We are sharing a cigar in the Bulldog Pub next to an old lady dressed to kill. “It doesn’t suit you,” she says to my beloved at some point. “Cigars are not for women!” We just giggle. “Tito used to smoke cigars with style,” the old lady says a while later and looks at us pointedly. We giggle again. “He used to be quite a guy,” she says with feeling. “Yugoslavia was too small for him!” Realizing where she is coming from, I chime in: “You must love Putin.” The old lady is delighted at once. “We’re lucky to have him,” she glowers at us. “We would be lost without him!” Luckily for us, she leaves soon afterwards. My beloved looks at me, and I shrug my shoulders. “Tito, Putin…,” I mumble as I take a few more puffs from our dying cigar before tossing it into the ashtray.