Here Be Dragons

I didn't think you would have called yourself an Italian, Pliny. Don't you think of yourself as a Roman? You lived in the days of the Roman Empire. The rest of Italy was just a collection of Roman provinces at that time wasn't it?

Nit picker! Then, I was a Roman; now, I am an Italian; tomorrow I shall be a pile of bones.

Sorry, Pliny, let's change the subject. I'm reading an interesting book at the moment called The Island of Lost Maps. It's all about ancient maps, and how people steal them from libraries.

Am I to understand you are planning a robbery?

No Pliny, but it's inspired me to start planning a map.

You amaze me! What will be the purpose of your map?

You might laugh.

I might.

Well, my map will be a useful one. It will show with great exactitude the position of a very dangerous nail that sticks up in the footpath just near the kerb at the place where I cross Fullarton Road every Friday on my way into town. Because every time I see that nail I think, somebody could trip over it. It is just at the point where a person who has come down Chapel Street and crossed Fullarton Road might be expected to step up on to the opposite pavement. And this is no small nail. I would estimate the diameter of the head to be about 2 centimetres, and the shank about one and a half. It's an old, rusty, slightly bent iron nail, and it sticks up at least 3 centimetres from the footpath. Heaven knows what it's doing there.

Why don't you write a letter to the council asking them to remove the nail?

Then what would be the point of my map?

I see. It does sound like an admirable project. Perhaps you could include on your map other dangers that might be encountered on the way.

Oh yes! The Bonnetts horse!