We woke this morning to a dramatic thunderstorm off the Amalfi coast. And sat eating breakfast, our last in Positano, watching lightning strike over the ocean. It was a natural fireworks display.

Today, we travel to Ischia. And there is a story to be told about Ischia. I have been, but not with Geoff, three years ago. I went on a romantic break on my own – at the last minute Geoff had to bale out due to work!

The one downside to a stay in Positano, as far as Geoff is concerned, is that you cannot walk along the coast. There are no footpaths on the road: only just enough room for two cars to squeeze by each other like shy strangers.

Yesterday, we caught the ferry to Amalfi, about 14 kilometres south of Positano, so that we could see the coastline from the water. Positano is very quaint, but there is no real old town, only an ancient church. The buildings look like they have been constructed in the 60s and 70s, not architecture’s best hour.

Amalfi has a square, lined with exquisite shops, full of local delicacies. There is a small, attractive old town. We sat and people watched in Pansa (1830) over a cup of coffee and pastries, and bought authentic goodies for the children’s Christmas stockings.

Now that we are on the cusp of the Christmas period, festive lights and trees will soon line the main routes in London. And the shops will fill up with frenzied shoppers. With the warm weather clinging on here in Italy, it is impossible to contemplate cold weather, perhaps even snow, in Britain soon.

In the Lemon Store, we bought Limoncello, made out of the local lemons from the ancient trees of “sfusato Amalfitano” to take back to London and Hampshire. Each night, we finish the night with the liqueur, made from fresh lemons from the hotel garden. It is an effective digestif after a plate of spaghetti.

On television at home, we often watch an Italian chef, Gino D’Acampo, on his travels around Italy. The owner of the Lemon Store pointed to a photo of Gino with her, hanging near the cash register. Apparently, her lemon farm featured in one of his programmes, three years ago.

I had been hoping for one last swim in the sea before we caught our ferry from Naples to Ischia, but there is too much electricity about. I don’t want to end up like a fried sardine. When the sea is lit by the sun here, it is like sapphire, but when it is overcast, it has more grey to it, making it a black/blue, like majorcan pearls or  black opals.

Instead, I had a stroll through the the tasteful, authentic interiors of the common areas; I found the owner of the hotel [her beloved husband is dead] discussing the menus with her staff. Attention to detail is obviously her catchphrase.

Arrivederci Positano; grazie for a bella time.