Italians - people of the night........

Its Ferg here again and for starters let me get this straight, i don't think that Italians are vampires or skimpily clad pagans dancing around neolithic chambers in honour of the great horned God Cerrunos. The reason for the title of this particular blog is that i am fascinated and a bit jealous that most Italians live their day up until about 2 o clock in morning.

For me its always been different, ever since my glorious Mamma let me stay up til an eye popping 10 o clock so i could watch the Equaliser, i have been a bit of an early bird when it comes to beddy bo boes. unless i am paraletic drunk, if i am up past 1030 i start slurring, i cant stand up properly and i get crotchety.....which is actually exactly how i am when i am paraletic drunk......

Anyway back to those amazing Italians. Its great here, most shops are open until half past seven or eight o clock but as soon as it gets dark the piazza (the square) in the centre of the town is chock full of people of every age, kids mix with the elderly, adults sit and enjoy a lovely warm evening while their kids can enjoy themselves without worry (other than from Italians drivers....they're still around trying to pick off people, the bastards)while teenagers, in gangs, just enjoy the evening. Honestly its 11 o clock at night and the whole town is in the centre, talking (shouting) laughing (in a shouty way) and just having a fantastic time, sometimes there are bands but if not there always is a lovely, entertaining and safe atmosphere. The pace of life is fantastic, they work hard but as soon as half past twelve in the afternoon comes along...bang...thats it, everywhere except a few cafes are closed, they dont re-open until about half past four.

To me it shows that their time is important and they put that above the making of money. I know its bloody boiling at that time but i think its because they want to enjoy their lunch at a nice pace which is completely different to how they take breakfast which is something akin to feeding time at the crocodile pit.

There is a lot i will miss about Italy when we get back to Wales, the fresh smell of tomatoes in the supermarket, raw meat, low level sexism with no awareness that it is sexism, eating with my hands (although Cerith has put her foot down with the soup course) but i think most of all I will miss our nightly walks to the piazza, the warmness of the night and the people and the noise of a community happy with each others company.