Moscow is like Marmite..love it or hate it...

Arthur following the lines in Red Square

I've had a rather long absence from this blog due to computer troubles and pure unadulterated laziness...that's my excuse and that's all you're getting in explanation.

So...Moscow. I have done and seen many things since I last wrote this - backstage tour of the Bolshoi -

 Met the man who makes the Bolshoi ballet shoes (slightly like a hobbit but we'll not dwell on this since his working conditions were, well, less than appropriate for a man of his stature) -

Tour of the House on the Embankment (place of Stalin purges), drinks at the British ambassador's residence -

 Palaces -

Ostankino Palace

Theatre within Palace

Parks -

At the Museum Techniki with his friend Luke

At birthday of his friend Teisai

Collecting the biggest sticks he can find

Hoovering the park with a stick

David Bellamy of Moscow....

Mountain climber...

I even managed to get to a cemetery and pay my respects to some famous folks -

Tolstoy

Mayakovsky

Anton Checkov

Checkov inscription

Yeltsin  - not overly enamoured with this one.... 

There were plenty more famous people here but I failed miserably to follow the Russian map - again - mega complicated trying to work out in the Cyrillic whose name is what when in Russian their names are usually slightly different. Anyway - I'll need to return and say hello to some more dead poets and playwrights.

 I am definitely working my way around this city and so my laziness is purely to do with writing this and not my ability to experience the crazy world we live in.

When I arrived in Moscow I was slightly let down by the similarities to any other city - Starbucks, Costa Coffee, KFC, Burger king, Macdonalds and now Moscow has a 'Wendy's' - of course, on the opening of said fast food joint the franchise holder made Wendy's more 'Moscow' and had the uniforms changed to mini skirts, stripy tights and 6 inch heels...da da da - this is Moscow style baby-

Not quite the wholesome image of Wendy's U.S.A

Anyway, sorry I was side tracked by stripy tights, the longer I'm here and the more people I meet the more differences and nuances I notice. Just under the surface of the shiny western front is a city that is truly opposite in most ways to anywhere - especially anything British- be it people, language, politics or something simple like queueing. You have to throw yourself into this city with gusto and if you don't then you get swallowed up and spat out. It is definitely a city that inflames the heart - mostly because of some arcane system for something simple like buying a bus ticket but I've decided Moscow is pretty damned cool.

There are many people that bitch and moan about this place and are really truly miserable but these people are generally the types that should never have left their town in rainy England or at least gone to some place that sells fry ups in the local cafe and has a M&S food hall they can stock up with so as not to have to eat the local food. Life is hard here but there is also so much to do and so much to learn that I just weigh up the good and the bad and the good always wins. Anything that you manage to overcome here makes you feel elated - and that's a great way to live.

My triumphs since I last wrote:

I have learnt some of the bus system - I went and bought myself a bus map - to tell you the truth I shouldn't have bothered seeing as it is one of the most complicated pieces of literature known to man but it makes me feel safe if it's in my bag...

Praying for this old bus not to break down...

Here there are trams, trolleybuses and buses - sometimes you get all three doing the same route - buses are quickest as they can overtake whereas the other two are kinda stuck on the same sad path - heh, sounds geeky but this kinda knowledge can save you serious amounts of time...So, most of the buses and trolley buses are really old with 3 steep steps and if I'm with Arthur in the pram then I always have a dilemma - if I get Arthur out of the pram and stand at the bus stop with buggy and Arthur in separate hands then what should I lift onto the bus first - Arthur or the pram? If I lift Arthur then he is at will to run wildly up and down the bus whilst I am struggling with buggy or do I risk trying to get Arthur to stand on the street whilst I struggle to get buggy on and then the driver shuts doors and we leave Arthur on the street, picking his nose? When I wait for the bus now, I start to sweat as I'm trying to plan for such a simple thing as getting on the bus. So far I have been lucky as Russian Babushkas (means grandmother in Russia but is a general term as far as I can tell for all grey haired ladies) have rushed to my rescue and scooped Arthur up off the street and onto the bus but it is like public transport roulette. Once I struggled onto an empty bus by pulling the buggy (with Arthur in it) up the stairs - trust me, this is quite a challenge - only to be shouted at by the driver - his arms waving quite erratically. I presumed that I was being told to get off the bus and so proceeded in trying to get the buggy back off - this action caused the driver to shout even louder at me - waving me back on - so back I went - in the end after much chaotic hand signalling I realised that he wanted me (only me) to get off the bus (I'm such a sheep that I left my child on a bus by himself because I was being shouted at...) and come around to the front door and pay him the money and THEN go to the back of the bus where Arthur was sitting - this farce must have taken at least 15 minutes but the driver wanted me to do things by the rules so that is what I had to do. I might add that most bus drivers allow you to get on in the middle (you have to with a buggy as there is a turn style at the front of bus) and then walk to the front and pay over the turn style BUT NOT THIS GUY.
I have had the honour of being on two buses that have broken down mid journey. One bus bunny hopped down the main road to the side of the Kremlin for about 20 minutes until the Babushkas on the bus went up to the bus driver and shouted at him to open the doors and then shouted at me (in a caring way)to leave the bus as it was a pile of junk. This happened to be at the furthest point from my house - marvellous - but I was too scared of the babushkas to stay on the jumping bus even though my lazy side was egging me on to just stay put. I had a rather interesting bus driver the other day who was dressed in tiny shorts, no top and some flip flops - he then decided to stop the bus in the middle of the street so that he could leave and buy some cigarettes at the street kiosk. He then returned, sat in his seat and chain smoked the whole way - again, marvellous.

Triumph two - I have formed some kind of relationship with my local Russian shop workers. People say that the Russians are unfriendly but actually this is just because they are not so polite and over the top as Brits or Americans. Shop workers here are notoriously bad tempered and dour but then the Russian customers they usually deal with are pretty bad themselves and so the store becomes a battle ground. Finally after nearly a year, one of the cashiers at my local produkti says 'hello' to me and smiles! I am now on speaking terms with my local kiosk owner - her name is 'Galia' - Unfortunately I gained this information when intoxicated with my friend Liz (who speaks Russian with a fine Mancunian accent ) after drinking at hers for many an hour ( she lives in the block behind me) and complaining that I never get to speak Russian to Russians and  Liz deciding that I should start my quest for Russian friends with poor Galia. I think we were at the kiosk for a while but I have no idea what I said. I now approach the kiosk in a rather sheepish manner although Galia seems quite happy to see me - must have said something okay I guess/hope.
I have also had a few conversations with ladies in the play park and am now on 'hello' 'how are you' basis. I even had a chat with someone about Alice - a fellow dog walker in the park (a 6ft Russian blonde) who has ignored me for a year but suddenly the other day, out of the blue she comes at me with a big smile and chats away as if she had only just noticed me in our very small park....it seems that it takes the Russians nearly a year of repetitive behaviour for you to be classed as 'safe' to speak to. I was so excited by this break through that I phoned Graeme with the news - I AM BEING ACCEPTED - HURRAH! For expats who can't be bothered or have little patience then they will always find Moscow cold and uncaring but for those who are in for the long haul - it is very rewarding.

Triumph three - I don't know if I can really class this as a triumph but heh why not - TRYING to learn Russian. Every time you think you've made a break through you turn the page and discover another mountain to climb. I swear to god I sometimes wonder whether it is actually possible for my brain to withstand such an assault at this late stage. The Russians and the British use language in such opposite ways that it is not the actual vocab or grammar that poses the main problem it is the cultural way in which we try and express ourselves as people. Russian is very direct and has little time for filling sentences with what I would term as 'fluffy' polite sentence fillers. They have no verb 'To be' in the present but they do have it in the past and future  - in practice this makes things easier as you just say 'Bus on street' or 'I at home' for example, but me being a user of the English language am always trying to translate in my head and add in unwanted words. I think my Russian teacher Olga is bored of my, 'But why Olga Why?' question that seems to take up most of our lesson. Another example of how deeply aggravating this language can be is that there is not one verb 'To go' as in English. In Russian there are many verbs of motion which are much more detailed on 'how' you are travelling. To walk somewhere on foot, to walk somewhere and come back by foot, To go somewhere by transport, to go somewhere and come back by transport. The one Olga taught me today was the verb that describes the act of starting to go somewhere but you haven't got there but you're not home either - or something like that - to tell you the truth  I looked so confused that she felt the need to say that we would leave this until she brought me in extra material that would explain it in more depth - this is to learn the meaning of one bloody verb! I think I will just try to speak Russian without ever saying where I've come from or where I'm going.
What the lessons have given me is confidence - confidence to battle my way through this city like my fellow Russians. The difference between how I deal with situations now and how I dealt with them in my first few months is so worlds apart because I can now throw some words out and am willing to do battle. If people queue jump me now I shout 'Niet!' and arm swipe them - although this is only using the word 'no' - I feel more in control of situations and realise that when people tut or stare at you in an evil fashion, they are waiting for you to back down and slope off to a quiet corner - but I have become hardened to this Russian way and do not take their abruptness personally. Arthur is of course learning Russian without the need of blood sweat and tears - he mixes English and Russian together and is probably saying a lot more in Russian than we think. He never says 'Water' always 'Vada' in Russian. His teacher at nursery says he sings the Russian songs well and knows all the words - but she said it would be unusual for him to use Russian at home as he knows that we do not speak Russian (ain't that the truth) and so will differentiate when to use which language. You notice quite a large difference here in the development of speech, I think that most of the expat children are so busy trying to process all these languages that it is much slower than at home. Arthur is doing pretty well though and is stringing at least three words together although he is obsessed with the word 'poo' at the moment and walks around the park pointing at dark patches saying 'dog poo here' - lovely. He also points at the bottoms of any animals he encounters and says ' poo poo bottom' - Why oh why?

Triumph four - Graeme and I managed to get into one of the trendiest clubs in Moscow called 'The Soho Rooms' -

The Soho Rooms

Sadly, I have to admit that we didn't have to pass face control as if that had been the case then we probably would have been firmly rejected  - sad but true. I have a very good friend whose lovely husband is the executive chef at one of the best hotels here in Moscow and he knows the head chef at The Soho Rooms and they kindly invited us pair of reprobates to join them for his birthday dinner! The food was amazing and then we were given wrist bands to go and have a good look around the club. It was truly amazing inside - Graeme and I even had an excited chat over a Mojito about how great the toilets were - seriously - they were cool. The funny thing about these A list type of clubs is that everyone just stands around posing - no one ever breaks a sweat or dances - in fact the only people who dance are the ones who are paid to dance, the obligatory ladies on podiums that are part and parcel of everything here in Moscow. Of course, I was dancing with my friend Maria - after a few straight vodkas I realised posing next to a 6ft 6" blonde Russian lady at the bar wasn't doing me any favours and so threw myself into Mojito drinking and arm waving. You can become slightly entranced by the women dancers though and realise that you have been staring at one for about 20 minutes discussing whether the woman feels degraded or enlightened? Who knows, but here is a snippet of one of these ladies - I might add that they tried to throw me out of the club for taking videos of the dancers but I pretended to delete them all in front of the security guy and managed to save one!

Not much of a clubber these days but I must admit we all had a fantastic night thanks to some good mates who got us passed the door!!

So, there are more triumphs but I'll leave those for another day! I'll curse myself if I get too cocky and then I'll get hit by a very slow trolley bus.

I will try to recount my adventures on a more regular basis now that I have managed to break my silence - 

Paka Droozia! (bye friends!)

I am a lab rat.....

I am unbalanced....okay, this is probably a statement that friends will quip at 'well we knew that already' but seriously, I have lost my balance mojo. I feel like someone who is trying to find their way back home after a long night of drinking, the head and legs are not speaking to each other but the determination of the mind keeps you on track. My perception of the world has changed, things move - pavements, stairs, walls and I feel like i'm on a boat in a rough sea. We have private health insurance here and so on my first consultation I admitted to a rather dramatic fall I had back in January ( read New Year blog - after vodka tasting). I obviously didn't admit to being rather over the limit in the vodka stakes, but explained that my first feeling of imbalance happened after this fall. The good and the bad of private health insurance is that they want to test you for as much as possible -money money money but of course this is great on the other hand as you are getting a full medical which would be impossible to get on the NHS. At this time in my life, full medicals are both great and fearful. When the doctor tells you that they are going to test everything in your body, your first thought is - what about if they find something bad? Do I want to know? So far, everything has come back with a positive and so I'm feeling slightly calmer.
So far I have had a CAT scan, MRI, X-ray of my neck, full blood tests and then this afternoon I have the eye doctor, an artery scan and the ear doctor. I am pretty convinced that what I have is an inner ear infection but of course the ear doctor is last on the long list of tests - they can't diagnose me too quickly or they won't be able to do so many unnecessary tests on things like my little toe, my right index finger or my left nostril - heh, you never know how much a left nostril effects your balance! Anyway, I will be trotting off to the hospital for round two of tests and really hope they say ' Ahhh yes, Mrs Ogilvie, an inner ear infection, easily treatable, here are some antibiotics, have a nice day now!'.
When you are an expat in a country like Russia it is absolutely imperative to have the best private health insurance possible. I have many friends here that have terrible trouble with their insurance - having to pay first and then reclaim the money - this is a disastrous way to deal with health here as for one - a simple check up with the doctor is 160 euros and two - trying to get a cheque to Moscow from abroad is basically an impossibility. Graeme's company seem to have the best health insurance policy going and they have been absolutely brilliant from the start. People thinking of coming to work in Russia should first look at their company's health insurance and make sure it is the best it can be because this is a very bureaucratic country, the people are very black and white and it is very hard to do the simplest of things here and it is very very expensive. What I mean by the people being black and white is that I have had friends that have had issues with their health insurance - their child is ill, they take them into the hospital but they experience issues regarding their policy or money - the Russian lady behind the desk has no sympathy - you pay or you go away - my friend asked if he could leave his passport and bank card with them whilst he was trying to sort out the issues with his insurance but the reply he got was ' you pay or you go away'.  When you are feeling at your most vulnerable, the Russian way can sometimes feel harsh and unrelenting. Russians are not good at softening the blow. I on the other hand am being treated like a member of the royal family as my health insurance rocks and with a child in a city like this, it is the most reassuring thing you can have.

When you receive treatment like this, you realise how over burdened the NHS is. I think it is high time that high earners start to use private health insurance leaving the NHS for those who really need it. Times have changed since the 50's and people have to stop looking at the NHS as if it were a right that they have earned by being a citizen of the U.K. If people could really look at their income and think, ' I could pay for private health, I have the money and this would unburden a system that is cracking' then the survival of the NHS has a chance. I believe in the NHS as a system but we have lost sight of who really needs this system and it's high time people started to pay their own way if they have the money. We paid for private health in Britain and there are times I would have loved to have stopped paying and put that money into something I deemed more important to my life but that would have been selfish as if we could all do our bit in society to alleviate the debt crisis that has a hold on our nation then maybe we could see a change in the care for people who don't have the money to pay and really need the medicine that most NHS hospitals can't supply because of monetary shortages. There are so many new drugs on the market that could save many people in the system but because people with money are using the NHS and demanding their part then the people that miss out are the people who don't have the clout to get that new drug or new treatment. People might say, ' Well people who can afford to go private get all the new drugs and treatments and so doesn't that make it unfair for the rest?' Well, if more people went private and freed the NHS system up for those whom it was designed to help then maybe the NHS could afford these new drugs and treatments for those who have no where else to turn but the NHS. People love to complain about Britain and institutions like the NHS but if you are not willing to do your part in your society then you have lost your right to complain. The common way in Britain is for people to moan about 'what they have lost out on' if there is a change in government or a financial crisis but what people should be doing is thinking, ' How can I do my part to help Britain back from the brink' . Well, the first and foremost thing people should be saying to themselves, especially if they admire the NHS as a fundamental part of British society is 'Can I pay my own way?' If you can pay your own way - then instead of moaning about life, pay for private health and free up a space for someone who really needs it. YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOU! It's time to stand up and be counted people.

I'm becoming Russian...

Ice Skating on Patriarchy Pond

I have been approaching this blog thing all wrong - I wait for a few weeks and then try to make up for lost time by writing 15 pages of drivel that I can only half remember and so I will start writing more frequently but with less content so as not to over whelm myself or anyone who wishes to read it!

I am definitely finding myself becoming slowly Russian in certain areas of my life. I have started to wear fur...before anyone starts to think of ways to pelt me with eggs, I was the most anti - fur person you would ever have met and yet you are surrounded by it here and I  have even started to play a game on the Metro or as I walk behind people in the street of trying to guess which animal adorns my fellow Muscovite.  There is such a variety of fur and the game gets much more difficult when people dye it pink, orange and even red....I saw a lady out the other day who had a bright red fur hat, red fur gloves and just to add a little more - red fur boots - she was quite a spectacle and sadly not in a drop dead gorgeous way. I find myself watching mink coats swish and sway and gleam like satin and have become quite entranced with the things. I have now acquired an Arctic fox fur hat from my mother as she is not able to wear such things in Britain for fear of being skinned alive herself - I must admit it is rather splendid and I feel at one with my fellow Russians in a way that my red bobble hat never quite mastered. The problem is that it doesn't quite cover my ears and so I am waiting for my leopard skin (fake - I don't mind a fox dying but a leopard...now that's just taking it too far....; )...) ear muffs to arrive from England and then I shall sashay around Moscow quite the queen bee.  I have instructed my mother to bring out her mink coat next time she comes or I shall find my way into her attic when I am next home hunting out fur treasure. WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO ME?
The weather really does make fur a necessity here - when the temperature dropped to -29, fur rules in the warmth department. Yes, people do wear fur here as a status symbol but it also does a job that very few man made fibres can replicate. We have been very lucky here for our first 'winter experience' in Moscow. The temperatures have really stuck to around -10 and it was even 2 degrees in January which stunned the Russians as they love to tell you how cold it will be 'next week' to strike fear into the expats hearts! The weather is already warming up and there is a feeling of Moscow defrosting ready for spring. Today the sun is out, the sky is blue and the polluted air even seems a little fresher. Moscow is a city that glistens in the snow and really does suit the white blanket that descends over it and so i'm not sure I shall enjoy looking at the city so much when it returns to grey pavements and patchy grass parks. Talking of the parks - snow definitely opens your eyes to how much dog wee there is all over the place. The yellow snow has nearly taken over the white in our local park and I may never allow Arthur to run on the grass again. It's everywhere! Yuk.

Arthur is doing well at the moment - here are some videos for those who wish an update!

Arthur seems to get very excited about his colouring book...

Arthur is most interested in things with wheels - 

Enjoying a little football although prefers to hold the ball as it's safe from Alice's jaws...

So all we have left to say is - 

Christmas and New Year in a crazy little town called Moscow

Father Frost

Yeah yeah yeah I know...slight break in blog updates. If you knew how much vodka i've drunk recently then you'd understand the need for a break. I can only concentrate on one thing at a time and seeing as it was New Year, it was Vodka's time to rule. Writing whilst drinking vodka would be an earth shattering mistake as I think I could wake up and have one of those ' Oh no, I shared lots of intimate secrets with the whole of the internet world' or more precisely ' Oh no, I wrote a load of rubbish that no one can understand and shared it with my 2 followers' again - this will not be an experience I wish to partake in, call me old fashioned. Anyway, I managed to do a few embarrassing things recently which I will share with you and then you can laugh at me with a knowing smile.

The worst thing about leaving it so long to write is that I have to try and remember everything that happened in the last two weeks and trust me, I hate to bring up the vodka again but I've lost a few brain cells in the last wee while plus the vodka made me (IT MADE ME I TELL YOU!) fall over onto black ice quite a lot so my head is not what it used to be....and the learning Russian thing and trying to remember vocabulary is pushing my brain capabilities to the limit so be gentle folks, I am trying hard to think back before the vodka haze started and it's quite difficult.

Christmas Christmas...let's start there. So, main point about Christmas was we were not supposed to be here. We were supposed to be in Scotland, going to pantomimes, singing round the Christmas tree and eating Turkey - I was really looking forward to the break but as we were not allowed to fly we were stuck in Moscow which if planned would probably have been lots of fun but sadly we lost the spirit of Christmas along the way as we couldn't really be bothered to celebrate at all...baaa bloody humbug. We were knackered and ill...it seemed that Arthur and I were passing sore throats and colds back and forwards and he wasn't sleeping so I found myself watching strange programs on small villages in Africa and their ability to buy goods through their mobiles on BBC world at 3am whilst Arthur played with his pots and pans as if it were 3pm. The African village thing was highly interesting by the way - no house but a mobile to buy cows...you gotta love technology. Anyway, I digress....

Even Alice is knackered....

So the only thing within the house that looked slightly Christmassy was a small fir tree that my lovely friend Georgia bought me to help add a little 'hohoho' to the Ogilvie household. I placed this fir tree on our sitting room window ledge to keep it away from Arthur. Sadly the cats found it fun to knock it off every two seconds so my plan only half worked. We did have a rather amusing incident with the fir tree as when we had people to stay, Arthur's travel cot was under this same window ledge and I had put him to bed for an afternoon nap. Suddenly on the monitor I hear ' Mama, Mama? MAMA?' it wasn't a particularly distressed call, one more of enquiry - so I pop my head around the door only to find my child has been squashed by a fir tree...the fir tree had fallen into the cot and was laying on top of Arthur - he looked like the wicked witch of the East - just his fat legs poking out from underneath. 

Bless him, he didn't scream, just wanted to know what on earth was going on. I kindly removed said fir tree and we haven't spoken about the incident since - he may need counselling in further life to deal with a terrible fir tree fear but we'll wait and see. By the way, child services can't contact you through a blog can they? 

So Christmas was a bit of a non event in the Ogilvie household - we did run out and buy Arthur some tacky plastic gifts to really give him the sense of why Christmas is such a special time - 

Christmas morning

Building a garage - 

Destroying a garage

Graeme felt the good old frustration that many fathers feel of having to build stuff at 6am only for your child to demolish it 10 seconds later....ahhh what fun.

Arthur also decided that the boxes that the toys came in were definitely worth more attention...

We had been kindly invited to Christmas lunch at the house of some American friends - it was goose and roast potatoes and cabbage - the goose was fantastic and the company was great which gave us some definite Christmas cheer. Arthur managed to avoid the cabbage but had a hearty portion of goose which he seemed to love. 

Yummy Christmas dinner

We had decided a few weeks back that we would try and find some bars in the evening to take our friends to when they arrived for New Year - a bar reccy of sorts. The 25th December means nothing to Russians and so we knew that the city wouldn't be busier than normal and it was a good chance for us to get out and celebrate a little Christmas cheer together. I had read about some interesting bars and a club that celebrated new year every night. I had researched all this online and in expat magazines and was sure that I had a plan sussed for when my friends arrived. The first place we were heading to was an Ice bar very near to where we lived. It had rained in Moscow for two days which is very unusual for this time of year but had then dropped temperature so that there was black ice everywhere. As we walked to this first bar we had to pass in front of The Bolshoi and the whole area was like an ice skating rink - you could see your reflection in it like it was a mirror. We stumbled across clinging onto each other and eventually found the bar in the bottom of a mall. We were then told very swiftly that the bar had closed down the week before - sorry. Oh great, that's just fine - onto the next bar on my list - City Space bar - found on top of the Swiss hotel with views across Moscow. We couldn't be bothered to get the Metro as walking anywhere was a nightmare on the ice so what do you do in these conditions? Hail down a gypsy cab! A young guy with a battered old Lada stopped and took us in - I have taken some pictures from the back of the car as I thought it might be my last journey - we were going at whatever the top speed for a broken old Lada is and we were pinging down the back streets across the black ice - rally driving at it's best I do believe - 

Lada deluxe

Took a picture of myself in Lada to help identify my remains if need be.

So off we zoomed to the City Space bar which was worth the drive. It is classed as one of the top ten bars in the world and has lots of original cocktails - plus there was something rather 'Heston Blumenthal' about the drinks with ' vanilla foam', 'rose petals', 'Essence of violet' and 'egg white micro dust' (I made that up) but you get the general idea. The views from the bar were spectacular - 

'Midnight Rain' best cocktail I have ever tasted...

Things were looking up - I had a bar to take my friends to! I called the waiter over and asked if I could book a 'table of 6 for January 2nd'  - to which he replied ' sorry madam but we are closed from the 1st until the 10th of January' - WHAT? So far we were two bars down with only one left on my list to go - things were not looking good. If anyone comes to visit though, the City Space bar is well worth a visit - and always ask for a 'Midnight Rain'.

We then proceeded to the last of our destinations - a club called 'Purga' which was supposed to lie off a lane that was near our flat. The lane was only about 50m long so I thought we would find the club quite quickly. An hour later I was still dragging Graeme backwards and forwards down this damned lane with a determination I never knew I had. I kept asking people where the club was - some people said they had never heard of it, some people pointed me to doorways that looked like people's houses. At one point we knocked on a door that looked like a regular flat door and it was opened by two guys with suits and bow ties - I was getting desperate by this point and started to shout 'Purga' at them and then decided that my accent might be off so tried every variation of the word - Graeme said that he found it hysterical as I confronted these two guys shouting at them 'Purga, poorga? Pooga? Poogoo? For Feck's sake - can nobody understand me here?' At last one of the guys (maybe in desperation to get rid of me) said that he knew the club and that it was through a bar down the road. I think I hugged him at this point and then ran off in the direction he had pointed. We eventually found the bar - an Irish bar - yes, another one and I looked for the fire place - why was I looking for a fireplace you may ask? Well, you were supposed to get to the club through the fireplace of the bar - I know, it's sounding like I was on acid but seriously, the club had a website and everything. So, I finally see this newly painted, breeze blocked  wall near the fire place and ask the waitress where the club entrance is, to which she replied ' Oh , that closed down last week' - OH MY GOD! What is it with this city and things not staying open for longer than 10 minutes?! I got my guide book and threw it to the ground in a temper and stamped on it a few times for good measure. Yet again we had ended up in an Irish bar, crying into a pint of Guinness. Thank god I had made us do a reccy of the bars - what a fun night that would have been dragging my friends around closed and disused warehouses, nice. The night had given us a glimpse at how quickly things change in Moscow - the city that never stands still, even for a beer. We ended up going to an American diner ' The starlight diner' to gorge ourselves on hamburgers and chips at 1am in compensation for my crap bar tour - the waitresses wear full cheer leading outfits so it wasn't all bad for Graeme. So, we didn't find our little Russia - we found, Swiss, Irish and American....the only thing I did that was remotely Russian was drink vodka and even that I watered down with carbonated water so I don't think I can even claim that.

24 hour diner....

If you see a tour guide that matches this picture...walk away quickly.

Christmas came and went in a rather normal calm and very non commercial fashion. I guess we won't be able to do this again as Arthur will start to wonder why he is the only child that has never heard of father Christmas. We have decided that staying in Russia for Christmas and New Year will probably be what we will do whilst we are living here as with all the disruptions with the weather in Britain and all over the world it is just not worth the risk of being stuck at an airport for 2 days, Graeme also wants to minimise air travel. Renting a Dacha in the countryside will be our aim to get some peace and quiet which is quite possible here without the manic Christmas spirit that takes over the west. I'm already looking forward to the day that Arthur can pick up a snowboard and we can do a bit of Christmas boarding...how old does a child have to be to snowboard? Can I masking tape him onto a board at 2 years and hope for the best? I've just looked it up and they can ski from 2/3 years but not board until later as they don't have the right balance and motor skills at 2 years for a board - I guess I'll have to put up with him looking tragic on a pair of skis for a while...maybe I can get Alice on a board instead.

On Boxing day we were invited to the house of some fab German friends where we sipped on Gluwein and ate small German biscuits. All very civilised and again, gave us the feeling of Christmas! My friend Georgia had actual candles on her Christmas tree like in years gone by and as I watched the flame dance I thought how beautiful they were and also how quick it would be in our house for a cat to catch on fire....or dog, or indeed baby or let's just say the whole flat and be done with it.

Black Ice - my nemesis

Moving swiftly on to New Year - Our lovely friends arrived from Britain with their babies on the day before New Year. I had a rough plan although I was worried that most of the things I had found in the guide books were actually just total rubbish and didn't actually exist. New Year's Eve we decided to stay in the house and have a nice dinner and then get the babies up at 11.30pm and walk down to Red Square.

Hats obligatory....

We had enormous amounts of booze - including many straight vodkas. I wish to point out at this time that I haven't really drunk for months and so I seemed to want to catch up on all that drinking I'd missed out on...

We managed to wake the babies and trot down to just outside the Kremlin walls by Red Square for New Year - it was a little weird as people didn't know when it was midnight and so we had a few false 'Hurrahs!' and then it all went quiet again as people looked at each other in confusion - at last the fireworks went off and it was confirmed! The fireworks were pretty sub standard as fireworks go although having drunken a lot of vodka my expectations may have been too high or my eye sight impaired. It was snowing heavily which meant the sky was very white and cloudy but I found myself watching what seemed like a few red lights in the sky - Red being the obvious choice for the nation.

On reflection, do you think the very large bang at the end of this video was someone being shot rather than a firework? It is Moscow after all.

Kit, John and Amelia

Arthur not very impressed...

Jess on our street where they had stopped the traffic to the Kremlin

Happy New Year!

So we all returned to the flat and drank some more - as you do. I then decided that I wanted to go outside and build a snowman as it was snowing so heavily - I do think this idea was planted in my head by John as I have never had the urge to build a snowman - especially at 2am or 1am or 3am - what ever time it was. Myself, John and James headed outside for me to then declare that we should all go to a club - I might add that I don't remember all the finer details at this point as clarity had disappeared with the 40th shot of Vodka. The fact that I don't know any clubs didn't seem to worry me as I darted across the road to a local square, through an archway and then knocked on a door which was opened by a doorman and we entered. Now, I don't know whether I had been taken over by a lost Russian spirit or what the hell happened as I have no idea how I knew there was a club in this place behind this door - I might add that the door had no markings to indicate it was a club...very weird indeed. So we are allowed in - I'm amazed that they let us in our rather dilapidated state as we had been sliding all the way up the road through the snow. We go down into this club and are faced by thousands and millions of small white polystyrene balls. It was supposed to represent snow I think and came up to your knees. There was also a woman dancing on a platform with a fur bikini thing on and a fur hat if I remember correctly. I only have a few memories of being in the club - it is all a slight blur. I do remember being in the loo and then thinking I was locked in and that the door had broken. I was banging on the door and shouting for help which obviously brought many doormen into the toilets to help - I also remember one of the doormen shouting through the door for me to turn the lock - ahhh, that old chestnut, I'd forgotten that I had to turn the lock in order to escape the toilet....oh the embarrassment. I found it fun to dance like a child on the dance floor whilst throwing the balls up in the air with glee. I also remember leaving the club as I had decided that I wanted to go home and sleep and getting all the way back to my flat and thinking ' oh no, I've forgotten the boys' and so trudged back to the club only to be refused re entry and so sat outside in the snow waiting for them to realise that I'd vanished which wasn't long!

The next morning, Graeme got up to find hundreds of polystyrene balls all over the sitting room floor.....and was truly stumped to figure out what the hell had gone on in the flat whilst he was asleep - he was worried that he'd savagely attacked a pillow in his sleep -   when I was asked what they were doing on the floor, I supposedly shouted from under the blanket ' They fell out of my trousers'. Ahhhh, well that solves that then. They didn't get much conversation out of me, James and John for a few hours and so the problem of where the balls came from went on for a while and was a heated breakfast discussion. When the reprobates awoke the puzzle was solved....although only a hazy version.

On the Saturday afternoon, we handed the babies over to a couple of nannies and we all went off to a famous Ukrainian restaurant called Shnook. The place is quite bizarre in the way that it has live animals in a farm like setting in the centre of the place. 

You can see a cow in the background and a few chickens ...weird.

It was an extremely fun time as we were all still slightly worse for wear  - James ordered chicken kiev and stared at it whilst his stomach made washing machine noises. I spent 20 minutes in the toilet wandering whether I would be able to eat anything at all - I stayed off the alcohol although I was in the minority. The restaurant also had Ukrainian folk singers who walked around singing and making you join in - it was all rather hysterical - I managed a video of us all with bells and tambourines like a drunk Russian version of a Harry Krishna group. James was feeling particularly uncomfortable with the bell ringing....!

Laugh...god did I laugh..belly aching.

Ukrainian madness..

We went to see the 'Nutcracker' at The Bolshoi on the Sunday which was truly magical. The lead male was incredible and you have to admire their muscle structure. A male ballet dancer reminds me of the statue of 'David' by Michael Angelo - the perfect male physique - I don't find ballet dancers attractive but I do think they represent the most perfect state of the human body - muscle wise anyway. The main Bolshoi is closed for years for refurbishment and so you watch the performances on their practice stage called 'The new stage'. It certainly isn't as spectacular as The Bolshoi but the performance definitely was. 

We then walked across to the Ritz Carlton for a very civilised Vodka tasting. As I tried each large glass of vodka my ability to retain any information regarding the vodkas diminished and so I am unable to recount many words of wisdom. I do know that one of the best vodkas in the world is actually made in France from grape skins - not your usual potato or wheat based spirit. It is called CIROC and tasted slightly of oranges and lemons (said the bells of St. Clements - did you not sing that in your head after that sentence or was it just me?) We also tried a couple of Ukrainian vodkas as the water in Ukraine is the most pure. I'm writing this from a very sketchy memory so please don't quote me. We were also served some food that Russians eat whilst drinking vodka like pickled herring and smoked salmon - the pickled herring remained on most of our plates...not a big fan. After 5 or 6 glasses of vodka we then had a massive snow ball fight on the top of the Ritz Carlton which looks over Red Square. All slightly crazy and I'm hoping that they let me into the Ritz Carlton in future - I may have to wear a fake beard and glasses. On the subject of glasses - when we left the hotel, the ice on the pavements was horrendous and I managed to fall quite dramatically, pulling down my poor friend Kit and both of us smacked our heads on the floor. The fall was so chaotic that I managed to lose my glasses - by that I mean spectacles not glasses of vodka i'd stolen from the Ritz. We managed to get to an Irish bar around the corner where I sat on the end of a bench and the whole thing went up in the air like a see saw depositing me unceremoniously on the floor...time to go home for Chloe.

The moral of this story - don't save up all your drinking time for when people visit - we live in Moscow so not many people will visit. Don't drink vodka when trying to walk on black ice - granted the lubrication probably saved me a few broken bones. Try not to be possessed by the spirit of a mad Muscovite who wants to lead you astray and take you to strange clubs and don't sit on the end of an unsecured bench if there is no one at the other end.

Apart from these hard lessons that I have learnt over the last past weeks we all managed to have a rather fabulous Christmas and a very splendid and joyous New Year with very dear and special friends.

I thank you! Take it away Arthur -