simple things.

Since being in Italy, I've actually discovered quite a few new interesting things about England. Y'know, about how the entire population lives in London and no other places exist; about how work and life stops at 4pm on the dot, every day, for afternoon tea and, of course, everyone's best friends with the Queen. Oh, stereotypes, how I've grown to love them.

One cliché that is definitely true, however, is the fact that Britons LOVE to queue. I've always sorta laughed at this, and secretly wished we didn't have such a prim reputation. Until yesterday.

Yesterday was the day I went to Turin (to see the Shroud, actually. [/geek]) Yesterday was the day it was already 23°C at 6:45am. Yesterday was the day I became acquainted with the Autogrill at Novara, Piemonte, in aforementioned sweltering temperatures during a toilet break. Yesterday was when I wished the Italians queued British-style. It was awful. The place was packed (I still have no idea why), and upon seeing the queue for the toilet when we went in, my friend and I decided to go and stock up on drinks and snacks for the journey (and also a sneaky caffè to combat the horrifically early start) and then come back to use the toilets on our way out, in the hope that they'd be a bit quieter. No such luck. The queue was just as long as before. And the way into the toilets was incredibly narrow, so as well as the undulating queue of people waiting to go in, there was much pushing and shoving from the people coming out. Eventually, women started to go into the men's toilets, but my friend and I resisted. Finally, through the mass of people, we discovered the disabled toilet. There was one woman in front of me who was blind but, y'know, I can hack a one-woman wait. But then it seemed that everyone else had roused us, too. Half the women's queue came and joined me. Well, I guess it would be more accurate to say that they shoved in front of me. And, no, none of them had crutches. Furthermore, if you're strong enough to push someone out of the way, I don't really think you have much need for a priority toilet. This continued for some time while my friend and I stared at each other, dumbfounded and, in my case, dangerously close to passing out from the heat (I honestly don't think Italians know what air-conditioning is).

My saviour arrived in the form of a toilet attendant. She told the women in the men's queue to come out, and the women in front of me to rejoin the correct queue. And, you know what? They did so. Very quickly, and without (much) complaint. Oh, to have power.

Finally, slightly shaken but still alive, we made it out of the entrance and back to the bus (even though there was a bit of pushing on the steps on the way out) where people were queueing orderly - yes, queueing - to get back on.

Oh, the queue. I'm never underestimating you ever again.