Forget the belting women, forget the cars, forget the wonderful food and the glorious sunshine, the overriding joy of Italy is the price of wine. The stuff I buy for everyday drinking costs bugger all and it's good kit. Me and car-dealer Bruno make a weekend of it in the Veneto region and go and see our mate Tony who is a winemaker without too many frills; the wine matures in great big concrete cylinders in his farmyard, it's delivered in wicker-bound demijohns (56 litres each and I bought three this year) and we bottle it here. But...but. Last week included the Italian equivalent of the August Bank Holiday and we had loads of people up, eating and boozing over three days. Come Saturday evening and the thing I wanted more than anything was (a) a liver transplant and (b) anything but another bottle of wine. So I reached up to my special shelf and took down a precious bottle of St Peter's Old Style Stout, got out my favourite Peddy glass and necked it. Good, toasty English stout, absolutely delicious, and so drinkable. Unfortunately I only had one bottle so after that it was back to Tony's (excellent) Sauvignon Bianco. Thank you St Peter, nice ale, nice bottles too.