Benny-boy.

17 June.

An audience with the Pope.

Yes, it was time to meet Benny boy.

Getting to the Vatican for 9am, a hyperactive mother wrested brother & I to drink as much holy water as humanly possible. Death by internal drowning. May point her in the direction of this article. 

The happy-clappy's were out in force, a 'halllejulah' there, a 'praise be to God' there. The cobbles were awash with flags, attempts at dancing and heck of a lot of individuals out of tune. They seemed happy enough.

I settled in the shade with my literature of choice. 50 Shades of Grey, naturally. At the Vatican what else would one read? Mother had kittens.

I perused the tack; Pope on a rope, nodding Pope, calendar of hottest preists of Rome (obviously bought this) that sort of paraphernalia. I notice the stall owners seem to have had their weekly bath, everyone seems positivly buoyant. I like it.

Strolling back to my fit-to-burst parent, I'm shocked at just how many people are there, all nationalities, languages, varying levels of good looking.

The clock strikes 12. The doors open and I'm deaf.

Now, it was very hot, he was speaking Italian, I was tired. His only sentence in English was 'the world is like a mustard seed'. Good on him for saying it in 6 languages though, clever chap.

Shopping. It's a must right? We dine on pizza and plonk at Nana Vini e Cucina, they had a ginger fragrance in the lavatories, nasal vim.

Breaking from the gruesome twosome (mother dropped her glasses, I scarpered) I set about ambulating. These were the champions:

La Rinascente - think House of Fraser. Nicer toilets.

Galleria alberto sordi – similar to Burlington Arcade, wolf whistle in pauper way.

Le group – Forever 21 but classier.

Altariva – Russell & Bromley. But better. Ignore the website.

Stock phrases:

Do you speak English? Parla Inglese?

How much? Quanto?

Credit card? (said an octave higher at the end, y'know, to indicate it's a question). Carta di Credito?

Expensive. Costoso!

Natural, no?

Met the duo and hiked up the Spanish Steps (not what it's cracked up to be) followed by gawping at the splendor of Via dei Condotti. A high-fash-gasm. 

The night ended with my watching football with some young ladies from the Netherlands, discussing the Jubilee. Peculiar.

Roll-mops.

As I sit here listening to Sounds of the Sixties (the best 2 hours of radio in any given week in my opinion). I look back to my third day in Roma*

16 June

Hopped on a bus.

Sat next to an Australian lady who had deep vein thrombosis.

Turned out she lived close to an old school friend of mine. She adopted kangaroos who had been orphaned, touching. Not that I asked, but I was treated to a slide show of said roo's.

Before I left for Rome, I was showred with advice, tips and recommendations. Il gelato di san crispin popped into every email and converation, so I steered the gaggle to sample. No dissapointment. Bloody fantastic. I chose pistachio, ginger and cinnamon, a wicked combination. As in 'down with the kids 'cool' and a dieters devlish delight.

We dodged a few tourists (understatement) around Trevi and stepped into Santi Vicenzo e Anastasio a Trevi. Considering it is merely a few metres from a throng of activity, it's a messianic and inobtrustive corner in an otherwise overcrowded spot.

Toddling back to the sweltering bus, we decided to take a look on the green route, the historic-rich catacombs tour. Kind of a snore.

Jam-packed day so far no?

Shuffled around the Basillica, shoulders covered, natch. Lost mother for 20 minutes (wanted poster fodder in the making)

When reunited she was charming some security officers into letting us in to mass. Man alive. It worked, and despite it being in italian, was very halcyon. However, this irked me to high heavens, if my nail sissors hadn't have been taken off me I'd have leant over to snip this rat tail off him. 

 

Being a Saturday night, & the air was getting hot (ta Whigfield) I was in the mood for a little jig. Heading to Trastevere, we found a square where those under 35 went, it was a hive of activity, sweeping along the river we perused the stalls and ate at a joint which was cheap as chips and can only be described as pulsing. 

I became tipsy merely on the atmosphere of the area (plus maybe a litre of plonk was involved), it was just so alive. If you want an entertaining, real night out, I'd recommend this area (around Via Della Lungaretta). However, I would not recommend wearing silk. One word, oil (see below).

In bed for 12, thrilling.

*I say Roma in homage to my Italian friend Mauro. Despite my best efforts, I could n'er get him to say Rome … as in gnome.