Holidaying in Italy is like wearing a mini skirt without knickers: the rules of the Australian nanny-state are cast aside as I sit down to a cake, coffee and cigarette. For breakfast. Because I can. There is nothing like being amidst the animated conversation, the passion, the men in tailored suits – and I’m not even talking about politics yet, that’s just the locals at this bar going about their business as I sit in a booth with this article percolating in my brain.