When a spot ascends to celebrity status the way Fontana di Trevi became renowned as one of the most famous fountain in Rome, if not the world, congregations of adoration follow.

Shoulders collide where peripherals are coerced to share with bobbing heads, eclipsing the strokes of chisels defining masonry of the Baroque era; sloshing of waters chanted no audible than cacophonies of vocal hubbub, on an auditorium whose audience clamoured more noisily than the centre stage act.

Yet how swiftly did the roles revert.

Little past midnight, and the crowds seemingly evaporated. Serenity reprised on its nightly entrance, and Trevi’s grandeur emanated the reverence that quietened its remaining admirers.

At Trevi Fountain, night dwellers – myself presently – had the best seats in a magnificence.