Fred Thompson’s message to the world: your dead don’t count

Many years ago now, I had occasion to change trains at Pisa en route to Perugia and it was there, I think, that I first became aware of the Ugly American phenomenon. The station was pretty quiet as I recall, or rather it would have been had the air not been filled with the screeching complaints of a well-upholstered middle-aged American lady, dressed in the standard issue kit for European expeditions: too tight t-shirt, loose shorts, white socks and sneakers, complaining loudly about the station masters’ reluctance or inability to confirm that the reservation she held for her party was valid or not.

So far so normal. This was Italy. The trains run on time because the timetables are generous and so on. Nonetheless, this was, I believe, the first time I ever heard the phrase “Saved your sorry asses”. In her furious exasperation at the Italian’s inability to speak English – a shocking offence to be added to what was evidently a litany of grievances that demonstrated Europe’s hideous difference and inferiority to the United States – it became apparent that Italians were insufficiently grateful to the United States for, yes, “saving” their “sorry asses” half a century ago.