Vespa Tunes V - Azzurro, Adriano Celentano, 1968

Every year, seemingly out of nowhere, there is an evening when a light jacket is no longer required on the Vespa, and as dusk falls the still warm air brings a wave of oleander and jasmine. If these were artificial scents they would be too pungent and too sweet, but as it is they are perfect. And that’s the moment when I realise, all of a sudden, that summer is here. I remember this year’s moment of realisation precisely, but when was it? Two weeks ago? Three? A month? I honestly have no idea. The chilly drizzle of early spring, umbrellas, and emergency spare socks feel as far away as the moon. And once summer starts that’s it, for perhaps three months. I come from London; I’m never going to stop finding that reliable summer relentlessly exotic.