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In 2006, I lived in Italy. I had taken a university work placement in a small village just south of Turin, in a valley nestled between the stunning Langhe hills. Upon arrival, 'fresh out of Bristol', I knew no-one but, with a breath fearlessness, I was not shy of going out alone. At that time, the Italians would often regard this, when participating as onlookers, as something a little tragic. Even at home, one must never dine alone! Fortunately, my onward experience has found me with a recurring seat at the table of friends and strangers alike, and this has remained a theme for both work, and play. In recent weeks, an invitation from a similarly beautiful but nevertheless very British part of the world arrived, requesting my company for lunch at Beaverbrook, that luxury hotel in the Surrey Hills – an Area of Outstanding Beauty. An hour or so from London, under utopian skies, we piled out of cars that had tugged us up the long, and picturesque drive to this charming Victor

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