Rome is at its very worst in June; I’ve always left in summer and it’s always taken a couple of years for me to even consider going back. All because of June. There’s something about the light, maybe. Or the dust in the air, the loudsweaty tourists, the desperate groping in the parks. This season turns everyone into an animal, but June, for some reason, is always the worst of it. In June you still remember delicate, sheer May – what it was like not to be sickwrong and itchy. In July you’ve adapted and just learned to live with the illness.
A ripe, dark, fruity oolong is just right on a day like this. I’m never disappointed in Lupicia’s oolongs – they never let me down, they never make me reconsider. What more could you possibly expect from anything?