On our way back from Tuscany, we decided to stop in Rome—purely for the food. After all, it’s not as if British Airways meals are anything to look forward to (honestly, what is it with airline food? The only carrier that seems to do it properly is Swiss Air).
This visit to Rome felt different. We wandered as though we belonged there, weaving through familiar streets without the crutch of Google Maps. The last time I had been in the city was back in April, when the Pope’s funeral was taking place. The trip had been planned months earlier, but it seemed as though half the world—and every major leader—had descended upon Rome at the very same time. Chaotic, fascinating, unforgettable.
Now, back in England (I returned just a few days ago), it feels as if summer slipped away on cue with the turn of the calendar page to September. The rain hasn’t stopped since. I find myself thinking back to that fleeting Roman stopover: sandals on my feet, fan in hand, basking in late-summer warmth. Here, meanwhile, I’m already eyeing the wardrobe, wondering if it’s time to pack away linen and bring out the jumpers. It isn’t cold yet, but there’s a new sharpness in the air, the unmistakeable sense that autumn is on its way.
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