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!
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