I start filling up this book with “Flintstone.”

(Actually, there’s an historical exhibit back in the Rome Hotel which holds the place of honor: a wall-to-wall series on “Economic Rome,” with a separate plaque about Roman slave labor, worth the “photo op” to me at least.)

But I was saying, before Truth broke in with all her matter-of-factness about the exhibition, I’ve no idea if there’s flintstone in these here hills.

(For a real travelogue, take a side-trip to The Shady Forest by clicking here. [A note bene to the wise: great story, wrong region: alas, and alack, my kingdom for an “i”!]  Or else carry on with this “shaggy dog” of a story here.)

Since anyone who shares the peccadilloes of a misspent youth knows our cartoon set is laid in Bedrock.