You know you’re winning in Lecce when you can hand over your washing to the lovely laundry women in your local café, over an Espresso, though you do have to worry about an errant sock, or worse, falling onto Signora’s breakfast pastry.
You pretty soon realise that life is fairly pointless without your morning Cappuccino – throw in a ‘Cornetto’, and you are like an Exocet missile, ready to launch.
You do have to ignore the heightened sense of anxiety, but it’s a small price to pay.
Do not, however, visit your local hairdresser before removing your ego and any self-esteem issues at the door.
Be prepared for a straight talking appraisal of your sorry mop, and your value on this planet in terms of hair appeal.
Maybe take a wig and whip it off before they notice.
You will be primped, preened and polished to perfection then dispatched all prize poodle.
Once you’ve recovered from this humbling experience, perhaps you will need to cross one of the six lane roads here.
May the force be with you.
I recall one occasion, whilst waiting for the traffic to stop – a concept that doesn’t exist in Italy – an old man approached with tutting despair before stating emphatically: “Signora, you must stop the traffic.
“It won’t stop for you. C’mon!”
Well, I was whisked across that road no-nonsense by my stick wielding hero, who I’m now thinking of hiring on a daily basis.