Fine food, fine friends and finding inspiration

First, apologies to anyone dropping by for a spot of canine chatter in a dog-themed blog. 'Walking the dog' is on holiday and the boys are at their dog-themed holiday camp (aka kennels). To say it was a challenge coaxing Bertie Baggins into the car in order to get them there would be an understatement on the scale of 'I've had enough carrot cake' - all his recent journeys have been to destination-vet, where he has had vaccine squirted up his nose; needles jabbed into his back-side or surgery to lop his balls off. Bread didn't work. Following Four-legged-friend's calm hop into the passenger foot-well failed to settle him. In the end, it took two of us to manhandle him into the boot and he whimpered most of the way there. Note-to-self to take him on some fun journeys - destination-walkies, or collecting Littlest from school.

Once at destination-kennel and with both boys out of the car, I promptly turned into hapless, without-a-clue-how-to-handle-two-over-excited-dogs owner. We got through the frankly difficult to negotiate, secure, double-gate system and with wrists and ankles in a tangled knot of rope and chain, I wished not for the first time that my summer shoes had better grips. The boys responded to the incessant chorus of barking by lurching around at the ends of their leads until first Four-legged-friend and then Bertie Baggins slipped out of their collars and sprinted off to make friends.If the barking had been loud before, it now reached a crescendo of ear-splitting magnitude almost like an applause for the bare-necked audacity of the newcomers. Red-faced, with dogs rounded up and penned, I mumbled my way through the 'what do they eat' and 'are they happy to be in a sleeping crate together' questions before making a hasty retreat - if I had one, my tail would have been firmly between my legs. As I fumbled over the sliding bolts of the security gates, I avoided eye contact with the owner of two Westies who had patiently sat and watched the pantomime of the naughty boys' arrival.

Car full of dog hairs and suitcases to pack, I drove home slowly. Would the dogs mind that I had been too embarrassed to say goodbye?

And so to holiday... destination-Italy.

Think of Tuscany and if you have been there before, your mind will conjure up images of sun, hazy mornings, gentle breezes that carry the scent of rosemary, jasmine, basil and cigarette smoke, and memories of food that tastes like food should - that explosion of intense flavours that only comes from fresh food and amazing cured meats, washed down with a good chianti. Try eating an Italian olive and surprise your taste buds - 'that's what olives taste like,' not the salty, slightly bitter, remind-me-why-I-am-bothering-to-eat-this unpleasantness of something shoved in a bottle many months old, but a piquant mix of sweet and salt that starts subtle but swells to fill the entire mouth with the taste that reminds you exactly what you were looking for and missing in all those chilly days at home when you mistakenly thought that opening a jar of olives might bring a little bit of summer. For authentic you need fresh and for fresh you can't beat being in Italy. And having friends for whom all things culinary are a way of life, not a means to life. We have been treated -

- waiting for more pizza to come out of the oven

and proper Chianti.

Then a day later from pizza to summer BBQ - ribs from Dario in Panzano (look him up!)

Finally and in transit from visiting family and friends to our holiday apartment further south, we stop off in a favourite place to check facts and seek further inspiration for a book about war and wine and astronomy and mediaeval knights and waifs.

Castellina: a good place to dream -

... loss of love with a death on the steps of the church