It’s been raining quite a lot for weeks, without a stop. Italians find it hard not to give in to depression in such prolonged depressing weather conditions. The country itself, the ground on which it’s built, seems to be letting itself be brought down, to fall apart a bit at a time, as if lacking hope in its own future.

Whole areas of Northern Italy have been swept away by mud, people have lost houses, and in many cases lives. And the South is drowning in rubbish.

We stand on muddy grounds, drowning, like our economy, our ethics, our government.

Like our Prime Minister, who’s drowning in the mud of repeated sex scandals, past and present corruption charges, and keeps smiling nonetheless.

I don’t know how he manages to keep smiling all the time. Maybe it’s the money, or the underage escorts queuing up to get into one of his parties, or the end-of-life feeling that he has always done exactly what he wanted.

Maybe if we had the same things we’d be just as able to smile our way down too.