It’s 1996, and I’m heading off to Italy alone on my motorbike – – but instead of writing my journal as I go, I take notes ready to ‘write it up’ later – which, of course, I never did.
I found the notebook – and it consisted of 17 (yes – I even gave up en-route) double page spreads with the left hand page containing increasingly sparse notes. I scribbled down the ones that made me recall some incident with a smile…. the waiter in Reigate cleaning the cork out of the wine bottle neck with his finger… the beautiful Bentley Continental on the motor-rail . . my scarf from the Moto Club of Malcesine (that’s meant to be a scarf) . . ravioli stuffed with pumpkins in Mantova . . . the unhelpful receptionist in Montalcino.