Hands of God

Yellowtail, my lucky place to eat.

The best way to recover from a 6.30am wake up call after 3 hours sleep to watch football is to head to the Bellagio spa and get all the stresses and strains massaged out of you. Following the football theme my masseuse Maria was a ringer for Diego Maradona but she had 2 hands of God and I’m glowing more than a Dale Winton fake tan.

Its interesting to be in the States whilst the World Cup is on. The Americans can’t make it out, the refereeing that is. They scratch their heads then mock. It actually might be a good thing, they are defo way more into football than on previous visits and if they get more involved globally they won’t stand for letting some gimp in a yellow shirt make 'history changing' decisions on a guess. Hopefully if Fifa refuse to budge the bigger countries will act as the English teams did with the FA and just set up a new organisation with improvements.

There have been some standard tales of inglorious excesses coupled with complete disasters reaching my ears on a daily basis and one has to be careful, as I spoke off earlier, one of Vegas charms is her goofy ways and multiple moods but fuck with her and she bite’s hard, harder than some people can ever recover from. It’s fair to say I picked up a few love bites from her in years gone by but I treat her and myself with a lot more respect these days and things have worked out for us; we are back very much in love.

Having said all that I had to manoeuvre myself around a potential accident spot the other evening. I was invited to a party at a private Villa. The Villa was a mind blower and the freeze booze was going down a storm. There were was a great atmosphere I’m a pretty good reader of people; collectively the temperature in the room was at ‘we are going to let our hair down tonight’. I’ve been in these situations before and their great fun but you need 5 days off afterwards curled up in your blacked out hotel room eating waist increasing comfort food and watching mind numbing rom coms at $20 a pop. As the charge to the night club began (to get really warmed up), I went to play poker, the most beautiful feature of Vegas for me.

Now I think about it the only thing I didn’t like about the Spa was the fact that in the steam room the men all sit naked, just openly letting it hang out, (why? use a towel). I’d already viewed enough pricks representing England, and I didn’t need to look at any more and i started to thaw as the first wave of blinding steam hit my face.