satire the comfort of his robes. And he sulked as he chomped Spaghetti a la Romana, followed by Pizza Neapolitana and Tiramisu. The missing luggage Hera, contained all the presents for the who, with Jupiter family – the fluffy monthe wifely keys (which in no way resembled wisdom their neighbours atop the Rock), of many the illustrated plastic place mats, millennia, the miniature red telephone kiosks, and the quaint old British suppressed post boxes. the urge to
point out that it had been his idea.
‘This was all a dreadful mistake, we should never have listened to the idiot that suggested it’, he muttered to Hera, who, with the wifely wisdom of many millennia, suppressed the urge to point out that it had been his idea.
‘We can’t go empty-handed’, said Hera.
GIBRALTAR MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 2018
‘What on earth are they doing?’ Zeus rumbled, moving like a matador to dodge a camera-tipped bandillero, and, as he did so, almost losing an eye to another. ‘They’re taking photos of themselves’, Hera told him.
But this morning the sun was shining and, ‘We’ll see about that’, said the reunited with their suitcases and Father of the Gods, as he dodged presents bundled into a large yet a third camera. He slipped his Moroccan-style carrier bag, the hand into his jacket and fingered couple had emerged cheerful from the the mini thunderbolt which had escaped Borghese Gardens hotel, with its view of Gibraltar Customs’ electronic scan - and St Peters’ dome dominating central Rome. Hera’s eagle eye - as he pocketed it before But there was a problem – Rome was far leaving the hotel. bigger than they had expected (‘Apollo should have warned us’, and ‘You should He resisted the temptation to hurl it into have seen that yesterday’ Zeus grumbled) the camera-clicking horde, and, instead, - for they had assumed that, like their own merely squeezed it, immediately emptying old home Mount Olympus - or even the the memory cards of 21 assorted Japanese new one on the Rock where they cameras, and causing the malhad fled from the tide of refufunction of turnstiles at entrancThe gees which had made Greek life es to the Forum, the Capitoline celestial a nightmare - that of the lesser Museum, and the Church of San couple were gods would be easily found. Cristobal. Leaving the hotel they had been approached by a young man in a saffron robe and a Hari-Krishna haircut. Could he help them? It would be his pleasure to do so...
miniature red telephone kiosks, and the quaint old British post boxes.
Fish and chips was not on the menu, he gloomed, as he changed from the constriction of his traveller’s attire to
Looking across the ruins of the Forum, the celestial couple were suddenly engulfed by a group of chattering Japanese with ‘selfie-sticks’ stretched before them like diviners’ rods.
Robes, he believed, should be a pristine white.
suddenly engulfed by a group of chattering Japanese with ‘selfie-sticks’ stretched before them like diviners’ rods.
The onward light with Emirates was Zeus eyed the young man’s robe Halcyon, but they arrived in with something akin Rome to find porters were on to disgust. Robes, he The strike at a rain-soaked Leonardo believed, should be a missing da Vinci Airport, though this pristine white, though luggage hardly mattered - their luggage his own was being had been mis-routed to Berlin. contained all laundered – the dribbles Zeus had grumbled throughand droplets of last night’s food the presents out their taxi ride into Rome, and drink offered an unsightly – the fluffy ignoring the magnificence of the monkeys, the menu of his meal – and today, at Colosseum and of Hadrian’s Gate Hera’s insistence, he wore a dark illustrated with its retinue of pines, ignoring blue two-piece suit acquired in plastic place even the sleekly expensive shops a half-price Debenhams’ winter mats, the of the Via Veneto. sale. His plaints had continued, despite the five-star luxury of their room and the exciting promise of a well-stocked mini-bar, when Hera decided they should eat in their room.
the tourist throng at the bottom of the Capitoline Hill.
They were looking for the family Jupiter, but the only address they had was Rome, Hera explained to the young disciple. Ahh, the Jupiter temple in the Forum was their most likely bet - though they would need a taxi to take them there... And thus, 15 minutes later and 30 euros lighter, a Bengali taxi-diver had dropped them amongst
The turnstiles still were out of order when, 20 minutes later and after wading through rivers of tourists, the Olympian couple reached the museum entrance; but, paying 10 euros each, a uniformed commissionaire let them in through a side door which gave onto a wide hall and atrium flanked with marble statues punctuated by man-sized hands and feet of what must once have been titanic figures. They recognised carvings and a bronze model of Jupiter and Juno as well as Mars wrestling with a lion and Neptune rising from a wave of horses, but of the Roman gods themselves there was not a sign. Zeus stopped a passing curatrix, and, gesturing to the bronze of Jupiter and his consort, asked where the actual living gods were. She looked at him askance, puzzled, and then replied with a smile: ‘Oh, they left Rome seventeen hundred years ago – banished by the Emperor Constantine. Of course, if you want some heavenly-being more up to date, you can try St. Peter’s square. Go on a Sunday’, she laughed and bustled on her way. 95