Wednesday 14th August 2013

The new Dukes of Tuscany are announced: there’s nothing Tuscany will not do for the Multis now.

‘When your Global knives arrive in Tuscany,’ the Blond Multi said to me, Adrian Edge, ‘it’s as if your standard has been raised over the roof.’

I always bring my own knives to any hired villa: the ones provided will fail to be sharp for sure.

Later the Blond Multi, or Captain Blond Multi as he is known, declared my look for cooking to have reached perfection. Great irony, for in fact I was wearing a fake Lacoste white polo shirt bought in Bodrum, Turkey, six years ago since when it has languished in my housework wardrobe and has never been ironed. Suddenly the other day I decided to take it into the main wardrobe.

There’s quite a lot of wine talk. Marcus Cargill, England’s leading clockmender, declared a Chianti ‘flaccid.’ ‘Depends how much you’ve drunk,’ Connor Cadoux, of the Australian Poor Little Rich Gays, quipped. He’s shattered because working for a massive financial house but now suddenly co-habiting, fully in love with César-Kaiser Kaiser-Ferro, which is a big surprise for his path has been exceptionally various heretofore. At the last moment, he has been saved. César-Kaiser can’t stand Abba.

The Blond Multi sees great ripeness for the Poor Little Rich Gays at the moment.

On Monday we took Volpaia and lunch at the simple trat there with million dollar Tuscan view, where, in 2009,  Prince Dmitri and others tipped the waiter 300 euros when the Multis first started to get big in Tuscany. But that waiter must have bought a flat in Bucharest in the strength because he’s never been seen again…. The Blond Multi was unhappy about the sausages. ‘Last year there were two,’ he protested to the new waiter. ‘On the menu it says salsicce. That’s plural.’ His choice of dish was salsicce with beans. But the waiter only shrugged. The Blond forged into the kitchen and spoke to the daughter of the proprietress. She said, ‘Last year you got two sausages at 40 grammes each. Now you get one at 80 grammes.’ The Blond Multi sought out the Vecchia Donna herself who said, ‘You can believe me or you can not believe me.’ The Blond Multi self-funded an extra sausage.

After lunch we had an improvised semi-formal wine-tasting of Volpaia wine. The tasting mistress was half Manx, half Italian, as the Blond Multi found out, engaging at once with staff. ‘Has your tail been chopped off?’ Marcus Cargill managed to refrain from saying. Then she complained of nose discomfort. ‘Too much cocaine?’ Marcus enquired. Later, back at the villa, Marcus began a stock war. I saw it coming. He’s made it known before that stock can only be made from bones not previously cooked.

The Blond Multi’s Self-Funded Extra Sausage: Lunch at Volpaia

View from My Tuscan Villa Bedroom: The Bars Frame My Poor Little Rich Gay Life Now in Full Ripeness