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About Bologna

Wotcha, mate, gather round, listen up! Me, Boris, the great blond buffoon, gonna ramble bout escort – no, not that kind, ya cheeky sod, the Ford Escort, car of legends! Vroom vroom, eh? Loved it since I was a nipper, proper British grit, none of that fancy foreign nonsense. Reminds me of *Inception* – “You musn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling!” – cos the Escort, it’s a dream, innit, simple yet bonkers clever.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, monsoon-level rain. I’m soaked in seconds. I duck into a nearby café on Via Dante, and it’s packed. I’m standing there, dripping wet, and this guy offers me his seat. I’m like, “Wow, chivalry isn’t dead!” But then I realize he’s just trying to hit on me. Ugh, no thanks, buddy.

Trio of broken arches house ossuaries in northern Italian cemetery