Ok, I’ve been home a day, I’ve seen the lightening (holy shit, did I see lightening), I’ve mown the lawn, I’ve played with Lila, so can I go back to Moscow now? Is it time? Is it still called ‘defecting’ even if its just for a holiday? I missed Russia (other than those events above) terribly until Mel got in the bath last night. And then I surfed the tv channels. Watched the new video by Jess Glynn, which is great, and then saw, ‘England vs Barbarians’ on Sky Sports something. There used to be 4 Sky Sports channels, now there’s 246. Most of them showing the same 4 things but doubtless makes Sky feel better about themselves. So I flicked and it was just starting so would be the perfect accompaniment to the sunday papers.

Which didn’t get read. Even opened. The Baa-baas scored their first (of what ended up as 9!!) tries 2 minutes after the start. But it wasn’t really that in itself that was so captivating, it was the style in which they played. You kind of expect that from the Barbarians who started in 1890 (ya gotta love rugby) as a representative team from all clubs/nations whose brief is to dazzle if not always necessarily to win. That in itself makes it unique in world sport. Its not about the winning, its about the style, the attitude. Liberated by the shirt. If you think it pointless to ever play competitive sport without desperation to win, then you’re probably American. Here we do it all the time… ish. And on a philosophical level I appreciate that. Not just because it gives an intellectual gravitas to a man who would otherwise be just another football hooligan, but because that’s the tennis I play. Ridiculously flamboyant, outrageous shot-selection, go for absolutely any and everything on or off the court, but no points offered nor accepted. You end up being competitive against yourself, striving to do it better. How fucking noble is that??

And as soon as the newspaper arrives the first thing I look for is the status of the next wedding. Between Kim Jong Un and Donald Trump. Its on… its off… its on… it maybe off… China’s to blame… we love each other like no other clown-like national presidents have ever loved each other’s hair styles… you’re a little rocket man/you’re a fat orange dipshit… let’s call the whole thing off. Then on again.

Repeat until one or other, or preferably both simply explode.

A new Israeli felafel bar just opened up in Temple Fortune, opposite the police station (if you need to ask directions) and is fantastic. Anywhere that actually writes on the menu: “if you like spicy then just tell us” is exactly where I want to be at mealtime. But who invented felafel? And who invented hummus?? About 97 nations all claim both, because chick peas probably grow in all of them, but they must have started life somewhere. I’m guessing probably not in Temple Fortune.

Happy bank holiday Monday

A xxxx