Barack Obama's Diary: Putin up with Vlad the Inhaler

Here I am at a golf resort at Lough Erne in Northern Ireland for the G8 summit. I had been hoping for a superb opportunity to distract attention from the various "scandals" back home and display my unique talents as a statesman and diplomat. But Air Force One had not even landed at Belfast before Vlad the Inhaler was warning us against arming the Syrian rebels. What an atrocious schemer he is. He knows perfectly well that I have just authorized arming the Syrian rebels and he wants the limelight for himself.  But wait! I have devilish plan. From previous experience I know the man loves to show off his torso. So I will invite him for a  swim in the resort pool. Now he is divorced he will leap  at the chance to display his squat, muscled body to the media. He loves to goad me, to crush my elegant fingers in a harsh handshake as he fixes me with those creepy blue eyes, looking for the slightest flinch. And so it was today. "Care for a refreshing swim, Vladimir?" I asked him. "Да" he said, which means "yes " to those of you without my extensive education. "Let's meet at the pool in ten minutes,"