Two men, alone, a bachelor pad in a big city...

...what could go wrong? You might well ask! Ms E left us, to pursue her artistic inclinations on some 'faily' pet project of her own (claimed she been invited to some fancy dan 'event', a likely story); I knew she'd soon find that the real world was a cold and lonely place and come back begging to have her place in the pack restored. I'm a kind-hearted terrier so I knew I'd not resist her pleas. All the more reason to live it up in her absence! What I'd not counted on was the monstrous feebleness of Mr E. No sooner had we the place to ourselves and the night ahead of us than he succumbed to what he claimed was 'a cold'. Pah. Didn't stop him tap, tap, tapping on the keyboard; did stop him chauffeuring me around Rome's louchest hotspots, and whooping it up with the very cute girls who woof suggestively at me every day... I had such a boring time that I was actually glad to see Ms E stroll unconcernedly through the door as if she'd never left. I might have nipped her a bit just to show I could do without her, but as it happened I didn't even have the heart for the traditional terrier cold-shoulder. She said she flew back on a plane called Florence Nightingale. All I can say is it was like a Crimean War hospital here, and I'm no doggy with a lamp! I wasn't at all swayed to allow her back into the Entourage by the gifts she brought. Not at all...

A Terrier Shall Rise

Lovely stroll around the Circus Maximus the other day. It was just like in that lovely movie 'Gladiator' with Russell Crowe. He's Welsh, isn't he?

I shall pee here again, but not yet, not yet.

Up hill and down dale?

Most of our excursions thus far include a hilly stroll - this morning I successfully proposed a stroll up through the charming backstreets and elegant low-rise blocks around S. Saba. I've never heard such wheezing as the Entourage emitted when climbing the three flights of marble steps leading up-hill. I thought I might have to nip them (purely for encouragement of course...). They seemed oblivious to the Classical resonances of the Aventine 'spur', and I start to feel that my little didactic lectures on our morning walks fall on deaf ears. This morning's walk was notable too for it's (relative) cool - tho as I sit dictating now it's in (I estimate) the mid-20s at least. How fortunate that I persuaded Mr E to bathe me this morning. It's intolerable to be 'ripe' in this weather. Or should I say 'climate'? Yesterday we explored 'our' end of Trastevere. The E has friends over there, with whom I've allowed them to take a couple of nights 'off-duty'. Our trip yesterday encompassed some more gems of Italian rationalism - the Nuovo Sacher cinema and adjoining block. It would have been helpful if someone could have lifted me up to get a clearer view of the vividly colourful mosaics, but cries of 'hot', 'fat', and 'stinker' somehow blended in the air when I made the polite request. Last night the Entourage blotted their collective copybook by omitting to include me innthe ice-cream order at Violorosso on P.zza S Maria Liberatrice. I was then forced to wait for a very long time as they sat on a bench and chattered. It was surely gone 22.30 when I persuaded them to accompany me back towards the pretty little thing with whom I've struck up a friendship; alas she had by then retired for the night, and so did I.

It was the best of times...

A delightful morning stroll saw us revisit S. Sabina (clearly a terrier of some note; memo to self - google her) and take in the air and view atbthe Orange Garden. A slightly milky haze over the city, but I still managed to point out some of the major sites which the feather-brained Es appear incapable of internalising. They spent some time mulling over the distinctness of the Vatican from the Gianicolo, when any fool could see the dip on the tree-line. We terriers are, of course, tree-experts. Home via the Tempio di Diana piazza, and a caffe on P.zza S. M. L. (my typing paws are weary). No-one offered me a cappuccino or cornetto, I think they were sulking in the face of my sagacity. It was also rather clammier, atmospherically, today. I don't dare look in the glass - my magnificent coat will be a frizz! I spent much of the day in contemplation, even refusimg a shopping trip to Volpetti! I think the excursion was planned on my behalf to make up for restraining me, at the mercy of my local fans, outside Panificio Passi this morning. The Es pretended to be oblivious, and returned raving about the cakes, meats and cheeses. Their bag of booty disappeared mysteriously when they left for an aperitivo and I can't pretend I was not disappointed. Surely they should ave known that I too would enjoy making a new friend? Disconsolate, I raided the snack-dispenser and ave spent the evening in (very well-filled) dudgeon.

Far niente...

I feel at last that I'm settling in. It's taken a week (and yesterday's hot and uncomfortable ride on the 30 didn't help) but I'm something of a local fixture by now... Our strolls around the Aventine continue to delight, and E rather put out (I suspect) by the number of friend requests I receive from the Testaccio beau-monde. They have a few acquaintances of course, but the kinds of meaningful discourse one can plug into whilst doing olfctory lamp-post researches are beyond them... I introduced them to a charming couple when we shared an aperitivo and nibbles in the dying light of P.zzz Augusto Imperatore following our suset stroll atop the Pincio nymphaeum yesterday. And I must say my generosity paid off and they've allowed me a restful day in today's heat. I may take them out for an ice-cream later, to reward them.

Park life

A pleasant enough stroll this morning with my minders around my local park, dedicated to the partisans and naturally full of bloated Fascist symbolism. Alas, the intricate ducts and channels of the 1930s water features were largely in disrepair. Say what you will about Mussolini, at least he made the drains run on time...

Then on to the pleasant suburbs of the lower Aventine - these should be mine. As should the sofa, on which Mr and Mrs E *insist on sitting*! Really, there seems to be no end to the training they require.

Both are now playing with their tappy toys, but I heard mention of a bus excursion to the Villa Sciarra later, followed by a beer - mine's a Peroni.

Historical passeggiata

I managed to drag the reluctant Entourage on a distinctly improving stroll this morning. They had, I think, hoped to skulk around a caffe instead (having stayed out late enjoying themselves without me last night, a concept I find impossible to grasp properly. It makes my head hurt...).

Instead I marched them down the Tiber past the monumental works of ‘il fascismo’, and to the Cloaca Maxima outlet. They were making some sort of weak joke about ‘puer’ and ‘sewer’ which I chose to ignore. Their puerility astonishes me occasionally (although to be fair, and I am a fair-minded to a fault, they were stern in my defence when we were confronted by a violent dog on our perambulation round Monte Testaccio last night...)!

I managed to ignore the morning bleating about ‘breakfast’ and ‘coffee’ as far Ponte Palatino, at which point I gave up on the plan to continue their classical education and led them home. Pah!

A vision of hell...?

This morning, very early before I'd fully digested my breakfast, Entourage proposed a stroll. Seemed like a good idea, but rather than a bracing constitutional up the Aventine to inhale the sweet pine scents of the Orange Garden, instead they took me to a kind of hellish place, a place where no doggy sniffs could be discerned... They claimed it was the 'Covered Market' but I find it hard to believe anyone could enjoy (let alone make purchases in) the pungent intensity of the atmosphere created by those sights and smells, drowning out everything else to one whose olfactory senses are as acute as mine! I took them home directly. They'll know better next time. I requested to be left in a darkened room to recover. They braved the strike-day chaos; a mistake, and they came home chastened after a series of what seem to have been unfortunate events. They then ate cold meat, drank beer, and ate cake. I was not offered anything. I suspect they are jealous of my judgement. A gentle stroll later will perk them up.

Across the Alps by Terrier

That Tunisian poof with the elephants had the right idea crossing into northern Italy in winter. How lovely and cool they must have been. I, on the other hand, entered Italy on a day of blazing heat and brilliant sunshine. My Doggles, the hot sunglasses brand that everyone will be wearing this time next year, were the must-have accessory du jour.

I am not one to complain, but I must say the standard of in-palanquin service was very poor on this last leg of the trip. Not once was I offered complimentary ice-cream, sherbets, or any refreshment appropriate to this oppressive heat - plentiful water was provided, but the meanest of cafes would offer the same. Time and again, well-meaning strangers approached bearing (I presume) platters of tantalising sweetmeats, but my heartless chauffeur whisked me away at top speed. Such a gruelling pace I endured.

We were at least in Rome in time for a late supper, and our entry into the city was magnificent - all were suitably cowed by the potency of my throbbing mount. That night, I dined on boar with apple and redcurrant. Much more in my line than the gruel-and-water diet of the road, which frankly would disgrace a Victorian gaol.

Rome or kibble! Or have I got that somehow wrong?

Perhaps I should have entitled this ‘Rome AND kibble!’ Ms E promises to spend much of the day preparing for my advent. I find it disturbing that she imagines one day to be enough prep-time, but we’ll see.

This morning, awoke to find myself in Italy under increasingly Mediterranean skies. We’ve managed a ‘comfort-break’ - I would happily have used the indoor facilities but Mr E was keen to sniff the air. I have a long ride ahead of me today, especially with the added weight of Mr E behind me.

But even now I’m imaging us roaring into Rome just like in Fellini’s Colosseum scene (‘Roma'). Ms E observes that it may be more like the scooter-ride in ‘Roman Holiday’ but she just doesn’t understand the way an open road and a large engine call to a dog of my sensibilities!

A souvenir of my trip so far...

Somewhere in Holland... Oddly, I appear to have become tied up, but my palanquin is well-displayed and I think my sleek coat and aristocratic features feature elegantly. Now, to bed, once I’ve checked out the on-board facilities on this auto-train...

Siamo arrivati domani!

Mr E is managing the palanquin very effectively. He is to be commended! I will post some pix once I’ve got the airbrush going. Ms E regales us with stories of a nearby emporium for Terrier-Needs. She has not yet, worryingly, purchased my bed. But I trust her to do what’s right.

Tonight, I sleep on the clickety-clack tracks as Mr E and I zip through the Alps and arrive bright and early at Alessandria, then, a Roma! I understand that dogs are allowed to bring accompanying Entourages into shops, restaurants, and markets; what a civilised country. How I look forward to nosing thro the market stall detritus in Testaccio...

Self-fashioning - la bella figura

Keeping my coat in peak condition takes more than a little lick and polish on my part. Self-care is over-rated - why support an entourage if you’re doing it yourself? Ms Entourage put her back into a very satisfying ‘grooming’ session with me this morning - I like to have my fur raked through thoroughly before a bath, which I plan to relax in on Wednesday or Thursday.

My palanquin’s heat pad is a rather gorgeous shade of carmine, and I’m hoping to take full advantage of the therapeutic warmth while en route to Rome, where I’m scheduled to arrive late on Saturday.

Set Ms Entourage the task of bed- and food-shopping for me to keep her busy before I arrive; if I don’t keep an eye on her she tends to lack focus. Mr E. too, to be honest. I suspect I will have to take time out from my busy Roman Woofing schedule and derive-ist plans to make sure they both look after me in the manner to which I intend soon to become accustomed.

Rather sweetly, I overheard Ms E discussing a restaurant she’s found, where (I presume), she intends to take me to sample saltimbocca; how lucky that I sent her on a pre-tour fact-finding mission back in May. I’m expecting great culinary delights, based on her dreamy comments about ingredients and flavours...

Wellbeloved? I think not!

Just discovered that my comfort kibble is not exported to Rome. Can I still go? Entourage have arranged for an interim shipping but my constitution is delicate and my standards high...

Entourage will need to step up and prepare delicious meals for me. I'm thinking tripe, I'm thinking veal, I'm thinking espresso cured beef... Mmmmmmmmmm.

Exercise regime not proving terribly successful so far. Ms Entourage scoots when she can, Mr is on the motorbike. I try to encourage them out for a short walk morning and evening. All this will change when I get them away to Rome. I have a vigorous programme of sightseeing and hill-climbing planned.

A day of rest

Have persuaded Entourage to take a day off today. I plan to put in some hours of contemplation and snacking to build my mental and physical faculties. I may spend some time on Woofer to see if there are any spicy Italian Woofs to follow.

Entourage seem to think I don't need a Woofer account yet, but I want to have my Roman networks up and sniffing before I arrive. Only a fortnight till I'm making like Baudelaire and psyching 'Le strade'...

How should I put this...?

Another day spent brushing up on my woofish Italiano, but extraordinarily, my Entourage seems incapable of understanding even the most basic Italian phrases. I am seriously considering trading them in for a more chic and linguistically flexible team.

A Terrier of my runway modelling background, with a vocal range unprecedented amongst my contemporaries, deserves something better than the monosyllabic utterances that seem to form most of the Entourage’s communication - I often wonder whether they are somehow better able to ‘speak’ to each other than they do to me, but find that unlikely. My suspicion is that I simply have to accept that it is a lonely life as an intellectual and perfect ’10’...

Broken link in Blogspot

I am dismayed to note that the 'Report Abuse' facility in the top menu bar of Blogspot does not, as it should, summon the RSPCA to my aid.

Unfortunate series of events...

I have been struck down by an unfortunate illness. I cannot understand how some minor gastronomic indiscretions can have rebounded on me with such dramatic force.

I tell my Entourage that they should be grateful that they’re not in Graceland, but this seems to have fallen on deaf ears.

I am maintaining a dignified silence. They need to shape up or ship out. Once they’ve prepared me another ‘light’ snack-ette, that is...

A test of my email-to-blog facility

It is important that I iron out any kinks well before I travel, and thus I post this to my blog from email. As Mr Entourage wafts me Southward, I shall then be able to recline in the well-appointed comfort of my personal carriage and type disparaging remarks upon my iPhone for the enlightenment of my attentive worldwide audience.

Biker dog

Today, I spotted that my wheels have been pimped - good news! My new tonsure is pretty damn smart, when it’s humid or hot (not sure if I need some sort of spf? Perhaps I should investigate...), but I was starting to feel a little concerned when a flash storm erupted here yesterday.

What if I was gunning down the autostrada, with the motorbike engine roaring, and there was a downpour??

The new kit, a rather snazzy waterproof ‘jacket’ for my seat on the tank (I nestle in, behind the windshield and in front of Mr Entourage, in case anyone asks), does the job elegantly. I will surely be the cynosure of all eyes (those that don’t blink and miss me!).

NB must find out if a table has yet been booked for me on the overnight train from Holland. Looking forward to sampling Dutch Courage...

Eye of the terrier...

Trying to encourage a more robust approach amongst my entourage to my pre-Tour training needs. There is a marked disinclination to undertake (or help me to undertake) what I consider the full range of muscular and physical activities that will see me in peak condition for late night strolls through Rome’s campi (bending my neck - to sniff; toning my neck - via sustained scratching and ear massage; core fitness - that’s achieved via tummy tickling and flank rubbing; endurance - long and varied walks...).

Since my fitness regime is clearly not being attended to, I have had to resort to the tried and trusted method of running up and down stairs. Some appropriate music to keep my pace up would have been welcome, but sadly my entourage appeared oblivious...

Only a shot of grappa might fully restore me - yet I find that my ‘bowl’ remains discouragingly empty.

Planning a Grand Tour...

As a dog of many vocal registers but so far, few words, this is a bit of an experiment. But my experience is that my entourage is not so good at recording my life eloquently or elegantly so my imminent trip across the continent to Italy seems to offer a good experimental opportunity for me to show my mettle as a journal-ist and metachronicler.

Passport is in paw already; my coat is newly stripped and the svelteness of my figure is quite unbelievable. Unlike my shambling entourage who really need to up their game if la bella figura is not to be beyond them.

Countdown to departure is under a month, now.

The vanguard leaves first, to make my apartment ready. Tripe, I'm salivating already...