Missing the red dot
Waiting in line, my post has already started to take shape. Just behind me, Pichi is being mentioned. I make a note to see who’s done that. I have also learnt about their car being in the repair shop, the reference price (for wheat?) and I stopped there realizing my ears dropping is becoming rude just because I was bored of waiting in line. Yeap, partying is no longer what it used to be, but getting ready to get in sure is informative. Those sporting a red dotted invitation were asked to step up to the front, but for me it was more fun to watch queue behaviour. OK, it is just another book case of the sour grapes. Couldn’t help noticing how true aristocrats had no problem with patiently waiting, while les noveaux riches stopped their cars next to people they recognized as close to the entrance as possible, starting a conversation and blending into the line. The rest you have probably already seen on TV. 
I just heard I was one of the “2,500 personalities of the political and cultural life” attending the event. So they said. Since I don’t do politics, should I assume I have something to do with culture? Hm. Zap, zap, zap and I witness live my prophecy. Italy scores 2 goals in less then 30 seconds and makes it to the final. The future World Champions, mark my words. I am rookie at betting, and a total tone-deaf football fan. Oh, wait! I am no football fan at all.
