Wearing flipflops in Rome

Roma, la citta della moda!

Later, in the bus, we saw a woman with sequined trousers and shoes that looked like they were made of la vaiselle de grand mère. But we didn’t get a photo of her, so here’s… Tigerlily.

At the restaurant today.

We were very traditional and had spaghetti with ingredients we understood, both in Italian and English. There was an exciting selection though - who can resist anything cooked to the milk?

When I saw this I read it as “and I crush light” and then, even worse, my mind somehow added letters to make “and 1 crush[ed] light”. Yum. Apart from the fact that cremates of tomato sounds burnt.

what better to follow your first course.

And I think this has to be my favourite.

I consider this a very Roman disregard for road safety and the use of a seat-belt. So the car is parked. But I can very well imagine the seatbelt tumbling along behind, blocked in the closed door, clunking on the cobbles, as the driver rushes through taxi lanes and zips past vespa riders in order to get someplace somewhere that is of fundamental importance. It always seems to be at least.

Rightly is it said that Italian is a romantic language. They reach the heart, or core of poetic licence.

The flavour is…interesting. Theo said: “the cocao is good, it’s so flavourful. But…it’s too peppery”. Us Brits just don’t get the cosy feeling to be narrated.

I’m back! This fried fishing boat was too good to pass off. I must carry my camera around ALWAYS. I will try to do that as from tomorrow (oh dear. A RESOLUTION. They never work. I’ll do my best.).

If I had had it I could have posted several “only in Rome” photos… a monk playing a pacman game on his mobile.  A young rebel wearing a Che T-shirt, cotton plaited so called friendship bracelets and… Ray Ban sunglasses.

Ah well.Maybe this weekend.