Tuscany, miss you so much

One must have rosé alfresco. One needs a pergola with wisteria, some shadow and fresh, breezy air even though it’s August around the 15th, the hottest week of the warm tuscan summer, when a motionless, stiff, round heat takes, literally, your breath away.

But that caldissimo is nothing, really, if one can have 'bruscietta' with vergin cold-pressed olive oil, whatever the heck that means, garlic and nibbles, followed by two hundred fags that in Italy cost as little as three pounds per pack, innit. Let me tell you: there is not such a spectacular view down in Tuscany as a bunch of britons enjoying all the sun they have been previously neglected in their fabolous yet sun-muffled Country: it's a fest, it's Romeo meets Juliette Lewis and they get drunk together under the tuscan sun which, by the way, was shot almost completely in Umbria. In the business department of my memory there are two perfect moments I recall to my own amusement when things get difficult, when the seasonal crowd invades “my” villas and we are responsible for their safety, satisfaction and activities: the first would be the head-to-toe white dressed americans coming down from these gigantic, elegant ships for their half day excursions. The second one would be instead the english families avoiding the tour of the property to, literally, throw themselves under the veranda - with rosè wine and cold beers we precedently supplied and stored in the cold fridge, of course, together with proper, large, tasting glasses and ice.

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