I know you're there!

A change of plan today for me. I've been looking for ways to create more hours in the day, and today, I found one.

I'm back to my old routine, as it was at Max's first yard. It was too far away from home for me to nip back to the house to clean up and eat before going on to the office, so I used to leave each morning with everything needed to make myself presentable and pristine, a change of clothes, a packed lunch, and voila! I'd change and scrub down at the yard, hop into my car and eat my lunch at my desk when I got there.

I've started doing that again, even though distance is no longer a problem. So far, it's been giving me an extra hour of overtime to get through the backlog of work at the office, but today it meant that after the yard work, I had time to hack out with Max fairly sedately, and get back to the yard in plenty of time to do an apres hack groom, carrot stretches, and another quick run round the yard to make sure everybody still had plenty to eat, and clean up any messes that had been made since my last skip out.

I arrived at the office fifteen minutes early, too!

Our hack was fine. The ground is a bit hard again, so we mostly had a plod round, with a bit of trotting when the going was good.

Our only incident was when we got to the top of a hill and Max planted in his red alert stance. He went rigid, and I could feel he was ready to retreat. I could see nothing.

"Get on Max, there's nothing there."

"Sssh! There is something. Some Thing. Promise."

Coaxed him forward a little and he stopped again.

"Max, I can't see anything."

"It's hiding in yonder bushes."

I looked where Max had his attention fixed, and still could make nothing out. Not a pheasant, fox, dog or deer. Nothing.

"For Heaven's sake Max, there's nothing there!"

"Hello?" a voice from the other side of the bush.

"Told you! Didn't I tell you? Some Thing!"

A walker stepped out from behind the bushes.

"Sorry, I didn't meant to scare your horse."

"Ah!" I said, with a friendly smile, as Max turned in circles. "I kept telling him there was no one there. He could see you, but I couldn't!"

As Max circled, the man told me that at almost this exact spot a few years ago, he'd done the same thing, and found an old gent on a lovely horse who said something very similar.

"Ah, my wise ol' mare knew you were there, but I didn't. I'm legally blind, you see. She takes care of me."

We chatted about horse sense, people sense, and the beauty of the day.

"Shall I stay here, and let you go past, or would it be better if I walked on first" the man asked.

In the end, he stayed there, Max walked past, noted that there was no backpack, therefore no hidden food, and we were on our way with a cheery goodbye.

So no, I didn't get to go home for lunch, I didn't check my email, I didn't play with the cats, but I did arrive at the office unflustered and still feeling the good vibe from a stolen hour seeing the world from the back of my wondrous Max.

And it was good.

Safety Dance

Max and I went pretty OK today, mostly, aside from a storm in a teacup, or a tempest in an enclosed space!

I had planned to ride him out into the world, but I do now tend to give him a lunge on a large circle first, just to take the edge off him a bit. This has been working well for us so far, warms us both up because I have do do lots of quick walking and jogging along, too.

But alas, we have low flying helicopters doing manoeuvres over our area again. Caught out a rider yesterday and her mount is about as bombproof as they come on our yard. Luckily they were on their way home on the lane, and ned was a pretty brave boy, considering. The girl came back to the yard in a bit of a tizz and said she heard the noise, and then this massive helicopter just loomed over them over the hedge. "So low! I could see the pilot's face! He had blue eyes!"

I had just been parking up at the time of this helicopter pass, and thought "What the hell?" the noise was unreal, and I couldn't see what was happening, but I thought my little truck was falling apart.

Crazy stuff, and very similar to what happened to Max and me a year or so back when I had him out in hand. A grey, overcast day, I could hear the noise of the blades whirring, but couldn't work out where it was coming from. Then beaming headlights over the hedge, very low helicopter, could see the pilot clearly, and Max turned into the Tasmanian devil on the end of his lead rope. He went every which way but loose (thankfully) and I remember thinking, very calmly, "This could be it" as I braced myself to be run over and trampled by Max gone mad.

I was tucked into myself, praying and then... nothing. I looked up at Max, standing at some distance, snorting and completely freaked out, but still with me, and still connected to me by his lead rope. He was ridgidly tense, coiled, but there; eyes on me for reassurance, but ready to run.

It was one of the most frightening experiences I ever had, but also a heartbreaking, heart swelling moment. Heart broken that my boy was so terrified and I couldn't explain and tell him there was no danger to him, and heart swelling because despite every instinct in him to forget everything else and run, he'd stuck with me, he hadn't hurt me or even jarred me in his terror, and was now standing, trembling, looking to me for guidance.

I know they have to do this low flying stuff for pilot practice (for search and rescue, they told me, when I wrote to them) but it's so scary when it's happening, and I just wonder about kiddies out on their ponies, let alone the rest of us. You can have the most brave-hearted horse ever, who will plod out in all weather, stare down all manner of weirdness and commotion on a hack, but a low flying helicopter is another creature all together. You're off the map. Here be monsters!

Advice from the MOD is to wear reflective clothing, because if the pilot can see you, he'll take evasive action. And oh yes, there' a toll free number you can call every morning to see if low flying is on the cards for your area.

Call me haphazard, but I don't think to call the MOD hotline every morning to see if it's safe for me to venture forth on my trusty steed.

So today, there we were, Max and me, in the indoor school doing our warm up lunge. I had turned the sprinklers on for ten minutes to get the dust down, and we were going along fine, until another helicopter. It sounded like the school was going to come tumbling down on top of us.

Max went loopy, but in a contained way. I didn't have to drop the line, because he went in circles around me, while I talked soothingly to him. I tried to get him to stop, but he wasn't having it.

He looked magnificent though, I have to say. Really high stepping, tail out like a flag (the Arab comes out in him at times like this and you would think he was a different horse all together, if you saw him).

The noise faded, I finally got Max to stand, and walked up to him, patting his neck and forcing myself to be really laid back, voice calm.

"Nothing to be afraid of here, sir. See? It's OK. I'd tell you if it wasn't."

"Fear, fire, foe?"

"Nope, just noise. Just you and me. Safe. Completely safe."

"Sure?"

"Absolutely sure."

We carried on for a bit after that, but even the noise of the sprinkler's water tank refilling had him on edge and he just kept this mad Arab extended trot going,tail aloft, snorting and eyes out on stalks.

He was beautiful, and I loved the beauty of him, but didn't like what had produced it.

"Sssh, Max. Calm. Promise it's ok. Listen to me. Safe."

"No! The world is not safe! Take cover! Hide! Run then hide!"

Decided to call it a day when we had a bit of hush from the water tank.

Max was all frothed up and truly it would do neither of us any good for me to be in the saddle and try to coax him out and about after all that. Yeah, I could have done it for sure, but wise? Pleasant? No.

So we wandered over to the school door, and I opened it wide. Max stood for ages looking at the view, assessing it, deciding whether it was safer out there or in here.

He eventually stuck his head down to snatch at the grass, and I said "Oi! We don't eat while we're working! If you're happy to eat, then you can walk on, young man."

Back into the yard and had a sponge down and some carrot stretches, then an almighty big apple which got him all frothing with apple juice drips and pretty much ecstatic expression of pleasure on that face, to replace the fear and high alert that had been there moments before.

Then out into his field to play with the Boss, who was waiting for him.

I hope that tomorrow I can get through the yard work fast enough to take him for a round the block hack before I leave for the surgery and show him the world isn't always scary.

Don't care who thinks I'm lame for not attempting to ride him out this afternoon. I will always take my cue from Max, listen to his opinion and assess his comfort zone.

That's my view, and I'm sticking to it!

Make your intentions clear

Max was teacher today, and admittedly, he was patient because it took me a while to catch on.

A friend at the office went to the green grocer's today to pick through the discarded stuff for her chickens. She came back with a bag load of baby carrots (along with a lot of other stuff) no longer considered fit for human consumption, but in perfectly good nick, and she thought Max might appreciate them.

There were far too many for Max to eat on his own, and I gave the bulk of them to my YO to mix in with feeds so all the neds could share, but I kept a good couple of handfuls aside for Max, and I went into his box with my pockets stuffed full.

They were wee little carrots, and I thought they would make a nice change for pony nuts, offering a little carrot bite for good behaviour.

I did not take into account the very sensitive equine nose!

Oh, Max knew I was loaded with carrots all right, and there was the problem.

As I crouched by his side, asking him to lift his feet to have his hooves picked out, we got into a bit of bother.

I assumed the position, asked for front left foot to be lifted, and Max turned his head right round to stare at me with the big eyes. He nudged his shoulder, he nudged my arm, he went further back and struck his belly, but he did not lift his hoof.

"Come on Max, don't play silly buggers, Up! Hoof up!"

He rested his muzzle on my back and I turned my head to look at him.

"What's up? Hoof, up! Up!"

No go. I stood and looked at him again, with his head turned far back, straining at me. He started to nod his head, seemingly with impatience.

Stupid human, I tried again, crouched, and said "Up Max! Up!" and instead of up, his head came between his front legs, and we peered at each upside down, equally puzzled at what the other was up to.

"What are you doing, Max?"

"Bow!"

As I looked at his expressive eyes, the penny dropped. Yes, he was doing a bow, and he'd been attempting a stretch. That's what carrots are for!

How much does that tell me about our routine, and what I've taught Max?

Every day after work, we do carrot stretches, back to his hips, then to his shoulders, and finally a bow between his front feet for a carrot bite.

We use pony nuts for lifting his hoofters. Always have done.

So I come into his box reeking of concealed carrots and ask him for hoof up, and he's smelling the carrots and thinks, "Stretch and bow!"

I stood up.

"I've got it wrong, haven't I, Max?"

Little head nod.

"You want to stretch for your carrots, don't you?"

Slightly bigger head nod.

"Shall I get some pony nuts so we can get these hooves cleaned out?"

Big head nod.

Oh, I know it must be the inflection of my voice that cues the head nods, but for all the world, it seems like a proper conversation.

So I went to the feed room and got a handful of pony nuts. I got all feet up when I asked, gave him the pony nuts, and then threw the carrots down with his hay for a bit of a surprise.

"Sorry for confusing you, Max."

"S'ok. Stick to the syllabus in future, eh?"

I am the egg man... they are the egg men...

We are the walruses! Coo coo cachoo!

Carrying on with our Beatles theme of last week, this was our best song today whilst hacking out. It was our first lone hack since "Fool on the Hill" as well. Max particularly likes the bit about getting a tan from standing in the English rain... I think it's the metre he enjoys; he perks up no end when I get to that bit!

My favourite line was "Man, you've been a naughty boy, you let your face grow long". I don't suppose Max thought this was quite as funny as I did, though. He's heard "Why the long face?" too many times as a greeting.

Pretty good going today as we hadn't been out and about lately, and we didn't warm up on the lunge first in the school, but just hopped on (at a new mounting up spot) went through a gate we don't usually use, then out into the lane and off with no hesitation (hesitation came later).

Quite a blustery day, so prepared for a bit of spooking but Max was fairly brave,especially as we passed the pigs' field, which contained not just pigs and piglets, but people and dogs also. The pigs were running about squealing so loud we could still hear them up on the ridge. Obviously distressing squeals, because Max got distressed listening to them and decided it was best to call it a day and go home where it was safe. I told him we probably didn't want to know what was happening to the pigs, "see how they run, like pigs from a gun..." and before you know it, we were singing about walruses to distract him.

We didn't get up to anything fancy, just reacquainting ourselves with the great outdoors. There was one very sinister plant which required a lot of snorting and a debate about retreating. We "charged" instead, thus taking the plant by surprise and rendering it helpless.

Happily, by the time we were jogging for home again, the pigs were alone in their field and all seemed present and accounted for, and best of all, quiet.

Back to school!

Poor Max! My holiday is not over, but Max's little summer break is done.

First day back at the yard from Rome and YO said "See! Max survived without you!"

Yes, of course he did, and I knew he would, but it was very good to see him again.

On that first day, Saturday morning bright and early, I turned up at the yard with marmite on toast, and had no welcoming whuffle, no head over the box door at the sound of my car in the drive.

I walked to Max's box, and saw him standing at the back, head down.

"Hello monkey boy!" I whispered. "Did you miss me?"

His head snapped up, and he looked a little stunned. Stared at me for a bit, in disbelief, it seemed to me, then walked slowly forward, stuck his head outside the box and quivered his nostrils at me, though no sound accompanied.

"Toast?"

Head nod.

I fed him by hand, then moved into his box to give him a hug and breathe deeply, so I could smell that glorious smell tucked into his neck.Ah! The smell of childhood, of hopes and dreams, and satisfyingly, deliciously of Max. He stood still, tucked his head into my back and sighed.

The horse and his human reunited!

Told him it was a passing visit and I had to go pick up the kitties from the cattery, but I would be back.

"Kitties? What are kitties? Why are kitties? Polo?"

From there, it went downhill for Max. Oh, he was happy to lap up the attention and direct me to all his best itchy spots that had been neglected for YEARS by his reckoning, but he was aghast when the saddle pad and roller came out, and he found himself back in the school, working. Working!

"I thought we'd given this up?!" hopeful dark eyes.

"No sir, business as usual."

Oh, he's been a bit grumpy all right, but it's posturing, really. Sunday I arrived and was met with, "Look at him! He heard your car!" and there he was, chattering away in his box as is his wont. Routine re-established, and even if it means he has to do a little work, he's happy with his lot.

As he should be. In Rome, I saw horses that really had to work for their living, pulling carriages of tourists around for hours and hours. It is a charming sight, to see those horses and carriages lined up, but I eventually had to stop looking at them. The same horses I saw trotting down the streets at 8.00 am were still doing it at 9.00 pm. A couple of them I noted to be lame, I could hear it in their footfalls before I saw it with my eyes.

Admittedly, if you weren't acquainted with horses, I don't suppose you'd notice, but I did, and the Ent did, too. A couple of them looked quite old, too, and could only have dreamed of the life that Max has, worry free, all his needs catered for, granted, an hour or so of "work" every day, if you can call a hack out or a bit of schooling, with treats for good behaviour work, and a gaggle of adoring fans to fuss over him, even in my absence.

It's a hard life for the critters, but some critters get lucky. People and horses alike.

I am well aware of that. But Max? Max doesn't know anything but the good life. Unlike many horses, he's never had a cross word spoken (an exasperated one, maybe), never been hit, never been shoved, never been cornered or made to feel helpless, never been pressed to keep on working when he is beyond tired, and always allowed to have an opinion (though sometimes there is debate involved).

I intend to keep it that way. After all, he gives me such a good life in return.

Rome is mad...

…and full of sirens, noise and commotion, truth and beauty, ancient and modern, overwhelming and intimate, utterly charming. And scorchio!

Tuesday the 8th

Main activity: Arrival
Weather: Warm and pleasant. No scorchio.

We arrived in the late afternoon, train from the airport to the city, and then a short walk from the train station to our hotel, “Hotel Champagne”.

We settled in, got our bearings, discussed our itinerary and then went out for a bit of dinner and, we thought, an evening stroll, perhaps to the Colosseum. Ambitious plans. We ate, it grew dark, the day’s travel began to take its toll and we retired to our hotel to sleep.

We noted with amusement that the illuminated sign for our hotel was not in full working order. “HOTEL PAGNE” it announced in quivering neon.

To let the struggling sign serve as my review for our hotel would be harsh indeed. It was adequate. Adequate room, adequate bathroom, adequate facilities; nothing to stir the heart with delight or horror.

Saying that, the one thing I thought I could rely on in Rome was a decent cup of coffee no matter where I chose to have one. This is before I was fully acquainted with the Hotel Pagne and its dubious breakfast room. The coffee was vile. Hideous. Undrinkable. There was a machine that whirred and declared itself able to produce cappuccino, latte, Americano and hot chocolate. These were all lies unless you like the taste and texture of powdered chemicals as part of your start to the day.

I was hopeful when I saw a separate machine that just had a spigot which offered black filter coffee. It was nasty and my hopes were dashed. For the first time since my teens, I did not start my day with a cup of strong, hot coffee. Oh, I could find great coffee just about anywhere else, just not first thing in the morning at our hotel.

Wednesday the 9th

Main activity: The Colosseum & Forum
Weather: Warm and pleasant with a cooling breeze. Intermittent spells of scorchio.

The first notable thing when we stepped outside was the almost constant sound of sirens. These mainly turned out to be from ambulances, and it didn’t take long to understand why. The drivers, cyclists and pedestrians in Rome are quite insane and all seem passionate in the belief that they have the right of way over every other creature in the city. The native pedestrians step into a road full of moving traffic and stare down any driver bold enough to challenge their right to be there. The drivers, in turn, meet this act of lunacy with grim determination to send the pedestrian scuttling back to the gutter from whence they came.

I think the ambulances are full of pedestrians, mainly tourists, who have not mastered the swagger needed to cow drivers at designated crosswalks. They lose their nerve and expose their vulnerability, so become prey to the Fiat Punto, their bones then picked over by the scavenging scooters.

We walked to the Colosseum, wandered around the outside of it, and in the mighty shadow of the ancient thing towering over us, I made my first excited declaration of the day:

"Ooh, look! Horses!"



We escaped the clutches of all the tour folk trying to sell us guided tours and crossed over to buy our tickets for the Forum & Colosseum and began to wander through the ruins, past many sites being excavated by teams of archaeologists and just tried to take it all in. I found it pretty overwhelming to be honest, such an immense area of amazing thing after amazing thing, all with plaques to read and things to be thought about and imagined. Just incredible.






We were at the Colosseum and Forum for several hours then finally left to walk through the neighbouring area. By chance, late in the day, we stumbled across a square where a few people were gathered and rather a lot of security was about. Then we heard a band. We stopped to watch, and were entertained for about half an hour by the changing of the guard.

The band led the Italian army boys up to a square. When they were settled in, they were joined by an equal number of sailors who stood on the other side of the band.

The band played the Italian national anthem and the army boys did some lusty shouty singing.

Then, with a musical accompaniment, one sailor broke ranks, paid his respects to the band, inspected his troops, and then sashayed over to the army boys and stopped in front of one column three men deep.

“Hello sailor!”

“Hello boys! Come with me to yonder barracks!"

The sailor turned, the three army boys followed him, at first stomping aggressively with their left feet in unison, and then dangling their rifles from their right hands like handbags until they minced out of sight. It was delightfully Pythonesque!

Then lo, from the building into which the sailor and soldiers had gone appeared one soldier leading a trail of three sailors behind him. He deposited them in with the other sailors, wished them well, and marched with the foot stompy thing again back to find his place with his army friends.

The band played, the sailors sang, and then all army boys disappeared into the building and the band led the sailor boys away.

This happens every day, we think, with the sailors and soldiers taking it in turns to guard whatever it is they are guarding. It was an unexpected highlight of our trip.



We then walked to the Trevi Fountain and found it, like just about everywhere else, heaving with so many tourists that we couldn’t get close. We decided to re-visit early the next morning.

We had dinner that night in an outdoor café. There may have been some ice cream involved at the end of it. We had music outside (wretched Celine Dion, Bryan Adams, Whitney Houston doing that “I will always love you” power ballad of hers). “They’re playing all the stuff you hate!” observed the Ent with amusement.

We occupied ourselves watching the television inside the restaurant, which was showing the Italian version of “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire”. We couldn’t hear it, and of course could not translate what the questions were, so made them up as we went along.

Our favourite question involved a “cavallo” which we knew was horse, with answers that we couldn’t quite make out, partly because of language, and partly because of distance from the screen. In this case, one answer seemed to be "aggressio" and another "somnumblio".

We came up with:

“If a horse is given a radish when he is expecting an apple, he will be:

A) Surprised
B) Happy
C) Angry
D) Sleepy

The answer, for 5,000 euros, is C) Angry.

10th September

Main activity: Vatican City
Weather: Persistent scorchio.

We got up early for breakfast at 7.00 am so we could be at the Trevi Fountain before the crowds. No coffee. Knowing that there wouldn’t be any didn’t make it any less disappointing.

We arrived at the Trevi Fountain at 8.00 am and it was very quiet, as we had hoped. Not just lack of people, but lack of water; the fountain was shut off for cleaning. Perhaps not so much cleaning as sucking up all the coins that had been tossed in the previous day. Three men with sweeper hoses collected six white sacks of coins and heaved them into the back of a car with two policemen overseeing it. They also picked out a couple of plastic drink bottles that had also been carelessly tossed into the fountain.

The process of “cleaning” didn’t take that long so we waited. Not so an American couple who briefly made an appearance, surveyed the scene and pronounced loudly:

“It’s not working!”

“Well that sucks!”

They turned on their heels and stomped off. Had they waited but two minutes, they would have found the fountain in full flow no longer sucking so bad.



The fountain scene depicts Neptune’s chariot, pulled by two horse/bird/sea creatures. The one on the left is wild and the one on the right is tame. Or, perhaps the one on the left has been given a radish when he was expecting an apple.

On we went to the Spanish Steps. Ent pointed out the Keats/Shelley museum (next to Byron the Shirtmaker’s shop) and we noted that it didn’t open until the afternoon, so decided to come back for that. Climbed the steps nevertheless.

Top of the steps, me looking at Keats' house.



From the bottom looking up:



We walked on to the Vatican, along the Tiber.



Once at the square, a large group of priests joined the queue for St Peter’s just behind us, and we saw them again outside of St Peter’s. The Ent wouldn’t let me take a photo of them because “they are not comedy priests” he said, sternly. They were awfully earnest looking!



You can’t see the queue in this photo because it’s taken from the queue.

St Peter’s, tomb of the Popes, Sistine Chapel. This was wonderful and miserable all rolled into one. Irksome tourists were walking through it all at speed holding video and digital cameras aloft, recording all but not pausing to look at what was in front of them. Disrespectful! Of the place, of the people around them in the moment, and the people who had been there in the past, building and crafting what we were all there to see and experience.

Why take all the time to travel, plan your journey, pay the money, ensure that you get to such a place, and then pay it so little attention whilst there? Can life not be lived in the moment? Is the treasure you have travelled to see worthless if not encased in the plastic coated sheets of a photo album, within a frame or viewed on a monitor? Is it nothing unless there is a narrative and an audience?

The Sistine Chapel was amazing and strange. All through the chapels leading to it, equally bountiful with paintings, tapestries, incredible objects, there were signs reminding visitors to be respectful and quiet as “this is a sacred place”. Little heed was paid, as you can no doubt imagine.

At the Sistine Chapel though, there was a priest by the door next to a big “Silenzio!” sign and he made a valiant effort, shushing people as they walked in, clapping his hands for attention and shouting “Silenzio!” to no avail. The great din would not be shushed.

I wondered (silently) what would happen if I stood in the middle of the throng in the Sistine Chapel, out of reach of the furious priest and suddenly shouted an expletive as loud as I could. Would he bound through the throng and tackle me? Would I be trampled by the indignant crowd? Laughed at? Joined? Or would I create the longed for silence and therefore be forgiven?

Then I had to leave because it was too tempting a thought, as wrong thoughts often are.

Nevertheless, on my birthday, I gazed up at the ceiling and saw “The Creation of Man”. It was awesome,in the true sense of that word.

I am so glad I saw it, but I wish I could have seen it alone and in silence. I’m with the furious priest on that one.

We retraced our steps back to the Spanish Steps and I went alone into the Keats Museum, and visited the rooms he occupied in Rome a short time before his death. I loved the Keats museum. I wondered vaguely if I should make a point of visiting the rooms of ailing/dying literary greats a more formal pastime. Just Bronte, Austen and Keats so far (I think).

My birthday dinner was at another outdoor café. We passed a very pleasant evening chatting with our neighbours, a couple from California. They had both lost their spouses in the preceding two years. Don’t know how they met, but they were travelling through Italy for three months together. I guess they were in their late 60s/early 70s. Our conversation began when they refused a basket of bread that was offered, and I explained that I thought the waitress was trying to tell them that the bread came with the salad they had ordered.

They were charming companions for the evening, and we chatted easily about film, wine, politics and our collective travels. Joanne and Bill were their names, and we shall never meet again.

After dinner the Ent and I wandered back to the Colosseum to see it lit up at night. Was subtle lighting, but a wonderful sight.

Birthday sparkles. I even bought sparkly eyeliner! Warning - I am not photogenic and am much better in person. My grandfather said of this family trait, "In photos I always look like I'm a criminal or insane!"



Or criminally insane!

Friday the 11th

Main activity: The Pantheon, Circus Maximus, wandering aimlessly.
Weather: Relentless scorchio.

Well, sadly, this was the day I reached saturation point. Weary, not enough coffee, aching from days of stomping around the paved and cobbled streets of a very busy city, I was ready to come home. Unfortunately, our flight wasn’t until nine o’clock in the evening.

It sounds churlish to want to rush away from Rome when there was still so much to see, but there it is. If I had a comfy hotel, if I’d had a break from walking on cement and reading plaques, a little rest and relaxation, if I hadn’t spent days in the midst of a crowd (I’m not good with crowds at the best of times) then perhaps I could have regrouped and carried on with renewed vigour.

As it is, I am not a happy city dweller, and my feet were longing for Hampshire soil beneath them again, the smell of horse, the sound of tractors lumbering past the front window rather than endless sirens and beeping horns punctuating the traffic altercations of Roma!

And then there was a little street altercation involving me. You know how you are warned about being pinched by Italian men and it’s all a bit of a joke? Well, I wasn’t pinched, I was groped. Even a boob honk I could laugh off, but not this.

The Ent missed it even though he was walking with me, probably holding my hand, just a few steps in front of me.

A group of young people, boys and girls, approached us, a hand coming towards me, a shock, and then me connecting my elbow with his ribcage with as much force as I could muster whilst cursing him roundly and loudly. Hey, I grew up watching "Hockey Night in Canada"! I know what to do with my elbows.

A burst of laughter from his group of friends (I hope I broke a rib), an explanation for my outburst to my confused husband and a fervent desire to be on my way home and away from the careless jostling of strangers, even though most of it was perfectly innocent.

For the one that wasn't innocent, after the Ent got over his dismay, he said, "He picked the wrong woman to try that on."

Saying all that, the Pantheon was… how many times can I say “amazing”?



It is believed the Senate had the same sort of roof, those inlaid squares.





From here we walked, and walked and walked some more. Up hills, up stairs in the scorching heat, then suddenly, unexpectedly, down perfect, quiet little streets, pastel colours and shuttered windows. Beautiful.

Weary traveller:



We walked out to Circus Maximus and walked away again, found lunch, walked on, found a park, sat on a bench, read our books, and eventually made our way to the train station. Then to the airport.

Then we came home.

Arrividerci Roma! I threw some coins in the Trevi, so I will be back. Would love to go back. In off season!



Romulus & Remus



Overlooking the Forum

(Normal service for Max's blog will now resume)

The Fool on the Hill

That's what was playing on a CD in my car as I drove home from the yard, and I reflected on two things.

First, I had dug out The Beatles; "Magical Mystery Tour" CD because I had spent the evening before watching Beatles night on BBC2 and I fell in love with the Fab Four all over again. Still held on to my favourites, too, John and George.

The second reflection was that the song was an appropriate score to the hack I'd just had with Max.

We had been trundling along perfectly happily, climbed up a hill to the ridge, trotted along the ridge like we knew what we were doing, and then spied a large group of ramblers walking towards us. I spotted them first so was able to anticipate Max's reaction when he spied them too, and keep him steady.

We carried on towards them and they to us. Then we all stopped to watch an owl make a graceful swoop and pass over the field to our left.

When we were level with the walkers, we stopped to have a chat about the owl and the beauty of the day (and the beauty of Max).

This was when Max decided he'd quite like to stick with the walkers, because they had packs on their backs, and in Max's experience, quite often there is food in backpacks. "Follow the food" would be Max's motto, if he had one.

The walkers tried to depart, Max tried to follow, and I tried to stop him. But no, he was determined. he was also atop a ridge with a sharp drop and a lot of people on the ground around him. Rather than have a battle which might mean Max backing his rather ample backside into the vicinity of people who were not necessarily as convinced of their safety around Max as I was, I dismounted, told him to stop being foolish, led him a little distance and then hopped back on again.

We parted company with the ramblers and carried on to have a wonderful snorty canter through a stubble field!

That makes two fools on a hill.