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The huddled elite of Europe were in an unprepossessing state 

as pouring rain was damping their hopes for their future reign. 

These were the best: brilliant, beautiful and young that we oldies 

can attest. Their see through plastic macs reprising our youth on 

a visit to the not groovy Leningrad where to the Russian young our 

cheap copies of this attire were what the youth we met wanted to 

acquire now it is St. Petersburg so rich and so chic that makes us want to tweet in awe.



In the bus shelter it was all helter-skelter, the EU's young elite showed 

off their confidence in several ways: laughing and giggling, animatedly 

talking amongst themselves,  then they and we encouraged no Tower 

of Babel because they all spoke uber English and damn it seemed so able too.

Some of us quipped the best with them showing that if they can speak our lingo 

we would gently tease them in (mock?) envy: they retaliated by taking photos of 

us together doing a Mexican wave (surely - well before their time) so history in both 

the Yankee and Brit sense of the term learned by them and re-remembered by us.

We left them to catch our coach - leaving them their unknown futures that events will not 

turn them into cynics even if grow a healthy scepticism of all isms - including this one - 

that comes with age. We sighs - that their positive ideals will not be confounded and their 

their hypnotic energy will not lead to a too leathery lethargy as they begin their voyage as 

trainee advisers to the government of one of Europe's most tolerant and richest states.

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