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Floyd on Italy
By Keith Floyd
Published 1994
To lie in the Bush under the Southern Cross in the ‘Top End’ of Australia, wrapped in a swag and fearful of snakes and realizing that man counts for nothing under that awesome sky is a humbling experience. And to pick an olive from a tree that was planted before the Good Samaritan bathed with olive oil the wounds of a man mugged by thugs is another of those extraordinary experiences that I seem to collide with. So to sit before a small wood fire toasting bread and drenching it in olive oil as a mid-morning March snack in a grove of trees where some have been carbon dated to show that they are over two thousand years old and planted before the birth of Christ is weird. To me, anyhow.
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