Of Beggars and Breakfast

With the time rapidly drawing to a close on my time here in Italy (in 24 hours I'll be on a plane back to London) I feel the need to comment on two things that have illustrated to me, in a very real sense, the differences between Italy and Australia.

Let's start with beggars. I would like to begin with an apology to all those people I've ever seen trying to flog me a copy of the Big Issue in Adelaide St. Here I thought you, a single person advertising their wares, was an annoyance. Never again. In fact, I think I'll even (committed right-winger that I am) purchase a copy of your rag when I return. No-one who's been through Italy could ever complain about too many beggars when they get back to Australia. I know Queensland Rail often run late, cancelled my train to Ferny Grove more than once, jolt and jar you from what feels like one track to the other when they approach rail junctions and stop running at midnight - but I can take comfort in the fact they've never had some hairy bastard playing a fucking accordion in the carriages while his chimp-like kid goes round with the hat. Queen St may have the odd wino, the fat bloke sitting out the front of the Commonwealth asking people if they'd like to contribute to a kid's foundation but it doesn't have the endless stream of Africans trying to flog you sunglasses, handbags, fans, water, jewellery, belts, jeans and hats.

If only one of them had tried to sell me cornflakes, they would've had a sale.

What is it with Italian breakfasts? In Australia, we have a healthy breakfast. Cereal, perhaps some toast, and a glass of juice, or tea/coffee. Italians prefer the 3 C's, that is, Croissant, Coffee, Cigarette. Now I know some of you undoubtedly enjoy the triple hit of sugar, caffeine and nicotine, but I for one can't handle it. I think the reason they call it a "Continental Breakfast" is to make it sound more appetising. In theory it means a breakfast without hot food, while in reality it means a breakfast in name only. When I eat a breakfast, I want something that will keep me nourished until midday. I don't want something that leaves me with a gnawing empty great hole in my guts by 9:30. In Rome we finally got sick of it, and now have a box of cereal in our room, and we go and buy milk each morning.

Boring I know, but to hell with it. After two weeks of being expected to swallow a goddamn croissant at 7 am, I am officially over it.

Anyways, the plan for tomorrow is to wander round, see everything I haven't seen, get on a bus to Ciampino airport, buy some duty free gin and get back to London. With any luck I'll have a job within a week or two, and can put an end to this idle workshy existence.