Vespa 46

You can try and ignore this but it's not going to go away. Oh no no no no no.

The exquisitely sculpted lines of that Vespa converge in an accusatory pointing finger.

If we had style.

And grace.

And also nonchalance and decent suits.

And an acceptance of the artfully-ridden Vespa as the epitome of cool.

Then we too could go wading through fountains in the dead of night in pursuit of beautiful, tempestuous women. To an internal soundtrack of Morricone's theme from Cinema Paradiso (the bit where he's driving into Rome, so beautifully lit at night).

Instead of which we're parked up in a lay-by off the A38. In the rain. Sporting Cordura with a patina of impacted insects. Wolfing down a dog burger and something brown and tepid in a 'styrene cup. In pursuit of some other fellow with an iridium-coloured exhaust pipe and a tiny numberplate at a daft angle.

I offer you a shimmering vision of the Eternal City, peopled by timelessly elegant citizens pursuing noble affairs of the heart (with the aid of Vespas) and you counter with …… some crummy buffoon of the hour. He'll wash out on the tide of history in a week or two, along with the Euro and the global financial system.

The Trevi Fountain, and the night, will endure...

Biking down the road
Terry keeps his clips on

Better make that Pterry if you're aboard a Triassic future (past) classic C650GT, Viv.

Oh Terry, Oh Terry, why why why
Why don't you behave like normal people do-do-do-do-do