Somewhere just south of Rome, a line threads its way from the Mediterranean coast, across the Apennine Mountains and down to the Adriatic. It’s not marked on any map and is invisible to the eye, just as the border across eastern Australia that separates Rugby League territory from the land of Aussie Rules won’t show up on your GPS. There are no roadside markers, no street signs warning you of the cultural change you’re about to experience. Yet the difference between the two sides is noticeable. You can walk down the street on one side of the dividing thread and feel it: the sounds, the atmosphere is unlike anything you’d experience on the other side.

Italians north of the divide blaspheme; those to its south don’t. That’s not to say that there aren’t clusters or enclaves on each side of the border: you’ll always find kids playing AFL in Sydney or Rugby League in Melbourne. There was once an Australian politician born in Calabria, the toe of the Italian peninsula, whose verbal assaults on the Virgin Mary became so notorious that he became known in the Italian community as ‘the member for #*$% Madonna’. Yet these are the exceptions. Somehow, when you leave the central region of Lazio behind you and head south, those taking the Lord’s name in vain are fewer and, when it happens, it’s a less resentful affair. This geography of blasphemy remains a mystery to me and I’m guessing there aren’t many refereed articles out there that could help me make sense of it. Yet the Italian-speaking traveller will sense the border’s existence immediately, leading to an irrefutable conclusion: blasphemy is a tradition of northern and central Italy.