How to find out you're at war

I sat outside with Nati on a hammock chatting as a child in a 50 Cent t-shirt played nearby with a toy gun. Such product placement. The boy and his mother left, and I then had a nearby shouting husband and wife's row translated for me ("where's my jumper? I had my jumper" "you weren't wearing it!"). I then went inside to find the Georgian President on the TV condemning the fact that Russian-backed separatists have shot 17 Georgians but declaring a unilateral ceasefire. Ah, of such things are more exotic holidays made of. A perverse part of me is oddly pleased to be in a place such things happen. Maybe I should try a proper war zone but I have an odd feeling that this is about to turn into at least a minor one. Too much geopolitical rivalry for backing down, and the separatists are very definitely Russian backed (and, indeed, FSB run). To bed before I book a trip to where the action is and to avoid being like death on legs tomorrow I think, it's 0051.