Today, the weather is steadily improving.

Yesterday, when Hugo came home from working at Court Number 1 shop at Wimbledon, he asked if I could take him to Chelsea, as his phone was on the blink.

I parked in Smith Street, off the Kings Road. While I waited for him, a Ferrari and a Lamborghini, passed each other in front of me. What magnificent Italian cars! Bella! Low to the ground, elongated, powerful. You see stellar cars in the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea – it’s a question of cash. Especially parked alongside Harrods, with bored chauffeurs.

One magnificent summer I shall never forget was in 1997, and it involved a holiday to Tuscany, in Italy. My brother and his wife, Shaun and Wendy, brought their, almost, one year old to visit us at Elms Crescent. It was the first time that we had met Ryan, with his strawberry blonde hair. And the first time that they had met Hugo. They met Anna at the Great Barrier Reef, when she was just one and a bit. They stayed with us for five weeks, and whilst they were in Britain, the sun shone on and on.

Shaun and I went to the Wimbledon, to Court Number 1. I sent them off to Henley Royal Regatta with the Corries; did the picnic, Pimms and people watching, on the river.

We borrowed a charming cottage in the Cotswolds, just near Moreton in the Marsh, in a tiny hamlet in Paxford. Our friends, the Forthergills, generously let us have it for a few days. They were living in South Africa. We visited the golden, sandstone towns, and we ate picnics in the green fields. We walked in the hills behind Blockley, and we went to a manor house in Oddington, serving cream teas.

The big draw, however, was the trip to Italy, to a farm house near Siena. Geoff and I hadn’t been back since our honeymoon in 1989.

The Barbers came with us, with baby Harry who was also turning one. Nicky was pregnant with Ben. She was such a good sport to head to the heat with us, when she was effectively carrying a hot water bottle. She ate a lot of gelato, and John made her delicious stone fruit platters every night after dinner. We took it in turns to cook, and occasionally couples went off for a date.

We arrived at Rome airport, and after finding our hire cars, we took our lives in our hands on the frenetic highways. We arrived hot and tired at the end of the day. The farm house, from a distance, looked idyllic, like something out of a Room with a View. Poplar trees dotted the horizon. On arrival we did a recce (checked things out), and things took a turn for the worst. Big disappointment; the farm house hadn’t quite been finished. One of the bathrooms was still under construction. The big tragedy was that the pool was still under construction. Gutting.

I rang the London agent. Said that I was a solicitor. He actually sounded worried. However, there was no way they could get the pool finished overnight, so we set up a paddling pool in the garden. The next day the pool construction outfit turned up. I blocked the drive. I said, ‘You will have to run over me to get to that pool.’ They thankfully left, never to be seen again.

We resolved to make the best of the week. We went to the local, public pool. It was authentic. Sat with the local punters, listening to them speak the lingo and gesticulating like they do. We went to Siena and to Florence. We ate at local gelato bars and cafes, and we had a happy week. Shaun managed to unlock the garage and found a racing bike, which he used to explore with.

A few things went awry. Firstly, Hugo fell in the bath and split his eye. We headed to hospital. When they took too long to see us in A and E, we went off in search of the paediatric wing. Instead, I found the contagious diseases ward, and the staff frantically ran towards us yelling, “Go away!” But in Italian – “Va via.” Then Anna couldn’t get the hang of the uneven paving stones, and she eventually had three bruised eggs on her forehead.

The final straw was on the last day. An Italian caretaker, a largish signora, turned up just as we were leaving. In the small print, it specified that we would be charged an extortionate fee every time we used the washing machine. Somehow they knew that we had been constantly churning the children’s clothes through. The signora stood grasping a wad of lira, our deposit, which was meant to be returned at the end of our stay. I sensed she’d done this routine a few times before.

She said to John Barber, “You see-a. You use-a da washing machine-alotta. So we take off this much-a for each wash-a.” She was wildly waving the cash around. Geoff was walking past her constantly, taking luggage out to the car. And on the last trip, he walked past her, from behind, and grabbed the cash straight out of her hand. Simultaneously, he said, “Bad luck-a!” She looked like she had been robbed of her clothes. John Barber couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

Geoff then said, “Right. No dilly dallying. Get in the car and let’s get out of here.” And in a cloud of dust, we left the signora, stripped of her cash.

Tonight we are going to the Keelings. It will be great to see them before they head off to Salcombe for the summer.