If you had been wandering down Rugby Street early on Sunday morning, you would have encountered a cheerful chap on a ladder, outside the shop, painting our new sign. Wayne Tanswell drove down from Suffolk in his little red van and got to work bright and early – making the finishing touches on our facade refreshment (now that we are taking over the little shop at 17a Rugby Street, next door).

The rain held off, Maggie provided coffee and croissants, and it was a pleasure to see Wayne at work. 

He had plenty of time to meet the neighbours, Bobby Williams and Mr Williams his dad (looking, well, a bit worse for wear after the extraordinary Tom McKean and the Emperors gig in the  Perserverence the night before); Orsa seeing her friend back off to Finland, a new American neighbour (who’s name we don’t know, who’s just moved onto the street – hello)…. I guess that chatting to the neighbours is what comes of a job where there is plenty of time to literally watch the paint dry.

Anyway, at the end of the day, Wayne declared he would like to move to Rugby Street, and we had a very handsome new shop sign.

The renovations and reorganisation in our stock rooms go on for about another week, and we are also closed for staff holidays. Bridie and the new girls – Sophie and Jessica – will be very pleased to see you in the shop when we reopen on September 6th!  

I’m particularly happy with the shiny new paint job on the shutters, thanks to Adam the builder and his amazing team. A sign that it’s going to be brilliant autumn, I hope!

Looking at my holiday snaps. So, I know, the other night, I denied everyone photos of Sienese churches and misty hillsides (although I do have a few of those). Well this evening I thought the better of such holiday-photo-snobbery.

It was a good year for sunflowers in Tuscany. I’m never quite sure why this is so one year and not another – something to do with EU subsidies for sunflower oil. Have you ever cooked with sunflower oil? No, I didn’t think so.

Anyway, one day last week, Val and I drove down to San Quirico d’Orcia to visit her great friend Leigh (and Leigh’s remarkable and welcoming family, who had rented a historic old convent near the town, in the fabulous, happy, impressive style that is unique to Americans. Which makes one wish that Americans would concentrate on going on holiday more and to war less).

On the way, we came across an amazing valley of sunflowers. And on the way back, we decided to stop the car in a tiny layby so we could pop back and take some snaps. Which was all well and good, except that as I was on my way back to the car, the slowest (yes, I mean the slowest) tractor in the world overtook us. Behind which we had to sit for about 20 miles on our way home.

At the time I was not sure it was worth it, but now I feel it was.

Oh dear. While I am writing about cookery, can I have a little word about Elizabeth David?  

I KNOW that we are meant to love Mrs David. I do… sort of… that is, until I pick up one of her cook books to COOK WITH.

Yes. It’s probably just me. But I need a bit more help with my recipes. I love cooking, I really do. But from time to time, I need to be told what to do – I think, after all, that is the point of a recipe isn’t it?

On Thursday last week, Valentina and I cooked “Veal larded with Ham” from ‘Italian Food’.  I can’t quite remember the details, but it went something along the lines of ‘take a leg of veal. Form an incision across the length, then a second above and and a third below. Insert Prosciutto and add some carrot slices at intervals. Bind with string. Brown the meat, then braise until cooked’.

HELP!

It tasted sort of delicious, but I think I prefer Delia. Sorry.

(*The Prawn Cocktail Years)

I got back from Italy on Sunday, and a wonderful time it was. Tuscany was looking at its most beautiful for many years.  The weather was perfect  - glorious sunny days and cool nights. (Apart from the last two days of massive thunderstorms and well, frankly, extremely cold wet rain, that is… all the better for returning to London with).

So I suppose you might have been imagining some photos of beautiful grey and white Sienese churches and lone cyprus trees silhouetted against Tuscan hilltops.

Well, instead, I thought it would be more amusing to share a little cooking moment that Valentina and I had. On our last evening (during the one on the massive rainstorms) we started preparing supper for our friend Catherine and her sister Lucy who were coming over from their farmhouse across the valley for supper (could you get more Chiantishire? No, you couldn’t).

That morning we had bought some lovely chicken from the butcher, Macelleria Chini, and herbs and vegetables from the corrupt but faithful greengrocer in Gaiole-in-Chianti. Yes, it felt like winter and we were going to make a casserole. (what’s the Italian for casserole anyone?).

Putting the ingredients out to get ready, we realised we had stepped into a 1970s cookbook. Without even trying.

I was a little reminded of Entertaining with House and Garden that I wrote about a few weeks ago.  

But then, even better, Val found the perfect companion to our little moment of fun, Ada Boni’s famous ‘Italian Regional Cooking’. Look at that beautiful title page. And then LOOK at the photographs. They take food styling to an extreme.

How achingly dull is a page from “Jamie’s Italian” by comparison (lets face it, just how many photos of a vespa and of the f**king cheeky chef can we take?). No, this is the REAL THING. You have been warned – it gets a little bit gruesome towards the end.  

Would you send Bridie and me your photos inspired by the best cookery photography of the 1970s please? Happy Holidays, and all the best of the silly season.

Next week, I’m very excited to be heading off to Italy for a couple of weeks with my best friend Valentina from New York.

In the meantime, if you’re reflecting (like me) on quite how time is flying past in 2010, consider these photos of the Old Parsonage at the end of March – and yesterday. It’s amazing what four months mean in a garden.  It’s strange to think that in four months, Christmas will be knocking at the door… for now, I hope you are loving this summer.

Forget tulipomania. (well, at least until next spring). Tonight I picked the first dahlias. 

It’s perfect this evening. At the end of a pretty busy day, I’ve spent a couple of very quiet hours in the garden. The sun is setting with just a light breeze blowing. Here is the view from here.

Yesterday evening, I left London but not without taking a snap of my flat mate William’s lilies… the new ephemeral attraction of Lambs Conduit Street. Pop by and look up – they’re on the balcony (they smell even more amazing than they look).

Arriving in Dorset late last night I woke early to a morning of unbelievable stillness. A heavy dew has fallen. Dare I say it… there is a bit of autumn in the air already. Here are a couple of pics of the vegetable patch. Who knew asparagus could look so beautiful?

Oh dear, I feel like I’m turning in to Sarah Raven. Basically, I love Sarah Raven, although I think it could be a finely balanced thing as to whether I might suddenly start not liking her. But for now, I’m very happy to start mistaking myself for her.

It was a weekend in the veg patch; rainshowers one minute, baking sunshine the next. Mum and Dad came to stay and we went to my Uncle’s 80th birthday party in Lyme Regis – 41 Pentreaths (or cousins) all in one room, the eldest 91 and the youngest 3. What do you give an 80 year old uncle who has expressly forbidden all presents? A box of vegetables picked that morning seemed a good bet.

(Bridie, if you like that little bunch of flowers tucked in the corner of the box – I’ve brought you one for the shop this evening).

I was particularly struck today by the beauty of the cabbages, January King and the Cavolo Nero, or Tuscan Kale. They are for the future. For now, its all about peas and courgettes. Here was lunch today. Delicious – but do you see what I mean about Sarah Raven?!

This morning, I was driving to Dorset via a new site in Wiltshire. I got a little lost on my way down, and chanced upon the incredible valley west of Wilton – Broadchalke, Bowerchalke, Fifeild Bavant, Ebbersborne Wake.

Getting very lost in the narrow chalk lanes, it was a great joy to chance upon Reddish House – Cecil Beaton’s home after he left Ashcombe. 

There’s a wonderful photograph of Beaton and Hockney in the conservatory at Reddish in Peter Schlesinger’s brilliant photo memory, A Checkered Past – one of my favourite books that we sell in the shop (although it is very hard to get hold of – forgive us if we sell out).

And then, here is Reddish today – I don’t think Beaton would approve of that gate and wall. But the rest…. amazing.