I was reminded of Fellini’s Amarcord a devastating send up of pre-war fascist Italy in which the boy tries to cadge a cigarette from the voluptuous buxom tobacconist, in which holding his head between her massive breasts she chides:
‘Suck, don’t blow you idiot!’ and he stutters:
‘But I can’t breathe!’
She quickly loses interest and sends him home humiliated with a free Internazionale. Could our driver have been the same boy?
Several hours, dozens of peaches and bowl of tagliatelle later we parted company arms around each other despite a language gap as wide as the Mediterranean Sea.