When is a question not a question? When it’s asked by an Italian!

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Sometimes, I just love Italians and the way they think. It’s like living on a different planet.

Having been to Mantova’s Festivaletteratura a number of times I have found that, given the opportunity to speak in public, they really don’t know when to stop or, worse, get to the point.

This is particularly true when they ask questions.

The night before last, I was honoured to be invited to my good friend Stef’s graduation, for he has worked very hard over the last two years and got his MBA. As usual, when he is pleased with himself (as he has every right to be), he just can’t stop grinning.

Of course, before the actual handout of the certificates, there had to be some speech by some guy and then he was asked questions from the panel of lecturers. The last question though, took about 3 minutes to ask and then, at the end, the question failed to materialise! They are a strange people, these Italians.

There was another guy who, I think, was actually doing the handing out – he actually started his speech by saying it would be brevissimo (very short). Of course, he was Italian so that was his own special joke and he continued to talk for over 15 minutes!

Anyway, aside from that it was a very nice evening with drinks and apero food afterwards. N & I managed to get quite a few prossecco’s down us and I met Stef’s parents and younger brother.

There was only one thing, and this is one of those little things that still smart after all this time – if V & I had been together and there, after the event, it would have been nice to go for a quick pizza. But we’re not together and even though I really fancied it, I didn’t go on my own. I did resist calling him which, I thought, was good, as it would have felt far too needy – at least from my point of view.