Spring is in the air. The days are long, getting longer. Wool feels itchy just looking at it. And yet I can’t help feeling we’re missing a trick here. There’s a horse race next week, of course. But where are the people’s parades, the costumes, the colours, the out-with-the-old, the frippery? The funny, poignant sagre of the fragola and the porchetta and gli umbricelli fatti a mano with locals serving locals from big, improvised, communal kitchens and not a drawcard celebrity in sight?