So we just got back from two weeks in Italy which of course sounds unbelievably fancy to a girl from Tikipunga. And it was so fancy. Here’s the ingredients to Fancy Vacation Pie:

1. You need to research a country that everyone likes/wants to go to.
2. Work out exactly who ‘everyone’ is. In our case it was a core group of two large families with kids around the same age who really like each other. Me and the other mum is my friend (critical) and cutely, the dads are friends who like each other very obviously but who shrug it all off and don’t make any kind of fuss over it. Jabbering about all sorts of stuff but playing it cool, like, ‘what? nothing to see here, just me and my man talkin’ shop right now’ general blathering, joshing about, making dad jokes and drinking beer. Then we had another smaller family join for a week and my darling Neradah come for a few days. At peak people, we had 18 of us.
3. Find somewhere to fit you all. We decided Puglia would be good to go back to because last time it was brilliant and the memory of the flea markets made our eyes go all misty and then our chests tight with regret because of the Murano chandeliers that we didn’t buy. So we spent a long time trying to find two villas side by side but found instead a giant three storied 200 year old summer villa that still belongs to the same family, with pool and tennis court. Each floor had a sitting room and nine bedrooms in total, all with dressing rooms and ensuites and perfect, perfect furniture and paint jobs in faded shades of Wes Anderson. It had a huge lit area outside where we ate every night, plus a huge working kitchen, store room, sitting rooms, and SURPRISE! a chapel. It looked like this:

4. Do your maths, but loosely. Very importantly, this villa was a bargain. I don’t know why – probably because Puglia is still a bit of a poor cousin to the fancier bits of Italy – and maybe because the villa was near a slightly boring hill town. Maybe because the villa was a unmodernised and flaking dusty plaster and the wiring was screwy and the plumbing a little odd and the sheets still the same that people have been using since 1830. No matter – it was perfect and accidentally cool and when you throw 18 people into the mix, it was cheaper than some sort of horrendous all-inclusive resort place with tiny balconied rooms overlooking a communal pool.

5. We shared the food costs, hired a few cars/van, made a rough itinerary (thanks ChatGPT) and drank a whole lot of Campari. The sun was magnificent, the pizza plentiful, the religious icons numerous, the flea market finds glorious, the slippery marbled streets gleaming, the light a yellowy orangey dream. I found a ceramic 50s mirror for 40 euro and smashed my lip carrying it back to the others, then stuffed it into my extra hold bag (yes, that should have been point no. 6 – think ahead and bring too much luggage just in case) and hoped that it wouldn’t break. It did crack but not so much that superglue couldn’t fix it. Here it is, already on the wall:

Other notable stuff I managed to fit into the extra bag:

A little Murano pomodoro as an essential accompaniment for the Murano aubergine found in Paris a few months ago. Snigger.

The flea market which causes my heart to beat faster:

Highlights, we had a few. Taranto was a seedy, sexy little port town which felt very Naples-y. Like, perhaps someone might conduct dirty Camorra business down any one of the cat-piss alleyways, and if they did, and you saw them, you might die but equally there could be some good pizzeria to be had so you’d take the risk.

It looked like this:

Eating together was much more fun than it usually is at home with the usual thankless crew because we had a huge delightful kitchen and a big fat kitty to buy cheeses and straciatella to drizzle on peaches with honey and thyme and lime, and huge platters of cured pork permutations and bruschetta to be fancifully plating up, together. We all grabbed a drink and the kids put music on and we chopped and sang and made beautiful, beautiful things. Cooking for 18 people is a much better chore if shared, I tell you. Which is perhaps a mantra for life.

Monopoli. A day trip to this little port town was magical. Look at the rocks and the sea! It was perfect clear clean water, with manageable rocks to jump off for boys needing to flex a little:

My H&M leopard print one piece was outstanding though the tan lines were not optimal:

The kids were brilliant – mostly not too lazy, very funny, mostly getting along together, kind of ‘yes’ people rather than too much moaning. Heatstroke hovered nearby a few times but no one vomited. No one ended up at a hospital either which is a newish feeling. Many beers were drunk and there was a fair bit of competitive eating sessions between the teenage boys along with nightly tennis matches and opportunistic arm wrestling. Backgammon, Poker, and Hide and Go Seek in the dark pine forest were played. Cats were embraced. Milk disappeared regularly. Tans were worked on, Clash Royale was collectively played. Everyone made fun of my desire to constantly listen to Chappell Roan and Lola Young, and were scathing of my chatGPT usage. No one slept very well. We found a snake. The wasps and cat sometimes turned feral. I escaped the air con room of sub-zero temperatures to my own room with no one snoring and then this guy turned up:

It was magnificent and now we have 51 more weeks until we get to go somewhere again.