growing up – Italy. My parents were both teachers, so we could go for anything up to six weeks. From 1977 onwards we spent a long spell pretty much every year nestled in the Tuscan hills.
Initially we stayed in a cousin’s holiday home, then with relatives and finally in a house my grandfather purchased in the valley he had left as a boy to seek his fortune in Scotland. Most of our time was spent at the swimming pool, in cafes or at some local food festival. The biggest issue of almost every day was “Dove si mangia oggi?” – Where will we eat today?