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.