Crumbling Rome

I want to make a crumble because it feels like autumn. I'm listening to the weather forecast on Radio 4 in my kitchen and rain, wind and storms is all the apologetic sounding man can talk about. All very jolly and great British summer time I have to say. Rome was 36 degrees! I can't imagine being that hot, even though I was there less than 48 hours ago; can't imagine that the entirely clear blue skies, stifling heat and warm evenings all still exist. When I think that the rambling remains of ancient Rome, which are scattered like seeds throughout the city, the ornate fountains that linger in every square and on each street corner and the awful romance of the Coliseum all still exist without me I feel as if there has been some terrible mistake. But I also feel just a hint of the possibilities that the continued existence holds. If beautiful Rome can exist whilst I ponder whether to make an apple crumble or not in rainy Chiswick, then we can, to put it bluntly, escape.