Two girls and a paddle

I know I was there just a couple of weeks ago but sometimes I just can't keep away. And thus it was that DJ S and I found ourselves on a plane in order to revisit those balmy summer days when we first met on the side of a Tuscan hill.

It was not balmy. But we did have a marvellous time, in the company of some of my favourite Sicilians, one of whom added to the general mood of celebration by taking her first steps (staggering into the arms of DJ S, wise child).


And picked many a bagful of olives in record time (efficiency ever the Sicilian watchword, no?).


At which Tot A, DJ S and I extracted ourselves from the family fun to head off for the delightful little town of Massa Marittima and a boozy lunch.


We identified a new location in which to sample suckling pig (Le Duc being never far from our thoughts), climbed a phallic c[l]ocktower, and, in an little shop somewhere up a back alley, purchased a genuine antique pizza paddle, beautifully worn and wrought out of the finest Tuscan oak.


This despite the absence of any actual pizza oven in Maremma.

I was reminded of Eddie and Patsy flying from London to New York in search of the perfect door handle.


But in a very good way, oh yes.