Completely New Approach to Tuscany But We Are Mistaken for a Boy Band with Girl «

Completely New Approach to Tuscany But We Are Mistaken for a Boy Band with Girl

Tuesday 20th August 2013

We made a massive entrance into the Olive Oil Dinner. Angus Willis, Hastings’ Retail King and International Food Writer, was in Jean-Paul Gaultier. More later. At present, he is setting fire to my holiday villa.

Meanwhile, yesterday morning, we evolved a whole new approach to Tuscany in these days. No more dreary old picturesque 14th century hilltop towns with their ancient wiggly ways. Completely finished. Now you must seek out the railway station. Park in the station car park. Wander forth through streets lined with modern apartementi and filled with the Monday market. Buy frutta e verdure as well as a pair of brilliant white, deeply classy, sling backs for 18 euros. Then take caffé on an attractively situated cement corner with traffic on all sides and a full view of the railway station (the most marvellous international connections). Your morning will be complete. You’ll never know such happiness.

In the evening we were back in the old Tuscany, at the Olive Oil dinner on the La Foce estate, only open to occupants (on a paying basis) of apartementi and casa of the estate. Four sorts of olive oil to be sampled with different foods. We enter the massive courtyard where the dinner is held, the last to arrive. Heads swivel. Several schoolgirls possibly from Fulham clamp their napkins to their mouths. I’m in a white Topman suitlette, Matt Driver’s in Paul Smith, Angus Willis, international food writer and stylist and Hastings’ King of retail, is in Jean-Paul Gaultier topped with small Homburg hat. I sing a little Schubert and, ensemble, we rendered very delicately the Pinã Colada song; otherwise our conversation is entirely unsuitable, being mostly less than respectful about the affaire Jimmy Savile. We very quickly get bored with the olive oils, even Angus Willis.

This afternoon, we took a tour of the famous La Foce garden, as seen on TV with Monty Don. A lady from Canada sidled up. ‘Are you Guys in a band?’ she inquired. ‘We saw you last night at the dinner. You were singing, weren’t you?’ She showed on her iPhone a poster of us pinned up in Montepuliciano, seen there by her this morning. We’re the Foot and Hip band or something like that. Marvellous. Can you imagine the thrill? There was indeed a resemblance. The Canadian lady had plainly thought of nothing else all day.

Of course we were too modest to say who we really are, massive figures with fingers on every pulse or indeed the pulse itself.