They're just so ugly, aren't they? Italy, the home of ugly men.
Now, you know that Fanny sometimes doesn't keep her appointments at the Funny Farm.
So you also know I'm joking don't you? Yes, like Worzel Gummidge, I've got my Joking Head on this morning as my world slowly materialises around me through a thick gin-haze from last night's overindulgence (Juan and I drank the gin cabinet dry).
Aren't they gorgeous, I mean really? I love Italian men. Look at the above examples of Italian manhood, modern day examples hand-sculpted by Michelangelo.
And I have a fetish about football changing rooms. They're full of that frisson of sexual tension: the pungent waft of musky testosterone, sweat-soaked white cotton underwear, carbolic soap and muscle-rub creams.