Ever lost your luggage, or more to the point had it lost for you? It’s not that you feel violated , it’s more like you feel…. What’s the word I’m looking for here? Ummmm… FUCKED. That’s the one! You feel fucked. For me anyway the response is far more visceral than emotional. I really don’t feel violated, I feel like “where-the-heck-is-my-shit?”

And it’s not so much that I’m desperate to get it back, as much as it’s about wondering why they can’t just find it. Between yesterday and this morning the report on my luggage has been ever consistent. “They’re still tracking it”. It’s a suitcase. It’s not the Holy Grail. In that 24 hour period there has no doubt been significant progress made in finding Osama Bin Laden. My blue suitcase? Not so much. In a 24 hour period your average dragonfly is born, goes through puberty, falls in love, marries, has kids, puts them through college, buys a mid-life crisis Ferrari, sees his grandchildren, and dies. My suitcase? Status unchanged “They’re still tracking it”.

Whatever. Listen I’m in Monte Freakin’ Carlo. My hotel is modern and palacial and my room is totally swank. I’ve got this incredible balcony where I can watch the enormous waves crashing against the sea wall about 90 feet away. I’m very close, in fact, to the place where 13 years and 5 days ago I found the perfect rock on a beautiful rock beach, in this most gorgeous city in the world, and asked the prettiest girl I ever saw to marry me. And she said yes.

In the grand scheme of things, this town’s been pretty damn good to me.

So I play today. I went out yesterday and bought a new suit (go big or go home, right!?), some essential toiletries, a new pair of shoes, and some underpants. I mention this not to get overly personal but just because it’s difficult not to use the word “underpants” in a sentence when the opportunity presents itself.

Wish me luck.