The spider screamed.

Oh, batchit, I thought, as blind (sans glasses), I started running the water in the tub for a shower.

One extremely leggy arachnid struggled to get out of the flow, but couldn’t as the stopper was firmly stuck. It was our first morning in a new AirBnB and I wasn’t familiar with how the stopper worked – some of these British creations, you gotta push on exactly the right spot or you just jam the stopper in ever harder.

Dodging the insect who was, I’m sure, cursing me roundly, I fought to figure out how to evacuate the beastie from the bath. Finally, using my fingernails I pulled the damn stopper from its socket, laid it on it’s side and waved adieu to the creature.

Too much drama for the first morning.

Unnngh… it’s another of those bathtubs. As I’ve complained about on multiple occasions, the Brits seem to like their tubs elevated to the point you can stand in it and wave at the adoring peasants below.

If you had any.

And I sure wouldn’t be subjecting my subjects to an upwards view of my nekkid, waterlogged carcass, anyway. What kind of a ruler does that?

Back to the topic. Entry and exit to the tub requires gymnastic skills of a Vegas performer and the flexibility of an 18 year old hockey goalie.

Getting in is one thing. Getting out, post-soaping and soggy, is another matter entirely. Without grab bars (what IS it the English have against grab bars, anyway?) – but as Beloved pointed out, there is a safety bar built into the tub, but if you were to use that, your posture would be so incredibly rude as to defy description.

But I’ll try, emphasis on the butt. You push the stupid flappy thing (why, WHY don’t they use full size doors? Or at least shower curtains? Those stupid flappy things don’t keep in the heat!) bend over, arse to the ceiling, grab the bar and try to back your way over the precipice.

Unnngh.

Having had the best sleep ever after a flight to the UK, and freshly showered, I was ready for the day. This particular place is right next to the Swan Shopping Centre, so it’s a quick walk to the market, Boots the Chemist and (swoon) Poundland.

Poundland, the mecca of cheap chocs. The same brands you buy in the market for a third more (although as my aunt has pointed out on more than one occasion, you gotta check the expiry dates…) (me, I rather like my pastilles hard, crunchy and ancient. Soft and chewy is one thing, but crackly is best. And at a discount? Score!)

So I decided to waddle over to the market and get myself sparkling water (I do like a few bubbles).

Th layout of this place is interesting. The parking is semi-subterranean and the flat is on the “ground floor”… meaning you have to climb a flight of stairs to get to your ground floor flat. However, the Sainsbury’s (the grocery) is on the same level as the flat’s parking (this place is oddly hilly) but not connected. The rest of the shopping center is on the same level as Sainsbury’s.

So if you park at the apartment, you go down into the parking garage, walk up a flight to the ground floor flat, exit said flat and walk to the shopping center’s garage only to descend another flight.

Well, that’s stupid. Surely there’s a way from the garage to the shops, right? Like, turn left instead of right as you leave the garage?

I went exploring… but there was no exit except down a foreboding little passageway. What the hell, right?

Wrong. Graffiti-ed utility doors. I eventually found an exit, by returning to the flat and stumbling out. It was a great little flat aside from the outside.

Then, off to Rome for the cruise, or more accurately, Civitavecchia. We wanted to spend the most time possible with family before heading to Italy for the cruise, and the port, Civitavecchia (CHI-vi-ta-VECK-kia), is an hour from Rome itself.

Back on Vueling, that Spanish-British joint venture of a cheapo airline. At least they have a sense of humor.

Since we saw Rome in 2008 with the children, we decided instead to spend two nights/one day in Civitavecchia so we could get to the port easily. A good thing, too, because I think Rome would’ve been just this side of insanity, trying to get to and from the city.

Civitavecchia has been around since the Neolithic period, in some form or another. Sitting on the Tyrrhenian (TER-rin-KNEE-an) Sea (not, in fact, the Mediterranean), it’s got history coming out it’s nose, but for as much history as they’ve got, there’s not a lot of… well… stuff to see.

We spent the day walking around the city (picked up a bucket hat at the open air market, that was fun – I just need something to cover my noggin when in the sun, and I completely forgot when packing).

There’s the Michelangelo Fortress (why, yes, THAT Michelangelo), I understand the military is still using it, but (as I learned later) you can go in the courtyard between 9am – 1pm and 4pm – 7pm on weekends. Dammit. We hit the siesta.

Apparently the famed artist designed the very top part of the fortress, which you can kinda see in this picture (the little twiddly bit on the right). I think you need a drone to get a decent snap, or at least the ability to get into the courtyard. Oh, well.

The city built the fort to protect the city from pirates, who in the early 16th century were raping and pillaging.

Otherwise, there’s not much else to do other than the overpriced, rather small archeological museum (we passed on it), probably because the Allies bombed the heck outta the city in 1944.