‘Arrangiarsi or the ability to ‘arrange oneself’ is all about overcoming obstacles. Italians love to jump fences, and they do it with an agile grace that people from Anglo-cultures can almost never pull off’.
Writing about arrangiarsi is a bit like chasing a cricket. The little bug’s been leaping all over this page with the energy of a caged pixie who knows that it’s spring outside. If I don’t hurry, it will hop off my computer screen, climb up to the windowsill and shimmy down the drainpipe. There are far too many people to outsmart in this world than to waste so much time with the likes of me.
This impish little word has been locked in my brain for over two weeks now, and the Prime Minister is entirely to blame. The morning after Mr. Prodi resigned looked like the start of a very ordinary day. I missed the bus as usual, had a cappuccino at il solito bar and worked a few hours in alternative bouts of banter and silence. Italy had been left leaderless, but no one had a thing to say about it.
By mid-day I could no longer stand it. Dragging my chair closer to Giovanni’s desk, I asked my colleague about the sudden government upheaval and the eerie calm with which it had been received.