epic proportions

I suffered from my first Russian hangover yesterday and it was a mighty one considering the little amount of alcohol that I consumed. I had drunk some beer (was still ok) when I was offered some cheap fruit cognac (yes! I said, why the hell not?) so with beer fueled enthusiasm I knocked back the cognac (hmmm this is good it tastes like port - give me another!). And the night ended there. A few hours later I woke up with an epic hangover. As always the Russian weather didn't let me down, for it too must have been suffering from some drink related malaise, it's grey skies didn't clear all day and I felt a great affinity with the dark, struggling clouds overhead. And today the sun is out and I feel alive again! Hooray for cheap fruit cognac, and hooray for the lack of memory as it's more than likely that I offended someone in my drunken honesty (Your town is dirty and you're all so unfriendly....)

But onwards comrades we must not let a few inappropriate words hinder our developing friendships.

I have made a mistake in a past entry. For those avid readers who follow my every word closely, you may recall my observations (witty yet tinged with sensitivity) about Russian pop idol? Well, I was wrong. It was in fact Russian 'fame academy' that I was watching and that's why there was no Simon Cowell figure to make the show slightly entertaining. But I watched the Factory (that's it's Russian name) over the weekend and came to the conclusion that the format is the same as the British version - they all live in a house together, the content is the same - they all have about as much talent as a deaf and dumb squirrel, and the people are the same - they are all detestable egoists. This insight I gained by not even understanding what they were saying.

There is not much else to report back to base. I shall be returning soon, you'll be able to spot me at the airport; I'll be the worldly wise one carrying a wooden spoon decorated in traditional Russian patterns. I am quite sad about leaving this town: I like the responsibility I have of providing the Siberians with an idea of Britishness, of informing them at every given opportunity that Americans are always wrong, especially in the English language and of teaching them our favourite and most ridiculous idioms. Idioms rule, long live the idiom.