Dante’s Beach, Ravenna

I was at the wheel of our Land Rover Defender on Wednesday with my middle daughter Magdalena (18) en route to her weekly driving lesson, and I asked her: ‘How English do you feel?’

Carla, her mother, is Italian and Italy had just failed to qualify for the world cup this summer for the third time in a row, knocked out by – it pains Carla even to utter the wretched word – Bosnia.

Such national sporting catastrophes always make me wonder about nations and what part in defining your nationality the blood in your veins plays, and what part your presence in a place plays

Such national sporting catastrophes always make me wonder about nations and what part in defining your nationality the blood in your veins plays, and what part your presence in a place plays

Italy has won the world cup four times – the same number as Germany – and that’s more than any other country except Brazil. Two of those times, it must be said, were in the 1930s when the fascist dictator, Benito Mussolini, was in charge but Giorgia Meloni is no Duce, regardless of what the global media tell you.

The last time Italy managed to play in the finals of the world cup was 2014.

‘Am I beautiful?’ said Magdalena by way of a reply. She had been doing her make-up with the help of a small hand-held mirror. I took my eyes off the road and glanced at her honey blond hair and jade green eyes and neatly applied lipstick whose colour was, I later found out, ‘mattone’ (brick).

‘Bellissima!’ I said astonished as ever that I had helped create such a creature.

‘Well everyone says I look English at school,’ she added.

Italy’s daily newspaper that is dedicated entirely to sport – La Gazzetta dello Sport – described the situation of this proud nation after the........

© The Spectator