We were all out of bed early this morning because Gina and Lizzie had to meet Robert at the Termini Station at 8:00 to catch the train out to the airport. They are going to London for a couple of days and then on th Amsterdam before leaving for home on Friday. It was really heart wrenching to watch my roomies disappear down on the little cage of an elevator, leaving me standing alone at the door of our apartment in my pyjamas. I didn't think that the leaving would leave such an empty space.

My plans for the day were to get on a train to Spagna and then walk to the Borghese Gallery for the visit that I had booked over the Internet from home. 8:00 ... dressed and ready, I went out to leave with plenty of time to get there. As the lift came up the wire shaft, I pulled the voucher out of my bag to check the details. The booking is for tomorrow, not today. I remember not being sure of when the girls would be leaving for the rest of their trip so I had left Monday free. Now, here I was feeling the aloneness very badly and a long day ahead of me with nothing planned. Back into the apartment to regroup ... what to do.

After an hour waiting for the rest of the city to catch up with my early start.I set out with my little computer in hand to try out the free wireless Hotspot that Lizzie had found in the MacDonald's around the corner. AT last, the hope of getting into contact with the rest of my world. I bought a cup of coffee to alleviate my sense of fair play and then sat down to get on with it. I knew that I would have to register because Lizzie had talked about that. What she didn't mention was that the mobile phone number I had to give needed to "by law" be an Italian one. Ok, so off I go to the Termini Station in search of someone who would sell me an Italian SIM card for my telefonino. No good at the post office, the tabbachi and the super market but a phone shop in the arcade had them. I didn't have my passport which was the only ID he could take. Disgruntled, I walked back home to dump the computer and retrieve my passport from its hiding place.

Plan two - Hope on a bus down to the Corso in he hope that something interesting might present itself. What I had failed to do before I left was to look at the sky, after all, the weather had been one perfect day following another for week now. How was this one going to be any different? By the time I started walking up the Corso it had started to sprinkle. Looks like this day was going to be dreary in all aspects.

Then, just as I began to feel really depressed my wandering gaze rested on a poster outside a rather nondescript building with that magic word 'Caravaggio' on it. It was the Palazzo Doria Pamphilj. Foolishly, I had imagined that this was a private collection which I would not have access to, not a public gallery that was mine for the price of a ticket. I don't think that I saw to much of the glorious decoration of the rooms that I walked through with my chin down one my knees. I can now tick two more canvases off my list of have to see.

Such a success needs to be celebrated so a good meal was called for and I wanted to check off another Caravaggio on the way to Piazza Navona. Let me tell you now that Gina is not the only one who can get lost in Rome. I over shot it by a good half kilometre along the Corso. I could blame the rain but who am I kidding? My mistake did find me a Florentine paper shop and the journal that was on sale and just cried out to be bought and then delicious lunch of pasta and insalata (I love that word) at the Dolce Vita. Entertainment was provided by the sprooker encouraging new customers.

I made one more abortive attempt at getting an Italian SIM on the via del Corso before hopping on a bus back to Termini where I knew that I could get one. Sadly it takes 24 hours to activate it so the folks back home are just going to have to wait a bit longer for more than just Tweets about my adventure.