Three tigers on my 35th birthday

Three tigers, before the other three show up and spoil the party

I was recently at a dinner party in Italy. At one point, taking advantage of my middling to remedial knowledge of Italy and Italian language, my wife explained to me that in the situation being described - I think it was a difficult parking manoeuvre - Italians would use the phrase tre tigri contro tre tigri (tray tee-gree con-troh tray tee-gree). This translates to 'three tigers against three tigers'.

It struck me as beautiful; an oddly compelling way to describe parking. Such a poetic expression of  something mundane. This philosophical poetry seems to flow so naturally from the Italians.

It turns out she was having me on, (or taking me on tour as they say in Italian).

I sure do love me some Olympics!

This stadium is beautiful

Sheesh! These Olympics, amirite?

Alright, sure they have a few problems, weather-wise, security-wise, transport-wise, planning-wise, and image-wise. But the fact is, they're happening. Come rain or more rain, there's no turning back. No matter how us general public feel about them.

And despite the perfect storm of greed, incompetence, inclement weather and impunity swirling just below the surface, believe it or not, there are actually some good reasons to get excited about them.

These Olympics are an outrage!

More and more people are turning their backs on the Olympics

The Olympics are days away, and I for one, feel queasy. Despite Government suggesting that Olympic security shambles are totally normal, I find the egregious security mess GS4 hath wrought ("Whoops! Sorry."), plus the 32-mile traffic jam that greeted the first arriving athletes to be a little disappointing. And surely the government can't be that excited to greet the world wearing egg all over their faces.

And more unpleasant surprises are sure to be discovered. Though schadenfreude has yet to become an Olympic sport, there's still plenty to revel in in the run-up to these games.

Federer's a dick (as is any good antagonist)

Yesterday I watched my first Wimbledon final, and I can say conclusively, after watching that whole episode of heart-wrenching, rain-soaked, pulse-pounding, blood-letting, gladiatorial battle - heavy on the Middleton sister reaction shots, and not light on drama and emotion - that Roger Federer is a total dick.

Mixed emotions upon holiday return

The sun sets, in at least two ways

Just got back from weeks in Italy. Most of which was spent sunbathing in Sperlonga. And by 'sunbathing' I mean 'hiding in the shade, wearing SPF 50 and sweating'.

Sure, I would occasionally scoot out from my hiding spot to take a dip in the sea, but for the most part it was way too hot for me to be able to enjoy the weather - even Italians complained about the heat, and that is a rare thing indeed. But for me, my Welsh skin, Canadian roots and habituation to London weather ensured that even after two weeks, I was still the whitest person on the beach (although I did have the most freckles - so at least that's something).