Get Your Money Out

A short while ago Mr HG went to America. "I'm going to Washington next week." "Why is that?" "Bank stuff." Impressed, started checking suits....

He came back looking triumphant. 'Done it." Sacked Wolfowitz? Replaced Wolfowitz? No, the Bank of America had refused point blank to hand over our dollars unless he turned up in person; no phone calls, emails, faxes, written instructions, nothing would make them let our dollars go.

Italians know about authoritarian regimes and petty bureaucrats; they're equipped from birth with carefully preserved out-of-date passports, decades-old bank statements, timed-out credit cards, every number ever issued to them; gun licences from 1910, they know their mother's brother's affines' second ascendant generation's grandmother's maiden name quick as a flash. And they know to dole these treasures out one by one to all and any officials trying not to let them have something that is theirs.

At every cleared hurdle the level of official rose until, after an hour of silly behaviour, the dollars were handed over, begrudged but undeniable.

Then he went to New York and enjoyed them.

"Move the Pounds!" "Now?" "Yes, quick before it starts in England too". It's started.