To what appears to be general indifference, the press room in Rome city hall has just been dedicated to Oriana Fallaci, the Italian journalist who died three years ago in Florence after having spent many years in the States. Those of you who’ve never glanced inside any of the last few books Fallaci wrote, in Italian and an execrable English, will have no idea of the level of irrational venom to which her anti-Islamic polemic sank. Together, they redefine the notion of racist vomit with an energy that would impress the KKK were its members capable of extended reading. They’re a sort of cross between Ann Coulter at her worst and the most virulently xenophobic taxi-driver you’ve ever had the misfortune to be picked up by. Fallaci’s no doubt sincere hatred, and self-aggrandising hate-mongering, were fuelled by the way Muslims smell (that’s right – bad) to the fact that they ‘breed like rats’. Heady stuff, and much of it went down a bomb – if that isn’t too inflammatory a metaphor – in the new Italy, characterised by Umberto ‘Bingo Bongo’ Bossi, but to name a room after her in the city hall of Italy’s capital is an odd choice and I’m surprised no one seems to mind. After all, the (ex-fascist) mayor’s recent rubber stamping of the appointment of someone who served time for an act of right-wing political violence some decades ago has stirred up enough controversy, although it’s blindingly obvious that, of the two, Fallaci is by far the more dangerous figure. The fact that she was a writer and journalist of some note, and even value, before losing her marbles a là Bardot is no excuse.