Spring is here again and suddenly everyone out and about stops for a chat, which is very enjoyable, but sometimes a little frustrating when I need to be home again quickly.

Yesterday I set off for the mini-supermarket intending to buy provisions for lunch. I had only just turned the corner by the Vero Vino bar when my friend Alberto cycled past and screeched to a halt so that he could tell me the latest news about his cows.

Alberto has a passion for cows, though as he only has three, kept in a triangular field, he can’t make a living from them even though he makes prize-winning cheese. He makes up his wage by working in the Tabachi owned by his parents, so he knows all the gossip in the village before anyone else, and he likes to be able to pass on the news that the Inglesi have arrived again.

In past years, Alberto went up into the Dolomites every summer to look after a whole herd of cows in the fresh mountain pastures.

He often got into trouble with Austrian farmers across the border because his cows, being Italian, were not well-behaved and strayed across the frontier, whereas their neighbors stayed obediently behind the fence.

We chatted for longer than I intended, then I set off along the Main Street where the lime trees are in leaf with the promise of the most gorgeous of perfumes when they bloom in a few weeks.

An old lady I didn’t recognize was sitting on a bench and greeted me like a long lost friend. She wanted my opinion on the quality of food at the shop opened by a man I call privately the spherical chef. He used to run a restaurant but now cooks take-away dishes which are extremely good. His menu is showcased outside on a blackboard every morning, completely different every day but always tempting. Italians love talking about food, so it took at least 20 minutes before a young woman pushing a pram came past. Second only to food as a subject for conversation is babies. We both admired the child who smiled and gurgled, and another 20 minutes went by.

My route took me past the Municipio where a small group had gathered to read the notices. My fellow inhabitants are scandalized by the decision of the new mayor to close our little Canal Museum. Nobody seems to understand why but there are a lot of indignant people around at the moment.

Finally, I managed to get to the supermarket just before it closed for lunch. It was busy, presumably because all the shoppers had been delayed as much as I was. Asparagus is in season, and there was a crowd around the vegetable display discussing the merits of green versus white and the best recipe.

I squeezed past and hurried to complete my shopping list. We needed a quick lunch because the weather was so inviting and we wanted to go up in the hills that afternoon.

To paraphrase an English poet, “Oh to be in Italy, now that April’s here.”