Casting minor ethical dilemmas such as being an atheist amongst diehard Christian fanatics, what better time to embrace the mentality of pious Roman Catholics than on Easter Friday in a small Italian mountain town? (Yes, given that it was Easter, this story clearly happened some time ago – but no doubt they’ve still got snaps of our mugs on the police station wall).

It was evening when Kylz and I lined the streets of L’Aquila with every other man, woman, child, dog and homeless person in anticipation for the annual Easter parade, a solemn procession at which Jesus Christ himself was said to be making an appearance (or so the posters all around the town proclaimed). From what we could gather, the townspeople were actually intending to recreate the events of the crucifixion.

Well – this was simply too much. We couldn’t help ourselves. We kept giggling and poking and saying entirely inappropriate and disrespectful things like ‘Run, Jesus, run! No, don’t go in that door!’ and ‘Shh, don’t tell me what happens - I haven’t seen this one yet!’ This was much to the consternation of the solemn and mournful crowd, who continually shushed us and muttered grumpily about ‘rude Americans’ (and for the sake of preserving Australia’s dignity, we were happy to let this slide).

I can’t say I’d be happy to let my own kids witness in such graphic detail the morbid death of Christ, but, as dear Kylie so eloquently put it, ‘Home is where you hang your crucifix,’ and in L’Aquila, it would appear, that’s everywhere.