A taste of LA DOLCE VITA

I was surprised when my mum agreed to go on a wine-tasting tour, given that the last time she saw me order a double G&T, she was compelled to remind me of the perils of binge drinking.

‘When in Rome,’ she says, sloshing back a Bardolino. We are actually 400 miles from Rome, mini-breaking in a former Renaissance palace that sits high on a rock above the turquoise water of Lake Garda. The stone walls are dotted with lipstick-red geraniums, palm trees rise above the terrace and sports cars in kick-ass shades line up outside.

This is not the standard of accommodation Mum is used to.

In the 12 years since my dad died, to say she