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I'm afraid this is destined to be another post typed through a fit of quivering. I watched a history of Monaco on History International (best digital channel) last night. Monaco, it should be noted, is one of my favorite places to walk 2.092 miles aimlessly in 100 degree weather. This Franco-Italian condo-park, of course, is a state half the size of Central Park, known for people throwing themselves out of windows for gambling debts & others catching fire near the harborfront in motor-racing accidents. According to the television: the history of the Principality began with the completion of the restaurant-bordello-casino at the Hotel de Paris in 1864 & ended with film star Grace Kelly dying in a state funeral in 1982. In between, Aristotle Onassis was there, fine wines were saved from Krauts, & there was even a bloody opera house (great in the winter, and between La Scala & Paris), but there was NOT ONE SHRED OF MOTOR-RACING. Rallies have never finished there. Grands Prix have not left evidence in the form of full-sized bronze statues of Championship-winning McLarens & Mercedes in public squares, nor of a flower-bedecked driver named Juan Manuel Fangio, nor is every third retailer near the water (demarcated by permanent red-white racing curbing; and the whole country is 'near the water') a grubber of racing dollars/euros. The populace of 32,000 (half a Clifton) is . . . LORD JESUS! The show on Nice & Cannes didn't omit to mention the film festival. Sincerely: Happy Christmas!