On a free night in Prato, Henry and Mrs Thornton decided to take in a free concert, 'An ensemble tutto al femminile'.

First, however, there was an opportunity to dine alone, at a restaurant recommended by a friend.

The Osteria Cibbe had a modest exterior and was tucked away at the pointy end of a large piazza, Piazza Mercatale. The book our friend had provided described it as 'Small restaurant serving typical Tuscan food'.

We arrived early by local standards, though at 8 PM there were four Americans already eating.

The owner (as the maitre de's bearing suggested he was), a smiling red-headed Tuscan, greeted us warmly and offered us a table for two well away from the other diners.

His assistant was a girl of perhaps only 15 summers, who scurried about delivering food and clearing empty plates.

Our host brought a small portable blackboard, more of a slate really.  About six daily specials were chalked softly in Italian and our host went through the list, explaining patiently terms that we were unsure about. His English was only just ahead of our Italian, which is almost non-existant, so the process was unhurried.

We ordered a barley salad to begin, a choice of which our host seemed to approve, followed a mystery dish that our host was promoting heavily.

The heat wave being still in full swing, I asked for water, 'Gasso?', 'Prego' and also 'dry white wine, chilled'. Our host nodded wisely and told me what I took to be the house white was 'benne'. But we seemed not to connect fully on this matter, and  Mrs T warned me not to be upset if red wine arrived, which would reflect his view of what would be appropriate.  And so it was, quite an acceptable red, that indeed complemented the main dish in particulasr.

The barley salad was based on barley, slightly crunchy. It also contained carrot, radish, tomato and lettuce, all finely chopped, most probably by the 15 year old girl if Henry is any judge of restaurant practices in Prato. 'I must add this to my repertoire' was Mrs T's judgment.

The mystery dish turned out to consist of two round zucchini-like vegetables stuffed with a spicy sausage and bathed in a meat sauce. Simply delicious.

We finished with coffee which set new standards for coffee, even allowing we were in the land of fine coffee, and it was time to pay the modest bill and head for the concert.

This was a mere 10 minutes walk with simple navigation and we arrived at the Corte delle Sculpture in good order at 9.25 PM, five minutes before the advertised starting time.

There were several hundred people milling about, with seats laid out in a large courtyard under a deep blue sky - cobalt with a nice dash of purple was my guess - but also benches around the walls for organisers and overflow.

Naturally, the formal entertainment did not start on time, but we enjoyed watching people meeting and greeting, kisses and hugs aplenty and young children rushing about having fun.

Finally ten lovely women in black appeared  with their instruments from from behind a large black screen.  Plus one tall, bearded man in black, later described by the introducer as an 'intruder', if I caught his joke.

The man played a double bass, and was placed modestly at the rear of the ensemble. There were, if my counting was correct, six violins, a grand piano, at least one cello and several violas.

The program was introduced by a man of middle years, who orated with great energy and enthusiasm, mentioning Purcell, Teleman e Vivaldi several times and eliciting several waves of laughter.

Then all was ready, the lead violinist nodded and the music began.

After two or three items by the ensemble alone, a tall, stately women in black with a clarinet emerged from behind the screen.

I must confess I did not know the pieces she played, in concert with the ensemble, but I applauded enthusiastically along with everyone else each time she finished.

Then the tall clarinetist departed and a shorter, highly dynamic women in black come onto the stage with a flute.

Again the music was as good as such things get, interrupted only once by a low flying aeroplane.

The short flautist was also thanked enthustiastically and then, the triumph of the night, she returned with the tall clarinetist for a double act with ensemble.

We walked home after a magic night, (did I say there was no cost for the concert?), requiring only limited help from a man we initially thought was up to no good.

'Can I help?' he asked gently, and it was not helping to lighten our wallets.