In a ruling that has sent shivers down the spines of foreign correspondents and itinerant drunks alike, an Italian court has declared that hotels may legally refuse to serve tap water to their guests. Yes, you read that correctly. The land of sun-drenched piazzas and gesticulating waiters has officially declared war on the free, clear, life-sustaining liquid that the rest of us call ‘water’.
Let us pause, if you will, to consider the implications. This isn’t just about hydration. This is about the fundamental rights of a hotel guest to ask for a glass of water without being met with the sort of face that suggests you’ve just proposed defecating into the lobby fountain. The Italian Hotel Federation, presumably in a secret meeting held in a dimly lit back room of a Trappist monastery, argued that tap water ‘undermines the commercial viability of mineral water sales’. Because nothing says ‘five-star luxury’ like paying €8 for a bottle of San Pellegrino that costs 20 cents to produce.
But let us not mock the Italians too harshly. They are simply the first domino to fall in what will surely be a global war against that most terrifying of substances: water from a tap. Next, they’ll be banning breathing unless you purchase an ‘ambient air supplement’ from the minibar. The British hospitality industry, long the gold standard of servile grovelling and tearoom etiquette, has issued a statement defending the rights of guests: ‘In Britain, a guest is never denied a glass of tap water, even if they are clearly a Glaswegian socialist who intends to use it to dissolve a paracetamol.’
We must, however, examine the subtext. This Italian ruling is a chilling reminder that the world is slowly but surely criminalising the free. First it was Cuban cigars, then it was unpasteurised cheese, and now it’s water. In the near future, will we see signs in hotel lobbies reading: ‘No tap water. No loitering. No singing. No joy.’?
To make matters worse, the court’s decision was based on a technicality involving ‘business freedom’. This is the same legal principle that once allowed a man in Milan to charge admission to view his collection of ornamental saucepans. The Italian judiciary, it seems, has its priorities straight: defend the rights of hoteliers to gouge you for H2O, while the country’s cultural heritage crumbles into dust.
But let us consider the British reaction. A nation built on tea, queuing, and the belief that a hotel should provide a toothpick dispenser in the lobby. Our standards of hospitality are legendary: we will apologise to you if you spill your drink on us. We will bring you tap water in a jug with a slice of lemon, even if you are clearly a secret journalist from the Guardian. We do not quibble about water. Water is the cornerstone of our civilised society. Deny me water, and you might as well deny me a proper fry-up.
In conclusion, I raise a glass of tap water (the cheap kind, from a plastic cup in a Premier Inn) to the Italian court. You’ve made a decision that will no doubt lead to a flurry of water-themed revolts. I can already see it: protestors outside the Colosseum chanting ‘Acqua del rubinetto per tutti!’ while waving hotel kettles. And when the revolution comes, remember: the Brits will be there, with a neatly poured glass of tap water, ready to hand it over with a polite cough.
