The dropped curb was clearly not a priority for the Roman or Renaissance civil engineer. But I have a feeling that Nurse Jackie (whose body is now a temple) is secretly relieved that he is able to keep to his fitness regime as he hauls the wheelchair up steep steps and out of tram tracks and gaps in the cobbles as we make our way by train to Sardinia. A badly timed flare-up of sciatica, which has made walking almost impossible, has meant I am very definitely getting my money’s worth out of our newly acquired travel wheelchair, originally intended just for the long walks at railway stations. There has been the odd very cross word (mine) as Nurse J boldly pushes me across pedestrian crossings at which drivers clearly consider it cissy to stop. And the odd yelp of pain from people foolish enough to change course or stop suddenly in front of us. But apart from that, we are having fun; doing a bit of sight-seeing, sitting reading in cafes and drinking beer at lunchtime. Tomorrow morning it’s the two-foot drop from the platform and the traverse across several sets of railway tracks to get to our train to Cagliari. Nurse J is putting on a brave face. As am I