As well as the regular 'lightning and thunder and copious amounts of never-ending rain' kind of storms, here in Siberia we are also host to another kind of storm, an invisible one that is happening constantly under our very noses (or above our very heads) without us even knowing it. This phenomenon is known as a 'magnetic storm', and can effect even the most sturdy-bodied and rational minded men. I knew the weather was sinister, and had long suspected that there was more at work than mere coincidence, waiting for me to wash my hair and leave the house in a t-shirt and freshly laundered jeans, before releasing an abrupt downpour from the suddenly blackened clouds at the most inopportune moments. And so I learn that now everything can be blamed on these so called magnetic storms..... Ask a Russian about them and be prepared for half an explanation, as is common when speaking about many subjects, a brief summary, but no more. Ask questions by all means but don't expect answers. So it was that my introduction to the topic of magnetic storms has not progressed into full blown knowledge, thus allowing me to hold the magnetic storms responsible for all manner of ailment – in my case tiredness, but without ever knowing why or how.... it just is.

And just as I start to tell the world (well that's you, all 3 of you) that the customer service in Russia leaves much room for improvement, I go to a shop and get served by the most wonderful people I've met in my whole time here! So, there I was browsing for mp3s in the little music shop I stumbled across, and I'm y'know weighing up the pros and cons of spending 150 roubles on the entire life works of REM in spite of already owning half of them, when the shop assistant comes over and asks (I presume) if I'm looking for anything in particular. I pull off a good Russian 'Niet' and he goes away none the wiser to my nationality. Then as I've moved on, leaving REM behind, to the female pop divas section, I am once again approached by another young assistant, who also falls for my disguise as a genuine Russian thanks to my convincing 'niet spassiba'. However, just as I think I've managed to escape detection yet another assistant comes and stands by me. The observant young man must have seen that something was amiss (perhaps he saw the Nick Cave cd in my hand and concluded instantly that I wasn't Russian) and instead of walking away after my now faltering 'er, niet' he stood and continued to ask me questions in Russian. Of course being a Brit, my politeness conquered, and I had to declare my true identity, apologise for the fact that I'm English and don't understand a word of his fine but impossible-to-grasp language. Before I know it there's 4 shop assistants standing round me handing me Coldplay and Oasis cds and telling me they love Manchester United. They spoke all the English words they knew and we tried our bests to have a conversation, I told them I don't like crazy frog, and after I paid, they said 'thank you for shopping'! It was all very endearing and reawakened my faith in the Russian public.

You'd be proud of me, so you would, I went to a Russian restaurant and ate real Russian food, something that I haven't done since the whole 'dog meat' conversation. We met a British man, who is here to work as a chef in a soon-to-be-opened-should-have-been-opened-in-March restaurant, who told us that this particular restaurant was where he hangs out and so we figured the meat would be of a safe non-canine variety. So instead of the customary pizza slice in a summer tent we had Russian food in an indoors eating establishment. We confused the waitress with our bad accents and inability to decide what we wanted to eat, and were happy with the bad service because at least we got cold beer and a smile (although I think she was smiling at us not with us). So this was how we sent the American and the English girls off, in Russian style, onto their next adventure.

Meanwhile, back in the real world of Tyumen day to day life, we have a new addition to the family. Yes, apparently it's a dog, but it resembles a black and brown rat, and makes attempts to bark which result in loud crying noises that wake me up frequently during the night. He's cute, in a rat-like way, and likes to play chase the human, which is quite dangerous as I've almost trodden on him several times in the excitement. I thought he was a miniature rotweiller until I looked closer and saw that he is in fact one of those really small big-eared rat-like dogs that bark at everything.

And so it is that we must bid fare-thee-well to the American and the English girls who have played such a vital role in keeping me sane these past few weeks. Although our days together were few and we could have met in January had the people of our fine city been more thoughtful (I mean, who keeps knowledge of two other English speaking people to themselves? Only in Tyumen, dear readers, only in Tyumen) we have shared so much – vodka, football, beer, cynical rants about our host country and standards of hygiene in same country, innuendos, humour not understood by the Russians, pizzas.... the list goes on, but not for much longer cos there's not much else that we've done – apart from go to the market. So, off they go on their adventure to Vladivostok, armed with only the strongest insect repellent that roubles can buy, and a bottle of vodka between them to share with their potentially homicidal cabin buddies.... oK so I'm being a bit romantic, in actual fact it's been very difficult for them to purchase the tickets to even get to Vladivostok, with the Russians pulling their familiar trump card of 'ah ha you want something? We're going to make you suffer and show you're really worthy of it by means of a number of trials in which we'll push you to the brink of despair'. So off they will ride into the mystical Eastern lands of Baikal and beyond, as Tyumen fades into the distance and likewise into the deep confines of their memories. It'll be a case of 'Tyumen? Huh? What? Oh, Tyumen, I remember the snow, the mud, the midgies and the dog meat.... it seems like a lifetime ago now kids, but I'll never forget that wise, lonesome English teacher who always carried a copy of Being and Nothingness under her arm, ready to quote Keats and Shakespeare, especially after a few shots of the old 'diaphanous venom' (that's my new name for vodka)'.... ah, the romance of Russia, it does strange things to the mind. But, as with all departures, there are those who get left behind and as we run after their train shouting 'take me with you', I and my two remaining English speaking buddies ('the grown-ups' we call them – no rants and beer for me any more) will be sad to see the two people from our company who were most proficient in the Russian language go. So if you've got a drink in your hand, propose a toast to adventure and English speaking people let loose in the wilds of the Russian countryside, and if you haven't got a drink in your hand, well go and get one you fool, but don't spill it on the computer.

Two bus journeys in two days... I've become really adventurous of late, even taking the bus on my own... it's easy. You don't have to speak to the bus babooshka, you just hand her the 9 roubles and you're off. So I ventured into more unknown territory and visited a Pizza Express. There is something you must be prepared for if you come to Russia and want to take part in the whole eating-out experience, and that is the poor service. We expect some differences when we go to new places, but c'mon, they've imitated as best they can the whole western restaurant theme and even taken a western name, you'd think they'd try just a little to recapture a bit of the standards of service which we in Europe and America hold so dear. So, after being given warm, flat beer we decided to 'complain' as best you can when you don't speak very much Russian. 'This beer is warm'(nobody knew the word for flat), to which the waitress said something about ice, 'Not in beer!' we cried, and then she mumbled something about it already being open and sorry, can't help. Meanwhile we witness our fellow diners being served golden frothy beer.... so we just order some more but this time include the word cold. Be prepared also to ask for your bill at least 20 minutes before the time when you think you'll want to pay. The Pizzas were great though, and big enough for our western stomachs – the Russians don't seem to eat much when they go out, we saw a table of 4 people getting one pizza to share! How ridiculous is that!?

My old friend the mud came back yesterday..... mud being a by-product of rain this time, not snow, like last time... But it's still the same old mud, the mud that when dry turns to dust and generally makes it's presence known by flying around in the air getting into the eyes of all citizens. So when you walk the streets you have to beware the following things; dust (also known as mud), insects (just waiting for their next feast) and cars (or more precisely the bad drivers in them). It's a tough challenge getting from A to B without one scrape or another. So, as my luck would have it, the one day I decided to venture out into unknown territory and experience my first bus ride, was also the day that we had an enormous storm... ok so I'm not talking rain, thunder and lightning, I'm talking full on forks of electricity zapping the sky every 10 seconds and thunder that sounds like a jumbo jet crashing into a wall.... it was while I was waiting for a bus home that the already heavy rain turned into a horror film cliché storm.... it was cool, but for the fact that I was wearing only a t-shirt and jeans. Also, everybody seemed to be taking shelter under the trees which I thought you weren't meant to do! The storm lasted for about 4 hours on and off, and has not cleared the air of warmth and humidity, it has only resulted in dirty streets and dirty trouser legs. Another heavy sigh from me....

As word reaches me from afar of the tales and adventures of Comrade Elliot who now spends his days herding goats in the mountains of the French Riviera and his evenings eating finely prepared meals of juicy olives, freshly baked bread and er goat, while drinking red wine to the backdrop of a still warm setting sun, I am not jealous that our paths parted and he ended up in a picturesque part of the world and I ended up in uh, well, a building site, which may one day be the second city of Russia, getting eaten alive by insects. It is warm here too. I must not feel defeated, as this is one of life's small hurdles, and I will be a better person for not tripping over at the first one.... although I am almost at the finishing line and who knows what will await me there....Retirement I feel is on the cards. However, all is not lost; I have had my moments of character building and soul cleansing, for it is hard to escape the philosophical nature of these Russians, and just about once a day I am asked a though-provoking question about the nature of existence, or at the very least I have to endure a monologue about 'what is happiness' and 'what is love'. (see also: Monologues from Russia: Breastfeeding and why Russian women are better mothers than anyone else in the whole world, and also, Monologues from Russia: Say NYET to Fast Food: Why Russians are healthier than their Western counterparts).
It is refreshing to meet other Native English speaking folk who don't find those particular topics of conversation suitable for engaging in with practical strangers, especially when both parties are sober. We are more adept at self deprecating humour and vacuous innuendos, which we do with perfection, leaving the Russians to mull over the finer aspects of life.

This week I have been listening to Fleetwood Mac. Yes, that's right, Fleetwood Mac. After purchasing their entire back catalogue, all 20 albums, for the reasonable price of 200 roubles – that's three and a half of your finest English Pounds Sterling, I feel I should do them a favour and listen to all 20 albums, you know, educate myself in the subject of 70's rock. Too long now have I felt the burden of being a music snob. They say travel broadens your mind, well travel here to Russia, and one can broaden all one's knowledge of music in one simple shopping trip. For less than 10 pounds, even the most spend thrifty amongst you could be the proud owner of entire album collections of all the best-known and well-loved rock and pop outfits. I left the shop a happy consumer with only a small amount of guilt that was overshadowed by my excitement and desire to get home as quickly as possible to listen to every single Pet Shop Boys album ever made! Snob no more, you see, I have broadened my mind.

This is your daily culture, news and weather update from the Dallas of Siberia!

As usual there isn't much to report so I shall have to rely on my imagination, memory and cultural stereotypes.

Uhmmm,,,,,

This week when I haven't been working (which is most of the time it seems – I mean, not working, these lazy Russians don't want to learn English in the summer) I have had my head stuck in a book, but I also managed to find time to watch the USA in the football showing support for my new American buddy (she even had pin badges that we could wear), but our support didn't get them anywhere and we lost interest halfway through because there was a bottle of vodka in the room, it seems 5 months in Russia gets you accustomed to certain, er, customs. So that was fun, I always like to drink vodka and feel the next day like I've been poisoned. Talking of which, the Russians keep trying to convince me that their wild mushrooms are the best thing since ready-made pilmeni and that I could do nothing better than go to the forest and pick some, take them home and boil them for 5 hours to take all the poison out and then, get this, eat them. I tell the Russians that the reason we eat our mushrooms raw in England is because they're not poisonous and any mushroom that will kill you when eaten raw is not a mushroom that should be eaten by me! They even eat those big red ones with the white spots – are they called toadstools? The kind that Brownies sit on and that I thought were the thing of fairies and legend, but no, they are alive and poisonous here in Tyumen forest.... and no I haven't seen any fairies. The frustration.

Russian: Do you have mushrooms in England?
Me: Yeah
Russian: What kind of mushroom?
Me: ....the normal kind. Oh and big flat ones and little button ones.
Russian: (bragging now) We go to the forest and pick our mushrooms, they're everywhere, and we love our mushrooms we have hundreds of different kinds.
Me: Yeah ? Well in Britain you're not advised to eat mushrooms that you find in a wood – er that's a British forest, I saw an episode of Neighbours once when Harold and Jim did that and it had terrible consequences, even though that wasn't in Britain cos it's an Australian programme, but even so I think it would be the same in Britain....
Russian: Huh? (ignoring me)You mean you haven't been mushroom picking? (shock and disapproval on face) Well we always go mushroom picking. Always and we love mushrooms, have I told you that we love mushrooms?
Me: YES, and you've been telling me since January, but the only mushrooms I've seen have been in a tin or in a jar, pickling, in the supermarket and I wouldn't buy poisonous mushrooms from a crazy mushroom-picking dirty fingered babooshka on a street corner if you paid me!! (this bit I say in my head, whilst nodding and clenching my fists underneath the table).

So mushrooms and the Tyumenites have this strange relationship – and it's all down to Oleg Ivanova and Irina Irina the mushroom queen... it goes like this: Oleg was walking along the River Tura one fine autumn day, long ago before you or I were even born, when suddenly he saw a beautiful lady in the distance and heard her laughter which enchanted him and he followed her into the forest. He caught up with her and fell in love with her instantly. 'Let me take you to my village Tyumen, one day it will be prosperous for I have had a vision that oil will be found in the north, and you will be my wife' – he said to her. She took him to meet her mother, Irina Irina who as it turned out was the queen of the mushrooms which was unfortunate because Oleg, well, he just hated mushrooms. NO - he screamed when he found out that he would be related to a mushroom, and his hatred was sent forth from his body killing the Mushroom Queen and in turn making all the mushrooms in her land poisonous for ever more. As you can well imagine Irina Irina's daughter was none too pleased and to seek her revenge she married Oleg but cursed the people of his village to be obsessed with the mushrooms that had been tainted by his hatred and to speak of them to all visitors who would ever come to the village, enough to make the visitors want to leave and never come back. Some say that on a fine night when you are mushroom picking in the forest you can catch the sound of Irina Irina singing as she attempts to heal the poisoned mushrooms, Irina Irina the mushroom queena the mushrooms are not all they seema ....

I feel that my cynical ramblings may not suitably reflect the life I live here in Russia, so here for your cultural pleasure is a day in the life of a Russian devooshka (that's young lady)...

Morning:
The average Russian lady is unemployed, self-employed or a housewife so, like them, I get up late, perhaps at about 8 or 9 am. Typical Russian breakfast appears to be buckwheat or some other cooked grain, maybe eggs, or sometimes pasta cooked in milk (yes you did read that correctly). I have yet to catch on to this tradition of morning eating so I stick to my cerial usually of a flake nature (there's no bran flakes in Tyumen – John-John!) or if I'm feeling adventurous I'll go for the honey-nut Cheerios (only brands of cerial are Nestles or Russian-own brand). They drink coffee or tea. A lot of people here seem to think that coffee is bad for you so tea seems to be the drink of choice but in our house we have the knowledge that coffee is GOOD and so we favour the dark Columbian bean. Most women have a child by the time they're 23 (unless they want to be socially ostracised) so if I was a Russian I would prepare the buckwheat for my kiddie and then wait for the nanny or the babushka to come and relieve me of my duties as a mother while I go and earn the roubles. In fact it's not uncommon for the babushka to live in the same apartment block as, or even with, the family so they can act as housemaid and nanny all at once.

I go to work whenever I have lessons, so two days a week I go in at 10am, and the rest of the time it's the afternoon when I start. As for the average woman I'm not too sure, some of the ladies I teach are businesswomen and some are lawyers or doctors, but usually they are mothers and housewives, but either way it seems like a pretty relaxed system that they have.

Afternoon:
At lunch time there is no routine, the teachers in our place just go to the shop in their breaks and get bread or yoghurt for food and have tea to accompany it. I usually come back to the flat and have a snack. Kids don't start school until they are seven so my little Russian buddy is usually in watching TV or playing with his toys. In the afternoon I go back to work and usually finish at 7 or 8pm, as evenings are the most popular time for adult lessons.

Evening:
Now the sun is out it seems that the common thing to do is go for a walk or go for food and a drink, although they don't have pubs, they have cafes that serve beer and food and stay open until 11 or 12. A lot of people seem to think that, like coffee, television is a bad thing; one of the results of the fall of communism, so they don't allow themselves to watch it, but I find it quite fun to try and guess the storyline and even the dialogue. It all seems quite harmless if you ask me, the only unsuitable channel is MTV because a) it plays nothing but pop and imported American shows like PUNKED and b) the Russian pop videos are very distasteful.

Weekends:
In the winter people do winter sports and in the summer they go to their dachas. Most families have a dacha usually in the forest in the outskirts of the city so about 30 minutes drive away. They grow fruit and have barbecues and have banyas. If you don't have a dacha you spend the weekend in the city maybe shopping in one of the many shopping centres, or going to the cinema, also in one of the many shopping centres, in fact you can just chill in the shopping centre all day, which seems to be a very popular activity. Me, I like to read and listen to music, just like as if I was at home.

I visited Siberia's equivalent of Walford Market yesterday... Like any typical market it provides the consumer with badly made brand imitations at bargain prices and so I left with a pair of trendy sunglasses that cost less than 2 British pounds. Now I feel like a proper Russian. There was a distinct lack of friendly cockernay banter and 'get yer apples and pears' type shouting that I always equate with a good market in any big city, but nonetheless the market devooshkas were always keen to make a sale, speaking rapidly and placing products in our hands that they thought we might like. I thought about buying a whole Russian girl outfit but decided against it because first of all the effort to communicate was too daunting and secondly I don't want to dress like a Russian girl... tiny skirt, tiny top and tiny shoes. I prefer to protect myself from the inevitable rain storm that will ensue from hot weather by wearing trousers and shoes that cover my feet.

We watched the England game in the Irish pub where the atmosphere lacks drunken karaoke singing and dancing, and where the beer is 100 roubles more expensive than the places we normally go to. Ok so there's a toilet that isn't a hole in the ground and you can sit indoors and watch TV, but still, you'd think they'd make some effort to attract the Russian crowds to give it a bit of an atmosphere. So we went with all anticipation that this would be where all the English folks who now live in Tyumen would be hanging out to watch the football.... but we were the only ones in there apart from a few Russian blokes and a few tables of Russian diners.

Other news; it's been incredibly hot, there's been a big storm, Pop Idol finished, today is Independence Day so another public holiday....that's it.

For all you lovers of the little devils you'll be happy to know that I have been given a new class consisting of just one little devil 5 year old girl. I'm sure the lack of influential peers to lead her into pencil throwing and head banging against tables will make this class a lot easier, but still, a 5 year old is still a 5 year old and therefore equals trouble.

Ok as usual I have to cut short this stint on the computer as there are angry Russians growling at me to get off it...

I am a girl, duty-bound to these Russian hosts of mine, and I have been fulfilling all duties, the most important of these being to bring to them the joys and wonders of the English words that I have accumulated in my vastly expanding knowledge based brain.... errrr, no comments from the phantom grammar corrector please, yes, that's you Mother.... So, here I am, a girl with a mission. It's just me, The English Language and a pocket Russian-English dictionary against the world!!

First on my list of duties was to help young Vova, my Russian son/brother (his mother is only 5 years older than me but women have such a motherly nature here!), let's call him Cousin Vova to spare any confusion... ok so Cousin Vova has a PSP which he loves more than life itself. It's the perfect accessory for any 7 year old boy and I'm happy to see him playing with it because when he does, that means he's too occupied to find alternative amusement in hitting me and throwing balls in my direction (he doesn't throw a good ball if you get my meaning) all of which he does with the utmost affection and in fact gets great delight when I shout 'OW' because he thinks that's me having fun.... anyway, the PSP brings joy to his life AND he gets to learn English while he plays as there doesn't seem to be a Russian option on the menu (no wonder they think the world's against them)..... so he comes to me and asks me what wonderful words such as 'convicts' and 'vixen'(he struggled to pronounce that one, but I soon sorted that out), to which I tell him in my best worldly-wise voice 'ahhh, that's a lady. A beautiful lady'. Although there's a picture and he can clearly see it's a lady alright, but not a reputable one.

Second on my list of ever-increasing duties, was to represent to Russia and it's mother the sheer brilliance of Business English (!!)....... Searching through my least-favourite-of-all Business English text book I stumbled across an article that epitomises all that is WRONG with this way of talking like you know everything but in actual fact you know nothing (that's the foundation of Business English). This article says to me that only 7 percent of communication is words, 55 percent is tone of voice and 38 percent is body language.... Who makes up these percentages and then puts them in a report and gets the gullibles of the world to believe it? This particular case of words losing all their meaning over the preference for sheer intuition suits the Russians who seem to have their very own way of interpreting things you say to them, Example:

Russian Woman: You like a Russian boyfriend?
ME: I've got a boyfriend in England thanks
Russian Woman: We get you a Russian boyfriend!

Russian Woman: You like more Blini?
Me: Oh, no thanks I'm really full. Couldn't eat another raisin.
Russian Woman: (summoning the waitress) More Blini for the foreigner!

Although I'm sure on both of these occasions my body language would have been totally reflecting my words. I had been what can only be described as kidnapped and force fed huge amounts of Russian cuisine and bombarded by inane questions about England (sometimes it's hard to distinguish between hospitality and torture in this country).

I haven't actually shown outwardly my hatred of BE, because a) I have to teach it, and b) nobody would listen anyway (here in Russia they seem to be embracing all aspects of armchair psychology and self help that has shipped it's way over from the fair shores of America, the rejects from a nation where it's so ingrained into the minds of citizens that they no longer need books to learn from; and in fact that piece of information about words and body language has already been regurgitated back to me this week by my Russian manager).

Sorry for the lack of writing over the past few days, the computer here in the office is slightly temperamental, or doesn't like foreigners or something!

A favourite topic of conversation for me in lessons when the students are struggling for the right English phrases to express what they do in their free time (remember GCSE French lessons? – everybody in the class likes going for walks and listening to the radio) I ask them, 'so what do you think are the big differences between Russians and British people?' The response? Well sometimes it's that British people are more polite, Russians are friendlier (I just smile and nod), and often it's noted that British people obey the law... now I know that for many Russians the minor driving offences are of no great concern to them, after all, the roads are so dangerous here that nobody drives very fast anyway, and any pedestrian who has spent more than 1 hour on a Russian street will know that the cars don't stop just because the red light is on. This is irritating for us foreigners who see obeying of the traffic laws as a sign of civilised society... and plain good manners, by jove. But one becomes accustomed to such ways and so it is that people don't even look at it as breaking the law, I mean, wasn't there a policeman back there talking to some pretty girls and offering to buy them a beer, so surely we're in safe hands........So, I asked my Russian friend 'why does everybody park on the pavement, forcing us pedestrians to walk into the dangerous territory of the road?'... 'well, you know, there's no policemen about and it's cheap for these people to leave their cars here all day' came her reply. There's just too many follow-up questions to that one. Once again I remember the advice in the imaginary handbook that saves all foreigners in Russia; don't ask questions.

But hey, breakage of the laws don't always have to be negative....and you can get away with pretty much anything if you think about it.... drinking on the streets? Illegal in Britain, but not here – everyone's doing it!..... buying dodgy music? Illegal in Britain, well everyone seems to be doing it here so it might possibly not be illegal.....Let's just work on the understanding that it's totally legal and y'know even though Uncle Vanya just bought the Arctic Monkeys album for 2 pounds, the royalties will still make it over to Sheffield in a big bundle of roubles.... no, really, I'm sure they will.

..... OK, no food talk in this post. Promise.

When I haven't been accidentally locking my Russian family out of the house, forcing them to spend the night in a hotel (yes I am a heavy sleeper and no I wasn't drunk), I have been exchanging stories of the natives with my two new friends. We are now regular faces around town and like me they are oddly drawn to the summer tents, where spectacles such as bad dancing to bad karaoke singing can be witnessed. This strange ritual we merely observe from a distance, not yet ready to indulge whole heartedly in the culture of our adopted home, but captivated nonetheless.

TV news update – the soap opera about the ugly woman is still running but ugly woman has had a makeover thus transforming her into a not quite so ugly woman.... the Russian version of The Upper Hand is now repeating the episodes from January and February owing to the lack of ideas maybe (this programme, unlike our version which was shown once a week, is aired every day – so they're obviously struggling to find original scenarios for the characters to experience after 1 million episodes and only 2 real characters, as they seem to have missed out the Honor Blackman character, perhaps the concept of a glam babushka is far too foreign for the Russians to accept. Although wasn't there a Russian Bond girl, I'm sure they could draft her in for some extra work).

The little devils are no more but they have been replaced with another challenging class.... adult starters, that's adults who have no English knowledge, a bit like me learning Russian, only I get taught by someone who speaks both languages.... so the challenge is to make a lesson last for a whole hour without running out of ideas to keep them interested. Despite the lack of head banging against tables and throwing of crayons it has the same effect on my nerves as teaching the little devils.

Perhaps owing to the imminent commencement of the World Cup the Irish pub around the corner from our school asked for their food menu to be translated into English by the competent teachers that work with me. Hereupon I was summoned to assist. This was interesting for me as, if you are an avid reader of this here blog, you will know that I have become obsessed by food just through my sheer annoyance at not being able to eat Sainsbury's finest humous and olives every day.... I mean c'mon, we're in the vastly expanding Capitalist, uh, capital of Siberia, what do you mean there's no Tesco? Actually, my obsession derives from something a lot more sinister than simply a lack of a well-known celebrity-endorsed chain superstore; pure starvation. Oh how I long for a slice of pizza whose taste does not linger in my mouth for a whole two days after I have eaten it....

Anyway, see how I digress at the mere thought of food. So, the most interesting aspect of assisting in the translation was that I got to see how restaurants actually make their food sound appealing to the Russians in their own language.... a mean feat if any restaurant is to survive, surely.... The answer? They don't. For this is the difference between our two fair cultures. The Russians don't lie, they just say what they see. Ok here's one example: 'pork lard' .... I explained to my colleague that although this is, technically what pork scratchings are, no you can't put the word lard on a menu and expect people to buy it – especially an American, you take another completely unrelated word and put it in Lard's place, thus we have 'scratchings'. Similarly with Pork Neck... you don't want to know that you're eating a neck!!! NO! That's just wrong....

So it was my job to turn all these unappealing delicacies into dishes that would tempt even the weariest of travellers, as they pop in for a quick bite and a pint of Harp fresh off the Aeroflot flight and in need of a brandy to calm their nerves, with nothing to aide me besides the Great English Language that we all know and love..... I only hope that one of those darn Americans, who love so much to sue the asses off everyone they meet, don't stop by and order the 'finest selection of succulent meats' only to discover that they have just chewed into a dog testical!

OK just one more anecdote about food, and tomorrow I will change the subject (I am sitting in my room and the waft of freshly cooked fish is reassuring me that tonight I will be fed like a queen because my Russian host is cooking. Alas she doesn't cook very often but when she does it's only the finest fare that roubles can buy, and she probably spends about a month of my salary on one fish...) Ok so I'm Johnny Foreigner and I don't have much money to be extravagant when it comes to my shopping, but I go to the best supermarket in town where even the Oligars do their weekly shop so why can't I find good food? These people keep telling me that Russian food is the best in the world but where are they hiding it? Distressed, I asked a colleague (she's a family woman, so surely she wants her children to grow up healthy and wouldn't dream of feeding them bad food) 'what brand of pilmeni shall I buy, which is the best?' says I. She has a joke with one of the other girls in Russian and I enquire what's been said, 'ah we were just laughing because there used to be a really good brand but now they put dog meat in their products' she says smiling. First of all, is that funny? And second of all, if I hear one more comment about dog meat I shall cry.... I'm just thinking what horrors I must have inflicted on my poor body these past 4 months.... I'm sorry, insides, for making you digest the meat of stray dogs....

So I just don't get it, the food is bad, they know it's bad, they continue to buy it (perhaps in the vain hope that one day it will improve, perhaps because they have no other choice?) and continue to delude themselves that it's the best food in the world. I suggested that they write a letter to the Pilmeni company demanding that they improve their products or maybe just stop buying it as a protest... They look at me wearily and tell me that the days of revolutions are over, people are tired of revolutions...I didn't think that expecting high standards was a revolutionary act but who am I to comment, I'll never understand, our worlds are so distantly apart....bizarre..... and it's not just with food that they have this strange mentality.... but that's another story for another time when the light is fading and there's a plentiful supply of red wine at hand...... Until tomorrow, dreamers..