Like the average middle-class English person, I was pretty confident about Italy. I had schlepped round Florence, felt Jamesian in Venice, almost driven off a vineyard wall in Montepulciano. Now it was time for Rome.
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I am a bad blogger. Actually, I'm no blogger at all; every word I have is currently being poured into either Twitter, my favourite waste of time (perfect for interrupters, perfect for chatty introverts, just...perfect) or my current, fifth, novel. And, secretly, into another secret book, which arose out of HINT something I've posted on this very website.
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