Sunday, or Today I have mostly been getting lost near Termini

Greetings from my new home-have sporadic internet access so I will either be putting loads of posts up or not at all so do bear with, and suspend disbelief on funny looking times.

As of today, half of Life Goal Number Five has been (sort of) fulfilled, as I finally took the plunge and moved back to Rome. Given my almost perpetual state of semi-inebriated wistful indolence for the past few months, I had glamourized the city in my mind, blithely forgetting a number of key elements:

-The very real threat of being mown down by a ludicrously small car whenever venturing into the road
-The fact that maps/street signs/other normal features of a capital city actually seek to mislead rather than to inform, unless all you need to know is how many churches are in the square metre which surrounds you.
-Casual lechery.
On a related note, the staring. National past-time. Takes several weeks of acclimatisation before you lose the constant fear that there is some sort of disfigurement on your face.
-The pitfalls of allowing an organisation to arrange accomodation for you.

Not Rome's fault, I suppose. Still, after two hours of sleep, a ten mile queue at Easyjet being repeatedly poked by a hyperactive Italian toddler improbably named William, and the fact that due to said queue I did not have time to swig my customary glass of Wetherspoons piss before embarking (fuck you, Stelios), any target will do. Particularly as, being the tosspot I am, this intrepid traveller decided to eschew the use of a map to find my new home for the month. "Don't be so stupid!" I guffawed incredulously, "It's right near Termini! I shall WALK! I am practically a native, I do not require INSTRUCTIONS!" Bollocks I didn't. Termini is MASSIVE (another salient piece of information I inconveniently failed to recall) and as such, unbelievably, the surrounding streets are manifold. This was compounded by the fact that, in my infinite wisdom, I had decided that necessary components of my luggage included three almost identical pairs of black boots, around three hundred pairs of pants (I exaggerate, clearly, but those buggers are surprisingly heavy when in large quantities) and a number of obscenely large volumes by the aforementioned long-dead depressives. In short-a lot of heavy crap. Given that it took me about three hours to navigate my way out of sodding Termini, by the time I embarked upon my route march I was already panting and sweating like those people who do real exercise. Let it be known-winging it does not work in this town. After miles of cobbles (and falling over in spectacular fashion as is my wont), eventually I had to concede defeat and call the Beloved, beseeching him to consult Googlemaps and send me in the right direction (would that this were an isolated incident). It was about ten minutes away from where I hd originally started. But no matter, at last the blessed sight of the long anticipated door came into view. The delight! The relief! If only I hd known that, contrary to all logic, it was actually about to get worse.