The challenges of being an England supporter in Italy

My fiery Italian wife Carla is not just a passionate patriot but also a devout Catholic, and so with perfidious Albion looking good and leading gli azzurri one-nil she disappeared to wash her hair and pray to the Madonna. The next day, when the dust had settled, I asked her why. ‘I was suffering so much pain that I felt like swearing and blaspheming at the inglesi,’ she said. That left me — a lone inglese — in front of the TV with our six children (aged five to 17) who feel passionately Italian despite being half English. When Italy scored the dreaded equaliser they exploded with joy and Carla returned briefly to watch the replays, wrapped in a towel and with her long black corkscrew hair still dripping with water. Then off she went again as her prayers had been answered only in part. At home, she prays to a kitsch artist’s impression of the Virgin Mary that used to be attached to the wall above the kitchen sink but is now on the wall next to her side of our bed. In extra time she made another apparition in front of the TV but could not face the penalties; instead she lay on our bed, face tilted up towards the Madonna, deep in prayer. Victory assured for gli azzurri — thanks to her concerted efforts — Carla came back to join in the leaping and shouting and hugging of our children as they danced about the house and out into the garden, setting the dogs off on a frenzy of baying and barking. Meanwhile I remained glued to my seat in front of the TV engulfed by an all too familiar sense of ennui. Normally, when England or Britain do badly at something — all British people are inglesi to the Italians — Carla crows with delight but miraculously — when the triumphal procession found itself back within striking distance of me — she bent down and gave me an affectionate kiss and a hug.