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.