What to buy in Tuscany/Rimini

In Rimini my sister finds a pair of leather boots lined with sheepskin for 39 euros, marked down from 120 euros. She is pleased with her bargain and puts them on at once hoping to be more seasonably dressed – Italians don’t sell things out of season, which is why there are no sandals on display.
A saleswoman breaths down her neck in another shop where she tries on hats and leather jackets – the goods turn to tat the further we walk from our hotel. She reckons we must be at the posh end.

Buying food is an experience – there are shelves of pasta twists and twirls and packets of alluring biscotti. Jars of marinated things glisten in anti-pasti paradise although I don’t want to look too closely as one of the delicatessens reminds me of an eighteenth century medical laboratory – I’ve seen too many pictures of pickled specimens.

You have to weigh your own fruit and veg in the supermarket, while punching into the machine the details of what you’ve got in your basket. Fortunately there are pictures as well which help you select the appropriate sticker. It’s a great game – my nephew would love it!

Later, in Florence, we spend many hours strolling through the markets of San Lorenzo, eyeing up the leather goods, pashminas and silk ties. We buy a stylish leather jacket for Him Outdoors, a bright green handbag for me (‘But will it go with anything?’ Men!)

We buy presents for mums and brothers, but keep our hands firmly in our pockets after we’ve had a drink. Never buy anything unless you’re completely sober; that’s my motto. Actually, I’ve only just made it up, but I quite like it and I think I’ll keep it!

There are shops selling extremely expensive paper embossed with the Florentine lily. It looks a lot like the French fleur de lis but is different and they get very upset if you make the blundering mistake of calling it such. The Florentia paper is of the highest quality, and the highest price, and is I'm sure, well worth it, but beyond our budget so I make do with a leather bookmark.

I love the toy shops which, although full of an alarming array of rubbish, have some classic shiny wooden toys that gleam from the shelves. Like something Gepetto's workshop, they wait for you to turn your back so that they can come to life. I try to catch them at it, by just pretending I'm not looking, but they have me sussed and stay fimly put.

At the Mercato Centrale I am impressed by the fish counters with their bright red tuna, tentacled squid and octopus, and other creatures of the sea. There are bins of porcini and sun-dried tomatoes which are ridiculously cheap by non-Mediterranean standards.

We drift through aisles of fresh produce, buying cheese; ham; bread; wine; pesto and olives – staples of a meal negotiated in our stumbling and stunted Italian. We find a park bench to sit on and eat our simple meal, pushing in the cork (they seem reluctant to switch to screwcaps) and swigging from the bottle like cheerful vagabonds.