Italian Politics.

Last night I was almost literally dragged, kicking and screaming, to a political dinner by my other half. I wasn't so much kicking and screaming but I was moaning and throwing really mean looks at him - I have no interest in English politics, so why on earth should I take an interest in Italian politics? Apart from the obvious theatre of the whole thing, of course - every week gives up a new reason to throw your hands in the air and say, 'SHEESH', but rarely for reasons of politics. Berlusconi is like a one-man vaudeville show. I saw his latest regional candidate in the papers this week who was actually his recent dental nurse following the miniature-Cathedral throwing shenanigans. She was also aged 32 and dressed in a mini-skirt short enough to ensure that the electorate was left in no doubt as to her credentials.

So last nights' do was a fund/ awareness raiser for the centre-right candidate for regional presidency following the, er, stepping down of the last president. This was occasioned by the fact that he was caught in a private apartment taking cocaine with transvestite prostitutes. I mean, SERIOUSLY?!! Fiddling the bird-feeder on the old expenses is just so uninspired compared to this stuff. These boys really know what they are doing. And of course it generally appears to be the boys getting up to this kind of nonsense. With the exception of Mrs Robinson in Northern Ireland apparently feeling it was her destiny to take a much younger lover, there is a real gender inequality in the ability to create sexual scandals. As far as I am aware, there were no whispers of Margaret Thatcher in a gimp mask with rent boys, or Mo Mowlam partying with teenagers, and yet there seems to be an epidemic of men with an inability to keep it in their pants. That's another story for another day however.

So we are on our way to the dinner at a local restaurant and there is some discussion as to why the venue has changed. Apparently, either because the strength of interest in the candidate is so strong or because the dinner is free, there has a been such demand that there are actually two dinners in two different restaurants. We arrive at the restaurant to find it is already two thirds full and to find that E and myself are the youngest there by about twenty years. It appears the younger political activists are actually able to pay for their own dinner. Not to worry, we seat ourselves with E's father and step-mother and a friend of theirs and wait and wait for the candidate to arrive and launch into his spiel. I actually am waiting for the wine which finally arrives and doodling on a picture of the candidate. He really does look quite cute with bunches and no doubt at some point in the future, if he gets elected, there will be photos to prove it.

Meanwhile, the Olds are chatting. It is really something to finally be able to understand the conversations that are going on around me, albeit sketchily at times, but I generally get the gist of most that is said. And I still find it surprising how the men compete in terms of how fit they are well past the age that most English men have given up. I was party to a conversation between two male retirees that sounded more like a pair of schoolgirls - A: 'Well of course, usually in the evening, I eat very little, very little indeed.' B: 'Oh, me too, I only ever have a light dinner'. A: 'Maybe a salad'. B: 'I had just raw fennel for dinner last night!' Hilarious. An English male conversation would probably have been more focused on how many pints were managed and as for that pie...

So the main conversations usually, as always, centred around food, preparation and eating of and the other favourite of old people the world over, who is still alive and who is dead and who is somewhere in between. Spiced up with the occasional gossip as to who is doing what with whom - although the latter conversations now tended towards who's daughter is doing what with who's son.

Finally our candidate arrives and in he bounces surrounded by his team - chaps who fashionably need a shave carrying multimedia equipment. Whatever scale it is on, politics is a funny thing to be involved in. It is basically a constant needy cry of, 'vote for ME! I'm great, I can make you happy, vote for MEEEEE!'. I am assured that this chap is already rich and therefore cannot be in it for the money (has anyone heard of the Billionaire Berlusconi?) so maybe he really is in it because he can see how behind we are here and someone finally needs to solve the transport problem (Public: Woefully inadequate. Private: It doesn't move but when it does get where it wants to go, it parks wherever it damn well pleases) and the infrastructure etc. I just found it odd and interesting to watch him go about his spiel as an outsider with no stake in what he has to say. He was an actor on a stage looking for approbation and I sincerely hope that there is more than his ego involved here as we do seriously need a serious politician who can pull off the modernisation of the region that it desperately needs instead of getting in and handing out jobs for the boys while looking to Caligula for tips on Politician Deportment. We can live in hope but the candidate leaping about calling a roomful of old people 'youngsters' and shoving fistfuls of cards with his face on them, begging us to vote for him? I won't be holding my breath.