Look at what the night did now.

What's new, Buenos Aires? I'm new, I want to say I'm just a little stuck on you You'll be on me too

I got out here, Buenos Aires Stand back! You ought to know what you're gonna get in me Just a little touch of star quality

Fill me up with your heat, with your noise, with your dirt, overdo me Let me dance to your beat, make it loud. let it hurt, run it through me Don't hold back, you are certain to impress Tell the driver this is where I'm staying

Hello, Buenos Aires! Get this! Just look at me, dressed up somewhere to go We'll put on a show

Take me in at your flood, give me speed, give me lights, set me humming Shoot me up with your blood, wine me up with your nights, watch me coming All I want is a whole lot of excess Tell the singer this is where I'm playing

Stand back Buenos Aires! Because you ought to know what you're gonna get in me Just a little touch of star quality

And if ever I go too far It's because of the things you are Beautiful town, I love you And if I need a moment's rest Give your lover the very best Real eiderdown and silence

On 9 February 1935, in Buenos Aires, a polo match between a team of leading Argentine players and the touring British side. The British ambassador said he'd "never seen a social occasion quite like it". Even by the standards of Buenos Aires society, the gathering at the polo ground "glittered": The Rolls and the Daimlers, the hampers from Harrods, the clothes, the diamonds, the crystal, the wines, the procession of nannies from England and France. The result of the match? Oh, yes, the home team won! But, as the British ambassador pointed out, that did not reflect badly on British horsemanship: three of the Argentine players were educated at Eton!

You're a tramp, you're a treat, you will shine to the death, you are shoddy But you're flesh, you are meat, you shall have every breath in my body Put me down for a lifetime of success Give me credit, I'll find ways of paying

Rio de la Plata! Florida! Corrientes! Nueve de Julio! All I want to know

How desperately I'd love to be able to tell him that here I am, on this cold evening, seeing the snow fall in Argentina.

I've been travelling the world ever since.

Like, your common or garden racist will say, "Argentinians play dirty in the football!" and that's why he hates Argentina. His more woke counterpart will bring up nineteenth century Argentinian immigration policy or something, which is a more obscure and therefore more obviously correct reason to hate the Argies. Sometimes, the ostensibly woke will combined the two thrust in a pincer attack of selective ignorance: of course they play dirty in the football, the 1852 Constitution explicitly encouraged European immigration!"

I remember telling a friend I was planning to visit Kosovo only for him to tell me, "Oh, I hate Kosovo." I was like, "Huh, I didn't know you'd been?" He hadn't.

The classic example is Japan: it often seems that no one, in the world, is capable of being normal about Japan. It's either paradise or must be hated forever on behalf the Manchurians or must be hated forever because it's paradise for a set of undesirables.