There isn’t a single wisp of smoke curling out of the top of Mount Vesuvius as we walk up its stony brown slopes.
A few birds are twittering in the bushes, but we leave we them behind as the path rises above fertile ground. It’s silent, except for the scrunch of feet on clinker. It’s too quiet, too calm. Are we about to get taken out in an unexpected rumble of smoke, ash, flames and …