Mission to Rome

The stop over in the UK is a brief one. Basically, repack my bag, not much call for mud covered paramilitary garb when I’m walking the kids through the trendy centre of Rome, grab a bite to eat, and try and get a good nights sleep before the flight the following morning.
Letter on the doormat. It’s the referral. I’m to see a German neurologist, a Dr Van Helsing, or something like that, on the 17th October. “No problem I’ll be back long before that”. “Besides”, I remember thinking, “I might not even need to see him, after all I’ve put myself through in Poland I’ve not even had the faintest indication of a funny turn”.

In true Easyjet fashion I arrive at my destination famished but heavier in the wallet. A sprint to the transfer bus, and half an hour later I’m at the sleazy side of Rome’s centre; Termini, the huge central rail station that links the rest of Italy and some parts of Europe.
A mad dash across the road to the closest tabaccheria (tobacco kiosk). Buy a biglietto (ticket) for the ATAC (bus), and zig zag back to where they’re all parked. Twenty minutes later I’m at Francesca’s mother’s place, a contemporarily decorated 7th floor apartment close to Trastevere (I digress). In true Italian fashion there are kisses all round upon my arrival, then a light snack and a rest before dinner. The next few days are largely spent resting, eating and window shopping. Its noted that on a few occasions I feel light-headed, but after gorging myself on pizza bianca, a chewy and salty pizza derivative, and chinotto, a bitter sweet type of cola, I feel re-energised. Carbs and sugars, am I developing some sort of diabetes?

I'm losing track of the mission at hand. The true reason I’m in Italy’s capital. Its Thursday the 28th September I have an appointment with Don Ricardo this evening. Its crucial that the meeting goes well.