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Disappointed to learn that you shan't be going. Following your impromptu bus tour of the suburbs of Nottingham earlier this season, I was looking forward to reading the Italian sequel, where you inadvertently find yourself in a Rimini industrial estate with twenty minutes to kick off.

And why not? After all, it could be your best chance of seeing a striker.

And if they still say no, write them two poems.

If I were going (which I'm not) and if I had the time (which I don't), I'd love to travel from the UK to Rome by train. Undoubtedly, the reality would be far removed from the Gerald Durrell-esque image I have in my mind, but it feels like a real adventure compared to the sub-human experience...

Of course, there is a third option - one that doesn’t involve planes or trains…