Good thing I didn’t get around to putting my grand Italian-whackin’ scheme into action, because it seems that it was those pesky Irishites all along. Mine was one of 300 accounts affected, and I feel slightly better knowing that some poor bastard lost €16,500 to my measly €700.
I can’t help but try to figure out what shops were involved. I’m reminded of a bit from Dara Ó Briain’s live show, where he talks about how replacing signatures with PINs has made identity theft vastly easier. Is it funny because it’s true?
There’s one upside to this development: it makes my revenge plan easier, as the list of retailers on my last bank statement is considerably shorter than the list of Every Person In Italy. If anyone fancies joining me in my Slap A Face For Justice campaign, do get in touch. (Must supply own costume).
As mentioned elsewhere, I got a call from my bank’s fraud department a couple of weeks ago. It seems that while I was in Italy in February I neglected to take the necessary precautions with my Laser card on one or more occasions. Some some ne’er-do-wells did no well and I’m down forty quid and a debit card.
Right, well, apparently some wires got crossed. Turns out the forty quid they mentioned was the total of my last two transactions, which were in Dublin, which is why their computer flagged the two transactions in Milan on the same day. The two transactions that burned me for seven hundred chudding euro. The hell, like? I was ready to write off €40 as charming roguery, but what arsehole takes €700? I tell you, as soon as that money comes back into my account I’m booking a ticket over and I’m going to personally slap every Italian in the face*.
In the meantime I’m going to mildly freak out about where this month’s rent is coming from, and try to console myself by looking at some Manbabies.
*Yes, I’m reverse-ripping off My Name Is Earl.
Rome is surrounded by mountains. This means that your ears pop on the train in. Which is odd.
Arriving in Rome is a shock after spending time in Venice. The noise from traffic (remember cars?) is loud and constant. Speaking of which: an awful lot of pedestrian crossings don’t have traffic lights at them, because that’s not how Italians roll. You’re expected to just face forward and step out into the stream of cars and mopeds, which will stop only if they can’t see a way to swerve around you. It’s actually a great feeling once you get over the initial misgivings.
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Venice is a strange place. Even though there’s constant blue skies and sunshine, it’s freezing cold this time of year. And there’s no wind, ever. The great majority of streets are narrower than a Dublin alleyway, with the rest not much wider, and when it gets dark it feels like you’re walking around inside an abandoned building.
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