You know, as I sit here in my underpants writing today’s blog I can’t but think my life would be a lot easier if I could just be an Italian. For example; as an Englishman, my tax return (which is due this month) is an annual trauma because I’ve been meticulous and honest with my finances and I believe in playing it straight. But if I were Italian I could dismiss the whole thing with a shrug and a “I owea youa orgatz” because all the money would be in used notes under Mama’s bed.
You think I’m making this up? Just before Italy switched to the euro there was a huge surge in domestic car sales, all because people needed a way to dispose of all their undeclared lira.
My experiences of the brilliant Italian shipbuilding industry are similar. The working day begins with a cappuccino, followed by some cannolis, then an argument and an espresso and then it’s lunchtime. Lunch is enormous, lasts for two hours, probably involves some grappa and is followed by a nap, by which time we can start thinking about going home.
