Italy - 49BC
They stood on the banks of the Rubicon, Caesar and his faithful sidekick Brute.
"Are we going or what, boss?" Brute asked.
"Hmmm," Caesar prevaricated.
"Getting cold feet are we?"
"Nah. It's not that Brute me old mucker. I'm just a bit worried about the Romans, and how they'll react when they find out I'm actually a Lazio fan..."
"Ah well, in for a cistercium in for a cistercii..."
"What?"
"Forget it guv. I ain't no bleedin' backstabber."
"Isn't that a song by the O'Jays?"
"Jules mate, this ain't the bleedin' breakfast show on Radio One. Now look, are we gonna cross this bastard river, or what?"
"You do realise Brute, that if we cross this here Rubicon river thingy and march on Imperial Rome, that people will talk...senators and that..."
"Yeah...whatever..."
"And we may well be killed..."
"So what's new Jules? People are always tryin' to kill us. But we usually kills them. So it sort of works out all right. One way or another. At least, it has up to now."
"Yes Brute, but if the bigwigs in town know that we're coming mob handed, they'll be after our arses and no mistake."
"Ah, fuck 'em."
"It isn't that simple Brute. You do realise that once we cross this here Rubicon, there's no going back? People will talk about it for yonks. They'll equate the crossing of the Rubicon with arriving at the point of no return."
"So what?"
"It's a heavy burden, Brute."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, Julie, and they'll name the calendar after you, and a surgical procedure for delivering babies through an abdominal incision...don't talk bollocks man!"
"Sorry mate. Just me bein' a bit maudlin' I suppose."
"So, are we going or what?"
"Aye. Come on Brute. Let's do it."
"Way to go Julie! You the main man!"
And so, they crossed the Rubicon. Reports claiming that Julius Caesar didn't even get his feet wet are probably a load of old shite.
More as we get it.
