My most Italian moment

Today was a beautiful day in Knockers. Naturally I spent most of it lying in bed, sun streaming through the window, surfing the net.

However, at 4 o'clock I strolled out for coffee, which turned into two, a slice of pizza and a small beer. I sat in the park in the early evening reading Tom Jones (better than I thought it would be, not enough sex though) and watching the Italians promenade past in their Sunday best (they do this, taking to the streets on weekend evenings to walk around, stopping to chat to each other, it's all very surreal).

Suddenly one of the boys playing football across the park lashed a wild shot miles off target and in my direction.

Now, those of you who know me well (which is all three of you who read this) know my sporting prowess is not, perhaps, on a par with my contemporaries. I once played rugby for the House in school (yeah, yeah, we bummed each other afterwards, happy?); we lost, badly. When I play tennis, half the time the ball doesn't reach the net, let alone clear it; badminton, I swish vainly at the shuttle-cock trying to hit the stupid nipply end (and, of course, failing).

So, not the strongest of foundations. But... but!

As the ball sailed over I lept from my bench (sunglasses, freshly trimmed beard, casual jacket, looking for all the world like Marcello Mastroianni in La Dolce Vita) and, in one fluid motion, powered the ball back with the side of my foot in a perfectly straight, beautifully judged, arc right across the park, aimed directly at the boys head.

It was, without question, the coolest thing I've ever done.

They asked me to join in!

I should point out, at this juncture, that they were ten year olds.

They waved aside protestations that I was foreign and couldn't speak the language. And so, for ten minutes I filled the role of Cool Foreign Uncle, deftly sheparding the ball out of defence and punting it upfield in the vague direction of an attacking player (I am, after all, English).

We won!

I think. It was hard to tell.

I'm not a fan of Knockers, and I loathe my place of work with a passion, but Italy?

Yeah, I could live here.