Midnight something Wednesday, no, Thursday. (While in Torino)
In between searching for a clock and trying to fathom our computer troubles, we got dressed respectably and hoofed it, in a light rain, over to the Directors’ Luncheon, which was held in an old, old royal townhouse up by one of the piazzas (I still can’t figure out where I am half the time. Jonathan just charges off with the map and a keen sense of direction crafted, I guess, in the wilds of NYC, and off we go).
I wore my dress coat and nothing on my head, so arrived a bit damp, but not awkwardly so. The luncheon was buffet-style, with some small tables, not nearly enough, so people mostly wandered around, plates in hand, and schmoozed. I latched onto some small handmade pastas that are a local specialty whose name I can neither spell nor remember. At the time, it was something warm, and went well with the wine — more local Barbera, smooth and delicious. Afterward we staggered back the mile or so to walk off the meal, and agreed that the next best thing was a nap. We each retired to our well-curtained and well heated rooms. And so went the afternoon.