The arrival of warmer weather heralds many joys — but also one very specific pain, as Jonathan Self grumbles.
Easter in Florence. I have found another ancient, cobbled road, hidden by equally ancient stone walls, overgrown, covered in moss and barely negotiable on foot, that snakes from behind Santa Margherita a Montìci out into open countryside — a countryside that, over the past few days, has finally, for we have endured a long, wet, grey winter, burst into…
