I had a letter from the Sunday Times, and it didn't always work. For instance when I was in Sardinia, I drove up to... I wanted to see the cooking of the mountains. And I went up to a hunting lodge, where people were hunting wild boar. And I went in, put my bags down, and quickly went to the kitchen. And I saw them cooking stew of wild boar in red wine. And I saw them making carta di musica, which is a very, very fine bread, almost paper-thin. Like a sheet of music. And also, they were making food for themselves, which was pasta with a cheese, cream cheese. And suddenly a woman came in, a real battle-axe, and she just shouted at me, 'Fuori, fuori!' 'Get out, get out'. And I brought out my letter. I'm here for the Sunday Times, writing about you. She didn't know how to read English. But she just kept telling me get out. And so, I did.

And in the evening, I went out to dinner in the restaurant of this hunting lodge. And there was only me and a long table full of hunters who had come to hunt. And they were there and after they were served the first course, they started singing hunting songs. And I was there, far away from them, and one of them said, 'Would you like to join us?' And I said, 'Yes'. And I went and joined them. And then the woman suddenly came in and she said, 'Go back to your table'. I went back to my table. But I heard them singing. And then the next morning I thought I'd stay on, two days – I had booked for three days. And as I came down in the morning she said, 'Have your breakfast and pack your bags'. And then she said, 'Haven't you got a husband?' So, there was at that time this thing that women travelling alone were... what are they doing here. But for mostly, for me, to be researching food gave me a reason to be there. And a very plausible one.