Home > Italian customs, Living in Italy > Blowing raspberries

Blowing raspberries

A bunch of red roses

A bunch of red roses

We don’t have any raspberries so roses will have to do. This is the saga from today.

I left Chokri in the middle of jobs which needed lots of tools and materials, Clive tearing his hair out because of a poor internet connection, and Galileo petrified somewhere on the hillside.

I had to pick up an already completed tax form.

Just as I got to the relevant offices in Valtopina, a woman whisked into the room and then didn’t come out.

The people around me didn’t even notice as they chatted and caught up on each others’ ailments.

A spry old man droned incomprehensibly at me until suddenly I heard: “But women are absolute tigers. They’re hyenas. They’re a completely different species from men…” I wish I’d heard the lead-up!

I remarked to the people near me that I was picking up a form and had been advised to knock.

I knocked, and caught the previous entrant mid-chat, wasting everybody’s time.

The officiator didn’t have her reading glasses; didn’t know where I should sign; needed to make a phonecall on my behalf but couldn’t see to dial the number and anyway her mobile had run out of juice. It all took more time than it should have done.

I emerged to a hostile gathering. One woman said in a voice for all to hear: “You may jump queues like this in England but you don’t here.”

I bit back that England had nothing to do with it. I know from experience that making apologies or excuses only fans the flame of indignation.

I’d obviously been discussed because my nationality was correct – I’m normally known as American, German, Dutch – anything but English!

If I could burp on command like David Bowie’s ideal woman, I would have done.

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  1. July 2, 2013 at 9:28 pm

    Sorry such a lousy day but you handled it well

  1. July 7, 2013 at 11:43 pm

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