Italy. What a strange place, so full of Italians and mopeds and people driving like they want to die as soon as possible.

I was there once, this was in 1978 or so. I was in Rome just sketching about, like you do. Taking in the architecture, soaking up the history, eating lots of pasta and pizza and drinking bottle after bottle of delicious red wine.

So anyway I was sitting in the Piazza Navona enjoying a calice di vino when all of a sudden a police van screeched into the square and pulled up alongside me. Out jumped about 8 Paolo Maldini looking blokes with helmets, rifles, grenades and designer sunglasses.

One of them came up to me and shouted something like: "Ay! Vino bianco. Spaghetti carbonara, calzone, Quando arriva il treno da Roma? Mi hanno rubato l'orologio."

Says I, "You what?"

He starts waffling again and then they bundle me into the back of the van. I didn't even have time to settle my bill. They bring me to a police station and leave me sitting in an interrogation room. I sat in there smoking for about half an hour. Then some top cop kind of bloke came in.

"A-tell a me, for what a you visita Roma?" he says.

"For a de fucking sunshine and a fucking wine-a", I reply.

"You-a think a you so smarta" he says. "We a know all abouta you plana. Is a better for you to say truth a now and we don't a hurt you. a."

"What aplana?" I ask.

So he starts waffling on about how I know 'a fine a wella' whata my plan is. I'm a bit baffled at this stage and while I'm enjoying the smoking I'd much rather be out in the Piazza getting drunk and watching the pretty Roman girls go by.

Eventually they get someone from the Irish consulate down to talk to me having checked out my passport and so on. He comes in and tells me they think I'm Carlos the Jackal, the world's deadliest assassin. Something to do with my beard and shifty eyes.

So the cop guy comes back in. Says I "You think I'm Carlos the Jackal? You're off your box man. I'm Seamus the Panther, Ireland's best and most ruthless assassin. I'm here to assassinate the King of Spain."

The cop is confused? "What-a you say? What a box? Not the Jackal but a panther? King of a Spain? You a make a my head hurt!"

The consulate guy then explains everything in Italian and tells them I'm just a normal Irish citizen going about my holiday style business and they agree to let me go if I leave the country at once. I agree but only if they pay for me to go home in first class. Which they did.

I've never been back to Italy but the cop was so convinced I was Carlos the Jackal he moved his entire family over here to keep me under surveillance using a chain of chippers as his cover.

All the staff of Silvio's chip shops around the south side of Dublin are specially trained to listen for any reference to the Jackal and report back to Mr Silvio himself if they hear anything. There's one quite close to me.

No matter how drunk I am when I'm getting my battered sausages and chips I make sure not to make any reference to all the people I've killed.