Pronto!
Went Inter-railing with the girlfiend in the early nineties. (To the unaware you basically bought a ticket which allowed you unlimited use of Europe's railways for a month.) Great holiday with many a story, but the one relevant to this QOTW is my encounter with the National Italian Phone Service.

The missus wanted to phone home just to let them know we weren't dead or anything, but she was too scared of using the phone, so it fell on me to try to get through. Before you read on, you need to know that the gf's parents live near Bedford. The phone call went something like this:

it: pronto
me: do you speak english?
it: yes
me: I need to make a call to England please
it: ok, which town?
me: Bedford
it: Bed--ford?
me: yes bedford please
it: bed--ffford? (Lots of Italian chat in background)
me: yes bedford please
it: no bedford
me: what do you mean no bedford, its there,
it: no bedford
me: (irate) what do you mean no bedford? I need to call someone please put me through.
**click**

Its hot in Italy in July. This was a particularly hot day during the hot season and I had just had the misfortune of having to use an Italian public toilet, I was bloody hungry from lack of food and I still had my rucksack and half the gf's stuff still on my back, I was not really in the mood for mindgames. Nonetheless I was persuaded to call again:

it: pronto (it's the same guy, what are the chances?)
me: do you speak english?
it: yes
me: I need to make a call to England please
it: ok, which town?
me: Bedford
it: no bedford
me: what do you mean no bedford, please, I need to make an urgent call.
it: no bedford
**click**

By this time I was looking for ways to end it all. Surely this was some elaborate wind up or something? I was persuaded to try one last time:

it: pronto (AGAIN it's the same guy, so I grit my teeth and ask again)
me: do you speak english?
it: No.
**click**

A heated debate with the gf ensued and we walked the final two miles up a steep hill to our campsite (in Bologna I think) in near silence.

On returning to blighty a few weeks later we met up with the gf's parents and my mum and dad turned up as well. On recounting this story my Dad started laughing hysterically. After a few moments he promptly informed us that in Italy (I don't know if they have changed the system since) you had to give the number of the phonebox you were calling from so the operator could call you back and then proceed with your call.
(mersault, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 13:32, 2 replies)

There is a very large Italian expat community
in Bedford.

Our next door neighbours were Italian, and when the missus was pregnant with mini-barking, we would often encounter random Italian grannies from the other side of town asking how the Bambino was coming along. They also arrived en masse when we returned from the hospital to claim baby cuddling rights.

A nicer bunch of people you couldn't wish to meet.

The are many Italians back home who know where it is, and could probably give you directions around the place from when they last visited.

He was just messing with you
(Sir Tainley Barking Ezekiel 23:20, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 19:24, closed)