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When a dear friend announced she would be celebrating a Big Birthday in Italy and wanted her nearest and dearest (including me) to join her, I hesitated. I am wary of group travel. I am a peculiar fish. I like my space. I find the idea of being constantly surrounded by travel companions daunting. It means I have to be permanently “on” to quote George Costanza , and just the thought of the energy required for continuous Jax is exhausting. But the lure of mouth-watering Tuscan cuisine and vats of Prosecco was
My six hours in Gatwick passed relatively quickly. By the time I made necessary fluid adjustments, played “guess the accent/language”, gawped at the outrageous fashions ( Clinton Kelly and Stacy London would have had a field day), ate lunch, checked in, and spent a sizeable chunk of cash in duty free, it was time to board my flight. I was traveling alone because the Party Posse preceded me. They were already ensconced in a villa in Tuscany over-indulging in fermented grape juice.