The universe is out of whack. We know it.

And it is all out of our control. Earthquakes quake. Weather squalls. Clouds cumulate. What can anyone do to combat this? Human fallibility on the other hand creates a whole new set of wrong-angle situations - trains derail, airplanes get lost over Malaysia, fanatics get elected to positions of power, armies roll in, and someone wears a red shirt with yellow striped pants.

True story. I have seen that guy.

There are two rules about squeezing blood from a stone. First: it does not work. Second: apply enough pressure and the stone will eventually crumble. Work gloves are recommended.

With the spate of price increases here and there of excises and specific taxes which was landed on our collective heads in Serbia this week - cigarettes, bus tickets, fuel, heating costs, and VAT which affects almost everything else - the government is showing us that they are fresh out of fresh ideas.

When something happens to change the world, we do not really know about it until the world changes.

Ten years ago, on 9/11, I was in Paris. I was sorting out lots of sportswear overstock and trying to place it enticingly in front of my client's eyes. My client's eyes, however, were glued to the television. I was annoyed. I had just arrived from Rome (he from Belgrade) the night before, we had one day to make this deal, and he was watching TV. I grumbled.

"Something happened in New York," he said.

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...

Blueberry pie. Blueberry juice. Blueberry jam. Blueberry tarts. Blueberry preserves. Fresh blueberries. Frozen blueberries. Wild blueberries. Dried blueberries. Blueberry yoghurt. Blueberry barbeque sauce. 

There are times when we accumulate so much information a subject that it must needs burst forth and splat onto the page like squashed blueberry. The following is not a public service announcement or message. It is just overspill.

 

HERCEG NOVI, MONTENEGRO – There are as many Perfect Holiday Scenarios as there are people who might conceive of them. For me, observing the Alien Landings on the beaches of Montenegro is always one of the most anthropologically satisfying ways to pass the time.

You are out. You are away from the office and the daily hub-bub of whatever bub you happen to hub for a living. A few hours ago, you were disgorged from a bus or a plane onto this foreign shore. The sunlight blinds your troglodytic eyes, causing you to throw up one tote-bag-toting arm in futile self-defense. Your arms and legs gleaming white-grey the from hours of exposure to fluorescent light, sensitive translucent skin calling out to some long dormant genetic code linking you to a nocturnal amphibious haddock yearning to be free.  

But that was Saturday.

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.

Wait until after the elections, they all said.

The implication of this cryptic phrase is that after the elections in Serbia, people will be able to make decisions and everything will get back to business as usual. So we sat through the "campaign" and through election day and night, and patiently awaited the great Results which would shape the future.

It is my last cigarette. It smokes now beside me. It is the last one. Ever.

Ever, however, is way too long. There are not any evers in life. Ever belongs to the church, to mythology, to fairy tales. Our world, the real and tangible and smokable world, is about increments of time. Time since my last cigarette. Time before my last cigarette. Time it takes to smoke a cigarette. Time I need to suck on my electronic cigarette to make up for the time it took to smoke my last cigarette.

The following is a loose translation, based more on intent and intuition than actual lingustic accuracy, of Economic Adviser to the Government of Serbia Dominque Strauss-Kahn for the media at a governement press conference. 

While committed to helping develop the economic capacities of Serbia, the Adviser leaves most of these key messages as implied, focusing instead on his main areas of expertise and topics of specific interest to him in his new role.