Ciao from the get-go

I've didn't know it was allowed. I still suspect it was illegal. My plane taxis out - over an hour late - with the last twenty poorly-balanced travellers struggling to find room for their awkwardly large 'carry ons', filling the aisles with rushed tension. Like a heavy Ferrari, every corner is hit with maximum speed, and each jolt sets the herd in to faster motions. The air hostess braces herself mid-turn and mid-safety-demonstration, pausing only to shut the poltergeist-overhead luggage door from its fifth attempt at asserting itself. I am off to Roma. And blessed I feel, as Roma has started on board. 

The flight is uneventful. That is aside from the chap next to me who needs a diet (or two) and a larger seat. And aside from regularly being engaged by the Czech Hedgehog-like seat in front which my knees keep digging in to. The woman within it jostles. My book falls. I retaliate with a couple of knee jerks in to the seat. I keep this up for the whole flight, mostly out of boredom. 

Taxi-touts were waiting at the airport. They significantly outnumbered (and out-douched) the actual taxis. One tout has one misaligned button done up on his shirt, asking for €60 for a journey worth a quarter that. No thanks. Please get dressed. 

I stubbornly wait. And eventually get taken for a ride. 

Late. Over budget already. But beach side in Ostia. London and worries, far far away.