Forty-eight years ago, I was a long-haired student living in the kind of chaotic shared house that might, some years later, have inspired the TV series The Young Ones.
In spring 1974, taking time off from listening to Bob Dylan’s new album, I fell upon a two-line notice in : ‘To rent: Tuscan farmhouse between Arezzo and Siena, with pool. Sleeps 18. £120 per week.’