I am going to have to show off. There is no escaping it. The only time I ever went to Venice was a New Year a long time ago. I was the guest of a Venetian Count with a Palace on a canal and a private gondola tied up on stripey pole by the front gate. Oh, yes. When I looked out of my window I saw nothing but the canal and the gondolas going past: in fact just like the view from my window here at the moment. My friend Eva thought we would be mingling with the high society of Venice, but our host had quite eclectic tastes in his social life. For our New Year’s Eve party there was indeed a sprinkling of Duchesas and Contessas, but the majority were ordinary people from the neighbourhood: there was the family gondolier, there was the gelato salesman; there were some extravagantly dressed ladies who turned out to be aquaintances of the count's from the local strip-tease joint; there were also a few shady looking characters who could have been extras in a Fellini movie. In fact the whole evening was like a film. About two in the morning we were all peckish, and our host decided to feed the multitude. We all assembled into the vast kitchen, where he put a cauldron on the stove and poured in the largest amount of penne pasta I have ever seen. Then he took another enormous pan which he put on top of the cauldron. Into this he placed a couple of kilos of Gorgonzola. By the time the penne had boiled the Gorgonzola was melted. This was the most delicious pasta meal I have ever had, and I have often reproduced it.