Aside from including one of the best descriptions of eating an orange I’ve read, A Time in Rome by the Irish writer Elizabeth Bowen is an evocative account of a city, its architecture, its atmosphere, its daily rhythms. Bowen finds the perfect words for “the utter blank” in the middle of the Roman day, “announced by the clanging down of black iron shutters, which before owners go off to lunch they stoop to lock”. Almost 60 years have passed since she wrote those lines, yet they still ring true, especially during the white-hot days of summer in Piazza Testaccio, when the ceremonious yanking down of shop shutters really does feel like the city is shutting its eyes for a nap. Depending on the shop and the heat, shutters and serrande are pulled back up between 4pm and 5.30pm and, gradually, people start returning to the piazza. Kids who have been cooped up in darkened rooms since lunchtime are like springs uncoiling, scooting, kicking balls or each other, while everyone else clusters aroun