It has come to my attention, dear readers, that Mr. Alexander Kokorin, a gentleman once known for his pursuits upon the football pitch, has decided to part with his most extravagant acquisitions in the town of Sochi. One cannot help but admire the sheer audacity of such a divestment, for the sum he seeks is nothing less than a billion roubles.

Imagine, if you will, two cottages of a most modern and peculiar design—what the youth call 'hi-tech,' though to a refined eye, it likely resembles a futuristic laboratory rather than a home. These edifices, spanning some seven hundred and ten square metres, are linked by a subterranean passage, as if the owner feared the open air or perhaps wished to conduct his affairs in secret. One house is intended for the master, and the other for guests—for it is a mark of true society to ensure one's visitors are kept in a separate, albeit equally lavish, cage.

The estate is further adorned with a spa for the indulgence of the flesh, an open pool, and a parking area equipped with a lift that transports one's carriage directly to the roof. Truly, the heights of vanity! One wonders if the gentleman intended to survey his kingdom from the clouds while sipping tea.

It is whispered in the salons that this sudden urge to sell arises from a failed sporting negotiation; having declined a move to a Southern club, the allure of the locale has vanished like a mist over the Thames. His relations, of course, are horrified by such a whim, pleading with him to retain an asset of such immense value. But alas, the whims of a sporting cavalier are as unpredictable as the weather in November.

Lest we think the gentleman is reduced to poverty, he still maintains a residence in the 'New Arbat' district of Moscow—a flat of two hundred and ten square metres valued at some two hundred and fifty million roubles. He also possesses a smaller dwelling in the 'Grand Park' complex, a relic from his days with the 'Dynamo' club, worth sixty million.

One must conclude that Mr. Kokorin simply has too many roofs over his head and too few reasons to stand beneath them. Such is the tragedy of modern wealth: to possess everything, yet find it all utterly tedious.