Fred was not so much a tourist as a natural disaster with a fanny pack. He descended upon Rome like a swarm of very loud locusts.

His first target was the Colosseum. He approached a weary-looking guide and, ignoring millennia of history, asked:

“Hey buddy, where’s the gift shop? I need a gladius for my nephew. Y’know, the short double-edged sword that gladiators used?”

The guide, whose soul had left his body sometime during the last appearance of Halley’s comet, pointed vaguely. Fred, however, decided the main arena was a more direct route. He hopped a velvet rope, shimmied down a reconstructed wall segment, got lost, and loudly complained about the lack of vending machines in the subterranean hypogeum maze (which was closed to tourists at the time).

Security was surprisingly quick and he was politely, but firmly, escorted out. The guards used an Italian word to refer to Fred that was not in any........

© Peterborough Examiner