In the Autumn of 1959, I was working in Naples (that's Naples, Italy, for my American readers), and today I tasted Naples again. Thanks to Tesco's, our giant superstore chain. Walking, as I always do, reverently, down the aisle where the booze is displayed, I came upon an offer for Martini Rosso. One bottle for £7.20, two bottles for £10. It was meant to be.
The first time I ever tasted Martini Rosso, a fortified wine if ever there was one, I was in Naples, a beardless youth of 22, eager for adventure, and all the etceteras that follow from that eagerness. With friends, I seemed to spend my non-teaching hours in my room in the Pensione dei Mille sipping Martini Rosso and trying to impress a Scottish girl who taught in another school in the city.
I left Naples and after that didn't drink Martini Rosso again until this evening, thanks, as I say, to Tesco's. I really believe Tesco's have my welfare at heart. Why else would they gorge me on nostalgia like this?