Don´t indulge in two hours of eating steak and chips, lots of steak and chips, just before getting on a night bus.
But I´ve made it to Buenos Aires. Argentina´s great, even if lots of people want to talk to me about the Falklands (or as an English guy here called them, "the Maldives"). And the rest of the Argentines are probably too busy spraying anything British-looking with nationalist slogans to talk to me.
Today I´ve gatecrashed the Falklands War Memorial, seen the Atlantic for the first time since St John´s, Newfoundland, in June, and got out to my first Latin American football match. The main differences with British football:
- The fans can properly sing
- The teams keep the ball on the floor
- They stay on their feet when they´re tackled
- No-one leaves before the end (but I realised later, when I tried to go, that it´s probably just cos the cops don´t let them leave...)
Absolutely rubbish game though. Brighton play better than that most weekends.
Anyway it´s midnight here, which means it must be time to hit the clubs of Tango City.
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