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About Bologna

So, I swagger up, all charm, “What’s yer price, love?” She laughs—proper cackle—says, “More’n you got, trickster.” Cheeky! I’m half mad, half lovin’ it—nobody talks to *me* like that. Didja know, back in Victorian times, they called ‘em “soiled doves”? Fancy, eh? Makes it sound poetic, not dodgy. Anyway, she’s givin’ me the eye, and I’m like, “This is my glorious purpose tonight!”—bit dramatic, sure, but I’m Loki, I live for it.

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Pompeii. April Detail of stone bed in room used by prostitute, on south side at east end. Photo courtesy of Giuseppe Ciaramella.

First stop, the market on Via Roma. I needed some fresh herbs for my spells. You know, basil, rosemary, the good stuff. But man, the crowd was insane! People everywhere, like ants on a sugar hill. I bumped into this old lady. She was like, “Watch it, youngin’!” I was like, “Sorry, nonna! Didn’t mean to disturb your shopping spree!”

Tourists tuck in across Italy honour pizza patron Saint Anthony