La Tosca Gelateria, the scoop.

Here in Lucca, much I expect like almost every other city in the tourist world, there is a bloke in white facepaint, wearing braces and a top hat, wandering around mime-ing, hugging passers by and presumably asking for hand-outs.

He is an okay kind of bloke, quiet (mostly) and unassuming. After all, he is a street entertainer - particularly for small children.

This morning, big however, he wanders up and starts complaining about something. I don't know what the problem was, or who the problem was, but he obviously is uncouthly unhappy. Then he begins directing his unpleasant demeanour at a guy walking toward us.

Maybe he had tried to get a hug out of this twenty-something-ipod-wearing-black guy (a chapter on "Know your target audience" torn from his library copy of "Street Entertaining for Dummies" perhaps...) and maybe black guy did not want smudges of white facepaint on his cheeks. For whatever reason, and whoever's fault - a full street row breaks out.

Lots of 'bring it on dude' and 'hey, don't touch me man!' later, the phrase " *&*! off back to your own country!" leaves the white painted lips of Marcel not-Marceau.

There are two possible outcomes to this chain of events, both situationally particular to Via San Paolino:

A: Every shopkeeper in the street joins in and kicks white-painted arse. You see, starting from the restaurant at the corner - and in order - the shops are managed by the safe hands of Pakistan, England, Canada, China, Romania, China again, Poland, and Canada again. There are two Italians in there aswell but they drown in the sea of multi-lingualism that is everyone else.

The phrase "go back to your own country!", if observed, will effectively cripple the city's income. I hear this week that one job in every 14 in the UK is occupied by an immigrant...I do not know the statistic for Lucca or Italy but based on Via San Paolino I suspect the figure is higher.

B: The two in discord beat the living crap out of each other.

However this is Italy. And what actually happened was

C: Nothing.

I know of no other country where C was going to be the outcome. Italians, or indeed Italian residents, seem (mostly anyway...no names mentioned) to not want to scuff their patent leather or ruffle their hair, or stretch their stretch jeans. But imagine for a second the reaction if you, in your town, stroll up to any passer-by and use the same phrase. Indeed.

So, this is Italy. Where everyone has a complaint, everyone has a moan, and all they do is wave at each other, make bizarre gestures and shout. It is infuriating, but it is at least not life threatening to be a bit belligerent.