TAKE THAT! symbol of tyranny

Italy has not been kind to me, filled with hangovers, people who pinched my car keys and the wasted day or two to get everything back on track. So when the opportunity presented it’s self to vent my frustrations at a symbol of Italian rule, I Took it!
Ivrea, Turin province, Italy. The festival of the oranges is centred around one thing, the orange battles. In the closest thing to hate week i have yet discovered, people pack the tiny squares of Ivrea ready for a fight. Decked out in ‘team’ colours which include the ravens, daemons, jokers, and my favourite the Brigade of the Orange Death (skull and crossbones for a symbol). As so you wait with throngs of orange holding masses an uneasy tension and a ruckus nature surround all.Suddenly a Cry starts up as the hated symbols of power and authority ride in to the square, decked in armour with helmets, riding in a chariot drawn by warhorses. The despotic carts throw oranges at the people, but the people fight back! Soon the cart is surrounded by a hundred unarmoured but fiercely fighting citizens. Oranges are flying from everywhere and smacking against stones, heads, and bodies in an avalanche of orange. A few blood oranges hit with violent effect sending sprays of red to match the orange madness. Eventually the hated symbols of power flea the square to jubilant shoats from the crowds of fee men. There are about 20 carts that make this long procession though the 10 or so squares. An orange is not quite the weapon of death you may be thinking of, in theory it is a round weighty projectile that is easy to throw accurately. In practice at range it quickly loses its potency and with more power, say point blank, it breaks sending streams of orange juice flying. A hit in the jacket is little more than uncomfortable, and a hit in the face is like a girls punch, by no means pleasant but not going to do any serious harm. Of course you can cry Swiss, neutrality, and wear a red cap meaning you won’t be targeted and you can’t trow oranges. You can also cower behind nets, or sissy string, stung from the buildings allowing you to get close in (take some nice photos), or just rest up between battles, without fear of oranges. By the end of the day the streets are thick with oranges and you are more likely to do yourself harm by slipping on the soft mess than by stray orange fire, the men and women of the fight are exhausted from battle and retire for some communal drinking.