Amateur Dramatics

Approaching a roundabout locally intending to straight ahead, I caught sight of a carabinieri (policeman) flapping around in the middle of the road. I swerved to avoid him and carried on wondering why one of the lanes had been blocked. Suddenly I heard a frantic whistling which momentarily reminded me of my grandfather’s erratic hearing aid years ago and glancing into my rearview mirror, caught sight of the policeman all but performing in a Covent Garden ballet. Gesticulating wildly, his arms were all over the place and his legs were quivering with barely contained rage. I wondered if he might be suffering an epileptic shock – a thought which (I am ashamed to admit) produced a sense of delight in me. Here, finally, would I be able to put into practice what I had learnt on those very interesting first aid courses over the years. Visions of wrestling my ‘victim’ into the recovery position, carrying out mouth to mouth resuscitation and checking professionally for a pulse swam dizzily before my eyes. The performance continued until he was stood next to my car. Yanking up my skirt and adjusting my top (well, it worked for my driving test!), I slowly wound down my window. I could see the poor man was both breathing and sweating heavily and I was on the brink of asking him if he was OK when he launched into a tirade of impolite questions. Virtually squealing, he voiced ‘And where do you think you were going?!!’ He repeated this twice, craning in towards me, his arms conducting an imaginary orchestra. I wondered what had got his goat that fine morning. ‘Don’t you know that road’s closed!!!’ he screamed, the tendons standing out on his neck. ‘Well…’ I attempted a reply ‘you allowed the car in front of me to pass without saying anything so I just did the same. Why was he allowed through?’ marvelling at my audacity in the presence of what was clearly a man on the edge, I waited for a reply. ‘He lives just down the road!’ he yelled ‘Oh, so that makes it alright then’ I thought but didn’t say. A sudden pang of homesickness welled up and I wished I could have been pulled over by a calm, professional and, more importantly, controlled policeman. He would have tapped politely on the window and then proceeded to ask perhaps a little hesitantly ‘Er, excuse me madam, but you do know that road is closed…?’ A jovial dialogue would have ensued with all parties remaining courteous and content at the outcome but no, I was stuck with this Italian histrionic, pompous carabinieri. . I longed to activate the ‘window up’ button thus trapping his head whilst gently exerting pressure on the accelerator but these things I know only happen in ones wildest fantasies. In this case, I think I was lucky because once he realised I was a foreigner, he made concessions and only flapped the one arm instead. Ultimately he waved me on my way down another road whilst prattling on about the importance of observing road signals and respecting the customs of other countries. Stiff upper lip? Knock it but I’d have that any day.