Over the last week, Putin’s given us Brits a twoferone deal. Another Russian exile has turned up murdered – this time strangulation rather than a nerve agent was the preferred method*. Then he sent in his secret weapon. Another blast of snow from Siberia. He’s proving to be a tough customer, is ole Vlad. But he does create quite the scenic conditions for a photographer. I haven’t really taken advantage of them, wandering only as far as the local duck pond, armed only with my iPhone. But still.
I don’t know whether Stephen Hawking was really the world’s smartest person. But I’m pretty sure he was smarter than me. I don’t really understand the indepth mathematical equations he came up with to explain the universe. But I do enjoy dreaming about the stars, the universe and everything – and he helped. I don’t think he’d have been quite as famous as he was if he hadn’t been stuck in a wheelchair with a comical grin permanently fixed on his face. But I don’t care much how famous he was. I don’t quite know how he survived so long. But I bet on that question, Mr Hawking was probably as equally baffled as I.