Don't trifle with my truffle

This is wonderful time of year in Tuscany. The weather is getting cooler. Autumn is in the air.

As you drive the back roads they are dotted with small cars parked on verges. It’s hunting season.

All night long you can hear the sound of hunters exercising their rights. It’s always been so.

Families are picking grapes for their wine from small plots that have been passed from generation to generation for hundreds of years.

And then there’s truffles.

Truffles are cloaked in secrecy here - when to dig, where to dig.

All food in restaurants can include truffles at this time of year. Then it will be walnuts.

This brings back memories of my childhood in rural England. My family has strong rural connections.

I went to a local restaurant on Friday. There was no name out front. There was no menu. Three courses (all made by the father) and all the wine you could drink.

No one spoke English until I explained I was Australian!

We must always remember that in Italy - it’s family first, then your village. After that it’s the valley you live in, then your state.

I must never assume I am part of their way of life, though. I am a visitor.

But I love it here. It’s like coming home. Very good people.