On March 27, at 20:30, I am sure I was watching television when I could have been sitting in the dark, saving the planet.

It was Earth Hour (I learned today, a few days ex post facto). During this hour, we were meant to turn off all our electric conveniences including the lights, television, and phone chargers (I am not sure if we could use phones or not... I did not read the rules yet). And somehow someone was supposed to count all the kilowatt hours we saved during this hour.

We are not bears.

Unlike bears, we do not sleep through the winter months. Unless watching parliament on RTS counts. But now, as the weather begins to warm, we awaken like the bears from a state of hibernation. We take to the streets. We wear brighter colors, fewer layers, we check each other out. Eyes open.

LONDON - Asked to say a few words for a documentary on the sharp increases in student fees in British universities, I find that, in retrospect, I gave the opposite opinion to that my actual thoughts. And I spoke too fast.

As if this were not enough proof that PR and positioning preparation were not of vital importance, I also proved to myself the old adage that the doctor is always his own worst patient. In my case, the spin-doctor.

 

Having now invested a significant amount of cash into the Delta Money Pit (this is the technical term for the garage where my perfectly operating car has been transformed into a terminal patient), I am now investing my time.  

Yesterday, as a kind of joke, I was informed that my car was "ready" to pick up. Two weeks ago I had stupidly brought it here to have a check-up – oil, filters, and yada, yada, yada. I should have immediately seen the sodomy in their eyes when they said I had to leave the car for two days even to get an estimate.  

There was a time (he said, adopting an avuncular, if not grandfatherly, tone) when travelling by airplane was something of a prestigious or luxurious experience. The little tiny soaps in the bathroom were novelties. The bathrooms, while we are the subject, were kept clean. The stewardesses were lovely and smiling and charming. And the whole experience was rather pleasant...

The fat lady has now sung.

Far from being a reference to Portugal (whose song I thought was lovely by the way), the moment of reflection is now descending on Belgrade. Eurovision has come, exploded, and drifted off in the direction of Moscow. And the question which I am left with is what does it all mean?

The hype of this watershed event for Serbia and Belgrade has already been subsumed in the day-to-day guesswork about the next government. The organization of Eurovision in Belgrade seems to have been superb. The flooding of the White City streets with thousands of visitors caused no problems around town, the atmosphere was lively, and no ugly incidents (usually to be expected with so many bodies in one space) were splashed across the headlines.

In case he would like to use one of them, the City of Belgrade deployed its 4,500 uniformed policemen to close down the streets for Joe Biden.

I think, as a courtesy, this may have been somewhat over the top, but I am not a diplomat, I suppose.

Contrary to what you are already setting your surmisers to surmise, this is NOT going to be a litany of complaints about the fact that our already traffic-impaired City on the Danube has literally been closed down today, forcing people to either a) take extraordinary measures to come to work or b) stay home in their pyjamas and watch Oprah. In fact, it is quite the opposite.

September is now upon us.

We are getting back to work after a long and protracted holiday (even if we did not take one, everyone else seems to have done so). Streets are busier. Shops are crowding up slowly again. Supermarkets may even begin to stock the shelves once more. The fall season - in a way very different from the burgeoning of spring - is all about new beginnings. Schemes