Last week I went to that great balsamic boot, Italy.
Specifically I was back in the Marche region, in the medieval mountain town of San Ginesio. I suspect it's usually a sleepy place but it never is in August when everyone dresses like old paintings and marches back and forth drumming furiously for a month solid like renaissance Duracell bunnies.
One day we went for a cut-throat shave at Valerio's on the piaza. It was just like one of those old gangster movies where someone goes for a shave.
Otherwise it was mainly cooking and crosswords and cross words. You know, the usual family stuff. (Not my family, mind.)