Riding through Forte Dei Marmi and into Pietrasanta, occasionally I would wander through shaded side streets, past crumbling-stone mansions and under tall bristling trees, along open wheat fields and past soundless glassy rivers. The cool breeze and endless roads were a relief from the hot sun and long hours of working and I would try get out often.
My Gran had a loaded apricot tree in her back garden where her neighbours hung their washing, all preen and pegged, and I thought the image was so characteristic of Tuscan society.
I collected a few apricots, washed them and put them in a bowl on the kitchen table where they glowed in the sun.
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