Must leave fewer notes for waiters

Another week, another dozen near death experiences involving маршрутки/buses/cars. The roads of Russia really are a free-for-all. Seeing as I normally float around in a daze hither and thither with no regard to my surroundings, Russia was probably not the best choice.

This week has been eventful! I started teaching my first student – I am teaching our beloved English language to a high-powered businesswoman. I don't think she was too impressed when I turned up late (having gotten horrendously lost on a marshrutka on the way), looking tatty and wearing a lip piercing. Oops. I'd also gone in worrying about the fact that I smelt of fags... only to realise that it was a tobacco factory. I could feel my lungs shying away in nervous anticipation of the lung cancer to come. There were a few minutes of stilted conversation at first, but once we got into the flow of things it was all fine and dandy. Apart from the awkward moment when the whole of the production line staff laughed at me for being English/dressing oddly/speaking funny, everything went swimmingly. She's lovely and is really keen to learn, even if I don't know what the heck I'm talking about most of the time. One day she'll realise that my version of English grammar is somewhat awry. But I intend to have left Russia by then.

I have a new Russian friend, hurrah! I used the age-old trick of leaving my name and number on the table in a cafe for a waiter. I planned to leave the note and then make a swift and crafty escape to avoid embarrassment. Note written (You wanna speak some Russian with me?), me and Hamad made preparations to chip it out of the door, leaving no trace of our previous presence. We stood slowly, tense as the waiter passed by. Like Olympic track athletes at the starting line, waiting for the gun to fire that initial shot, we braced ourselves for escape. The waiter started talking to another customer and we legged it. Stumbling desperately towards the door, the exit was within reach when suddenly we heard shouts of 'Девушка, девушка!' ('Girl, girl!'). Shitter. He'd caught us. Hamad had left his scarf under the table and so our lovely waiter was returning it. This was followed by an awkward pause before me and Hamad decided to go for escape attempt number two and actually managed to leave. So, assuming that we'd decimated our chances of talking to a new Russkii by being typical awkward English-types and shuffling away instead of making conversation, I didn't think anything would come of it. But lo! Later that evening good old Pasha texted me asking if I still wanted to speak Russian with him. A brief phone call later, we'd arranged to meet the next day for a chatskii. So today we went to meet him and conversed for some time in Кофе Xаус. Well, I say conversed. It was mostly me and Hamad not understanding and him laughing at all the stupid noises we were making. But he seems like a nice chap, and no doubt I shall see him again.

In other news, the electricity went off in the flat the other day. It came back on and now the boiler has switched itself off. Ah Russia, you and your love of inconsistent services/facilities/everything. It'll be weird not having frequent power cuts back in England. And food that doesn't taste like Chernobyl. Christmas seems so soon. The time here has gone so quickly here. Hallowe'en is inching ever closer, and as usual my amazing costume ideas that require planning will be forgotten until the last minute and I'll end up covering myself in loo roll and saying I'm a mummy. Again.

Talking of Hallowe'en, here's a pumpkin-related video:

http://cuteanimals.todaysbigthing.com/2010/10/14

Pigeon attack

Sitting in a cafe with Amalia and Joanna listening to Brandy, the dead bodies and looming dentist appointments seem so far away. I'm finally starting to appreciate black tea too – if you ask for tea with milk in Russia you will most likely be met with a look of horror and a slap. Black tea with lemon is the way forward!

I experienced my first bab-related delay the other day. The бабушки (grandmas) in Russia are the stuff of legends – little old ladies dressed in head-scarves with faces like prunes and the barging ability of a bulldozer. I was on the way to school having already missed one lesson and running ten minutes late for the second, I found myself trapped in a crowd of about fifty grannies. I turned left and right, looking for an escape to safety but there was no way out. The only option left was to barge a bab. I mustered all my courage and pushed the least hench looking OAP in an attempt to get through. A tirade of angry Russian followed along with a shove back into the centre of the silver brigade. I was half an hour late to school because of Russia's angry pensioners, so I decided to hang about Sennaya Ploschad for a bit instead of making it into the lesson.

I booked my dentist appointment as well. I was slightly concerned when the receptionist said that the dentist spoke English 'very, very badly', but when I met her it turned out her English was fine. I cannot express how much I hate the dentist, and the idea of seeing one in Russia is not a particularly pleasing idea. However! She had a gander and all should be sorted by Tuesday. Hoorah! I could've been seen straight away but in a state of panic I ran away to feed bread to pigeons with Amalia. We were practically assaulted! To start with there were two or three pigeons, followed by a HUGE FLOCK of every feathered entity in the universe. There were some right tatty old birds, including one that we christened Ruffles McGee, who was too slow to get any bread. Bless 'im. I also accidentally booted a pigeon up the bum trying to shoo them away with my foot which was bare hilare. I've always secretly wanted to do it but have never been able to overcome the moral dilemma (whether to potentially ruin my shoes with poo or not).

This is Ruffles McGee:

I added the bow tie but he was already wearing the hat and holding a cane.

I've also now developed a new addiction... to ukelele! We went for dinner at the lovely Bekki and Martha's flat (which incidentally was ВКУСНO) and I had a little play around with Bekki's ukelele. Sooo much fun. I'm thinking of buying one. Spare change anyone?

Even egg and chips tastes weird in Russia

So, I still have toothache. Looks like I'll have to pay a trip to a Russian dentist, waaaah! I've been recommended a good one that is supposedly fluent in English so we shall see. I'll probably end up having all my teeth removed and become a toothless old crone. At the minute I'm dosed up on some hench painkillers and antibiotics which should do for the time being. I'm down with the physical pain, but the tooth pain related bullying at school is really getting to me. Some people just don't know when enough's enough.

In other more gruesome news, I saw a dead body on the street today. Two suspicious looking men were dragging him away and loading him into a boot. Welcome to Russia! It was really surreal and something I'm not in a hurry to see again. It's strange how callous an attitude there seems to be towards death in Russia, no one seemed bothered or shocked by it.

On a more positive note, I'm off to Moscow on the 16^th! Just for the night to see my partner in crime at Sheffield Uni, Joe 'The Rave' Grange. I'm sooo excited! Even for all Joe's vomming everywhere and bringing home random transvestites he's a nice chap. Hopefully a few people will be going, I don't fancy getting the train alone. Judging by my track record I'd end up in Leeds or something. Again.

Last night we all went to a Mike's 21^st birthday do – as usual I was roughly five hours (fashionably) late. It was a good night – some unexpected hook ups (or just the one shocker actually), a good mix of alcohol and antibiotics, and a bit of a cheeky Atelier (a club in Petersburg, rapidly becoming my regular). I also drunk dialled my friend, shot a lot of vodka after saying I wasn't going to drink, and stole a lot of cigarettes without being caught. Standard. I didn't see Mike towards the end of the night but considering the fact that he started drinking before 12pm I'm sure it must have only ended well. I somehow made it into school looking and feeling rough but to be honest I think I felt worse for the ridiculously oily egg and chips I made myself the night before than the alcohol. Bleeehhh. I was missing home so thought I'd eat something typically English, then realised I don't particularly like egg and chips. Also the crucial sausage was missing. At the risk of innuendo, I'm really craving a good bit of sausage. I'm not especially carnivorous in Britain – I basically just eat what's coming my way – but it's been a month-ish since I had proper meat and I can practically hear the anaemia. I had a quick gander at the meat in our local 'posh' shop and it was green. The cheaper shop, Dixi, also stocks meat, but a friend's landlady told him to “never ever ever buy meat from Dixi”. Maybe I won't then.

I finally bought a coat! It makes me look like a marshmallow made of poo but it's practical. It's the perfect complement to my ginger roots – I attempted to dye my hair back to it's natural brown colour and ended up with red roots. Stupid Russian hair dye. So I'm going to dye it black again. Or bleach it.......

Ouch

Once again horrendously hungover – this is the aftermath of three nights out in a row. I'm also suffering from toothache which a) is terrifying in case I have to see a Russian dentist and b) means I've had to spend the day holding a chilled can of Baltika to my face. It's been a fun weekend though, although I mysteriously ended up twatted every night after deciding not to drink excessively. I will probably (maybe) cut down in future and perhaps sort my life out. I'd like to think that wandering the streets in a man's coat and a шапка holding a fag and a bottle of beer was not the epitome of my blossoming youth. Also there's some recordings of me singing which will hopefully never see the light of day that were definitely the result of alcohol.

It's starting to get chilly now, but I've been told the heating comes on tomorrow! Hoorah! Yes, in Russia the heating is centrally controlled, so the state gas companies decide when the heating is turned on and off. Basically it's on in winter and off in spring. Supposedly it's absolutely boiling inside when it comes on so I shall be spending my days around the flat in hotpants. At the minute it's quite cold inside but I craftily bought a blanket from Ikea which functions both as a bed cover and fashionable garment. Here's a picture of me modelling said blanket with the lovely Chris and Sophie:

I'd like to point out that my face is not always like that, I was pretending to be an evil бабушка at the time. So yeah, it's getting to hideous coat weather. I have one short black coat that is possibly the only waterproof coat I've ever had. I look a right heffer in it. People keep running out of the way screaming when I wear it because I look so unbelievably hench. I'm going to invest in a coat more a la mode from Zara, but it's going to set me back a lot. That's one thing I've noticed here – the coats are really bad quality and very expensive for what they are. If you come to Russia, buy a coat in England! I'm considering wearing a duvet for the time being. I have bought myself a furry hat though, from that oh so authentic Russian shop, Topshop. It's practically bigger than me but it'll keep me warm and is a good pillow for those nights you end up drunkenly crashing at someone else's house.

Anyway, I'm off to do some of the gargantuan pile of homework that I've left until the last minute. And then nap for all of eternity.

Bleh.