I got to Fiumicino on Friday, Oct. 22. It was growing increasingly chilly and autumnal in Cheshire. Not so Roma. It was easy to spot the people coming from Birminham airport. We were all blinking in the sun like bewildered moles dug out of our holes, pastey-faced and carrying our coats over our arms.
You will not (I trust) think it moronic
To insist that this heatwave is chronic.
It's so stifling hot
That you can't do a lot
But pour out yet one more gin and tonic.
We've had quite a bit of rain and yesterday, as I was wandering around the area surrounding the Vatican, I wished once or twice that I had worn my (lightweight) woolen coat I picked up from Marks and Spencer. Biiiiig thunderstorm last night over the Tyrrhenian sea, the flashes lighting up the whole dome of the sky and the palms whipping back and forth in the wind. But it is back to sultry and warm today.
It's Ok. We didn't get any summer in Blighty this year, so it's nice to have it now. What's funny is all the Romans dressed up in quilted coats and jumpers, scarves and gloves. And it's 23 degrees.
Now you may disapprove of my plan
To betray Princess Leia and Han,
But I have to comply
With the dark-armored guy,
Or my whole world will go down the pan.
If the Tsar had not entered the war,
His realm might have remained as before.
Soon the princes were dead,
And their Russia was red,
And the Christian West was no more.
We were watching the Italian news last night and there was some silly student protest going on, something about the government asking all the immigrant students who come here to learn Italian before they go to regular classes.
I remarked to my friend, "It's too bad Antonio Gramsci didn't live to see this. It would have warmed the cockles of his black little heart".