Giallo

The approaches to Centrale stretch back for block after block, so much so they've had to carve a tunnel underneath them so one side of the city centre isn't cut off from the other. I left the station through one of its side exits, past the armoured vehicle with its idling soldiers that was intended to reassure us, and past the extremely tightly packed trousers of a couple of members of the Polizia. I'm not sure why the Italian defence forces feel the need to wear pants that are clearly a size too small so that their buttocks are prominently displayed, but I thank them for it.Back here, behind the stations, there were masses of hotels of all classes, and the streets were filled with wheely trolleys and befuddled looking tourists. I'd been in Milan long enough now and pounded enough of its streets to feel almost native, and I whizzed around them with barely concealed contempt. Outside Sondrio station a gaggle of them had assembled and were arguing furiously in, I think, German, stabbing…