Could I cater for more in Tuscany?

USCANY, as everyone knows, is the middle-classes' Benidorm and Umbria the up-market Costa del Sol.

On sunny afternoons in Spoleto or Siena, you'd be hard-pressed to spot an Italian among milling Nigels and Lucindas, guidebooks in hand, peering up at Romanesque vaulted porches or talking about dining at the Braggs's villa tonight.

It's as if all Islington has been bussed to central Italy. Still, they're not wearing Union Jack shorts or wrecking pavement cafes.

And, as I'd have two small children, Betty and Bill, and an elderly father in tow (none of whom could be expected to walk far) a Tuscan farmhouse complete with pool and surrounded by some of Italy's finest architectural treasures seemed ideal.

The Casa Rosa, in the village of Palazzone on the Tuscany/Umbria border, wasn't easy to find in the twisting twilight lanes, especially as we'd dawdled too long in the beautiful square before Orvieto's splendidly ornate cathedral. And when we arrived at what we thought was the house, we were informed ? in a guttural German voice ? it wasn't the Casa and we were sent packing.

After another hour driving round the lanes, hopelessly lost in the dark, we found a telephone and spoke to the local representative of the tour company in pidgin Italian. The mystery was solved: the Germans had been lying. The Casa Rosa was a great big place, split into two villas with a shared pool. Either that or the Germans knew it by another name ? Das Rose Haus, perhaps?

In daylight, our new home proved to be a lovely place, relaxed and palatial, with antique furniture in every room. There was just one problem: as it was self-catering accommodation, we were in dire need of supplies.

There was no soap, washing powder, matches, salt and pepper, sugar, or washing up liquid, and precious few lavatory rolls. Nor did we have any fresh food: in Orvieto on a Sunday, we'd been able to find only salmon-coloured pasta and jars of porcini mushrooms in scented olive oil. No matter, we thought, we would stock up in Monte-pulciano.

Montepulciano is one of those breathtakingly situated medieval hill-towns that stud the Tuscan landscape, perched implausibly on towering crags.

There are so many that it's not obvious why Montepulciano itself is so famous, unless the local red wine plays a part in its reputation.

Much of the beauty of such towns is that they are so perfectly preserved: no ugly suburbs wash against the lower slopes. No launderamas, video libraries or amusement arcades. No normal shops of any kind, in fact.

By the time we'd walked a mile up to the summit of Monte-pulciano (the Italians situate all town car parks at the bottom of extremely long and steep hills) we were in a curious state of wonderment combined with despair.

Wonderment at the narrow cobbled lanes, the wrought-iron balconies and peeling plaster, the panoramic views of the countryside far below that flickered between the dark houses.

Despair that there was no soap, no washing up liquid, no lavatory rolls, no fresh food. Only gift shops and delicatessens selling 27 different varieties of sun-dried tomato. Perhaps it was early closing day for the real shops, we comforted ourselves, ever so slightly unconvincingly.

The next day we headed north to San Gimignano, a stunning city of ancient skyscrapers. It's a medieval Manhattan.

To walk its streets is to travel back 900 years, always assuming that 900 years ago nobody washed or ate meat. We did at least find a precious lettuce and a green pepper among the olive-wood chopping boards and ten-inch-square herbal scented candles.

From the summits of San Gimignano's towers one can look out across a Tuscan countryside so perfect it looks as if it has been created by a landscape gardener.

Geometric fields of ochre and pale green form elegant patterns on sunlit rolling hills. Dark poplars are the verticals. Everywhere there are terracottacoloured farmhouses, cracked old outbuildings, little churches alongside sudden fields of bright yellow sunflowers.

But, for God's sake, is there anywhere to buy a lamb chop? Does anyone even know the Italian for 'lamb chop'?

AND so the week went on, fortified ñ it must be said ñ by sumptuous restaurant meals on our lunchtime visits to towns, and cleansed by repeated dips in our splendid hilltop swimming pool.

We headed east into the wooded slopes of Umbria, to elegant Spoleto with its remarkable old viaduct, to vertiginous Cortona and to Assisi, with its fountains and the spellbinding frescoed vault which contains the bones of St Francis.

A thunderstorm chased us west to the Monastery of Monte Oliveto Maggiore, where the monks make their own honey, grappa and herbal remedies for every ailment under the sun (sadly, they don't do their own sausages, too).

And then, travelling along a B-road, we saw our Holy Grail. At first just a glimpse of stained concrete then, around the corner, there it was, in its full box-shaped majesty: strip lighting, aluminium

window frames, asphalt car park and cheap plastic sign. A super-market. We rushed in and piled the trolley high, Persil, Andrex, Lux, Aquafresh, Domestos.

There were vegetables: potatoes, tomatoes, onions, aubergines. And best of all, meat ñ chicken, beef, lamb, veal, bacon, sausages, hamburgers.

Our eyes swam with visions of barbecues, pot roasts, grills and fry-ups. No more polenta with pickled garlic and preserved artichokes! We filled our car boot, rushed home and stuffed our fridge.

It must have been about midnight that the lights went out. The electricity supply in rural Italy is erratic at the best of times.

Having bought a few polentaflavoured candles, we managed to find our way to bed. But next day, as the temperature again climbed into the 80s, the depths of our dilemma struck us. No electricity plus a fridge full of food plus extreme heat equals disaster. We had lost the lot.

I'm sure life isn't as complicated in rural Bolivia, or in the remote vastness of Easter Island.

Still, having said that, I'd definitely go to Tuscany again, to such a lovely house, in such a gorgeous landscape.

Only next time, there'll be a detour to Tesco on the way out to Heathrow.

GETTING THERE

VACANZE in Italia (08700

772772) has a range of self-catering properties in Tuscany and Umbria. Seven nights at Casa Rosa from £139 per person including the hire of one car. Return fares from £185 from London and £255 from Manchester.