Dan Woodford leads a charmed life though is usually able to find something to complain about. He is spending the year in Florence eating tripe, changing nappies and tweeting about it whilst the mother of his children reads dusty old books and manuscripts and writes about them.
One morning last spring at the Esselunga’s café in Florence I had met an Englishman and his wife having the coffee we all need before fighting our way down the aisles. They were sitting outside, in part to avoid the noise coming from two Italian children standing on a table arguing over which colour […]
Last autumn, having just arrived in Florence, I was walking through the city with some colleagues of my wife, all Renaissance scholars. Noticing the glass façade of the restaurant Alle Murate, I remarked, ‘Oh, that's where it is.' ‘Have you not been there yet?' they
I was in the COOP carrying a basket in one hand and steering a buggy (‘stroller' to our American readers) with the other. Having already loaded the basket with heavy items upstairs, I now needed to bag and weigh the fruits and vegetables. In Italy, this task necessitates dressing