THE SEYMOUR MONKEY CHRONICLES:

Front row seats for the biggest game in town - Just two millennia late. Coliseum echoes to snap of shutters and tour guide spiels. Outside togas, centurions and sandals hassling gawkers for photo tips. Roaming the Palatino and Forum, catching the rays like the pussy cats, sunning themselves in the ruins purring lion day dreams.

I had landed in the Eternal City at peak hour. Obviously I had forgotten to remove my “sucker” sticker from my forehead as I am immediately ripped off by dodgy cab driver who charges me double the fare then tries to nick off with my bags.

Dramas at the hotel see me lumping my bags around town.  As the sun disappears I am a broken down cart horse but I have my room key and am wondering whether Italian TV presenters ever draw breath.

Next day finds me overhearing a loud Yank asking directions to the “Trevor” Fountain. “Just past Colin Seum,” I feel like replying. I hold my tongue as I am whisked away by the crowd. Suddenly I am in a small square dodging euro shrapnel from the wishful.

The Trevi Fountain is smaller than I expect but mesmorising in its beauty. I stand amidst cops blowing whistles moving tired bums from stone steps.  Early Spring breeze catches summer dress hemline, prompting wolf whistles from leering taxi drivers – She stops, she sneers, she flips them the bird. I quietly applaud.

Pushing past Prada pimps at the Parthenon I am slowed until a cop appears and they scatter to the winds like pigeons.  Climbing St Peter’s – Waiting for the lightning bolt to strike me down. Tourists push and shove. Backpacks like flying elbows at Victoria Park.

With a gelati in hand I watch improvised soccer games and sunbathers in the Circus Maximus. The town fills with Scots who seem destined to stalk me round Europe. Rugby Six Nations showdown ensures the streets will flutter with kilts and sporrans. I am relieved that there is no wind to prompt any unfortunate Marilyn moments.

Sunset from the battlements of the Castel Sant ‘angelo listening to Pink Floyd. I take in the pained expressions on bridge statue saints and marvel at the number of soccer balls caught in river rapids. I catch a Coliseum glimpse down a side street – Unexpected magnificence.