In the city of saltimbocca, pecorino and amatriciana, a fight over biscuits is the last thing you would expect to come across.
Oi! Where do you think you’re going? Look at this. You’ve turned them into bleeding breadcrumbs!
But with nary a cappuccino or bruschetta in sight at 7am in the press section of St Peter’s Square, the battle for a bite centred on a crushed, travel-worn packet of digestives.
“What the hell are you doing? That’s my breakfast you’re stepping on!”
The dainty reporter in purple heels and Prada sunglasses looked down to her feet, where a mangled brown paper bag was looking the worse for wear.
“Ah!” She stepped off the bag, looked at the ravenous reporter in front of her, and blinked. “Ah!”
The subdued reaction was one step too far for the loose cannon disguised as a British photographer. Arms flailing, he swung around and inadvertently clubbed a French journalist in the head with his expensive SLR.
With the argument now one between Albion and her historic rival, the journalist-turned-breakfast crusher looked to make her exit. But the Brit was having none of it.
“Oi! Where do you think you’re going? Look at this,” he said as he pulled a packet of McVities’ finest from the paper bag. “You’ve turned them into bleeding breadcrumbs!”
“No English. Korea.”
The Brit, somehow flummoxed by the notion of a Korean not speaking English, found himself lost for words. “Ah.”
As the perplexed silence stretched into multiple seconds, curious press members turned away and got back to jostling one another for position, each trying to get to their papal viewpoint of choice.
But not so the Korean, who dipped into her handbag, emerged with a sealed bag covered in bright Korean lettering, and held it out towards the Brit.
“What’s this? Korean food?” He took the bag and inspected it. The peace offering softened his voice, but his face was as stern as ever.
“Good. Yes. Yes, Korea,” she said, smiling and backing off at the same time. The gallery was quickly filling up, and journalists were brushing past with increasing regularity.
“Wait. Thank you. But you get rid of these, they’re useless now. I’m not going to carry them around all day.”
She reached out and took the biscuits in his hand, slightly bowing before making away.
Cameras swung back up and laptops flashed to life as people got back to work. The Times correspondent turned to an Irish cameraman. “He made a meal out of that, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” came the reply, “but it looks like she did too.” He pointed to the end of the press gallery, where the Korean reporter sat on a step, gingerly tasting a crumbling digestive.