I am in Edinburgh. Cold. I have newly purchased, long woollen Pippi Longstocking socks from the Eden Gift Shop on Cockburn Street (later, my youngest and I deliberate how we’d pronounce the name of the street and whether full relish should be given to the first syllable or if it hides under an abbreviated ‘co’ sound). I put them on in the shop, balancing among the shoppers. We are staying in the best B&B in the world, the details of which I never give up other than to a favoured handful. This is one of few places that makes me feel safe and looked after in a parental way. When you are an adult orphan, this is a true luxury.
We make our way to Valvona & Crolla, the famous and delightful Italian deli (and café) on the way to Leith, past the playhouse, on Elm Row. I anticipated it being heaving with Instagram shoppers, perhaps even with a queue, but it was actually simply bustling.
I explain to my youngest that, as a small girl in Italy, all grocer’s shops were like this. With long, brightly coloured, paper-wrapped packages of spaghetti and jars upon jars of interesting things ‘sott’olio’ (in oil). In the south, my family’s grocer was called Don Giachino and the owner’s son and my uncle once tried, many moons ago, to start a trade in ‘exotic bunnies’ by dyeing standard rabbits blue and selling them for profit.
We buy a 1kg panettone for Christmas (Waitrose’s No 1 Sicilian Orange Nocciolato is also very good), but I also buy some Majani Cioccolata Scorza, a 60% Flake lookalike with citrus, £8.95. Is it the best chocolate ever? No, but dipped into my hot chocolate while walking ‘home’ along an Edinburgh street, warm and happy in stripy socks, it feels close.