This morning I caught a central line busker playing the DangerMouse theme tune on his accordion.

THE STRANGEST SIGHT I HAVE SEEN TO DATE IN MOSCOW

It was 9.30 on a bright Tuesday morning. It was a novelty for me to be awake at this time, let alone in the centre of the city, but I was planning to visit the foreign-language bookstore to pick up some graded readers for one of my groups.

So I was walking along one of those mostly pedestrianised old cobbly streets in the Theatre District. Up ahead on the right was the bookshop, and on the left the map shop, which I also wanted to pop into. Only there was no way I could go into the map shop because of the large mob of angry citizens milling around outside it.

This was no ordinary mob: there were young men, old women, mothers with children. All of them were shouting at each other, pushing, shoving, gesticulating. There were also two middle-aged women leaning out of a high first floor window above the map shop - whether it was part of the shop or a private shop I really couldn't say. These two women were also shouting and gesticulating. There also appeared to be some kind of robe dangling down from the window into the street below.

In the middle of the mob there was a TV crew, complete with cameramen and reporter.

After a minute of this a police car pulled up. It didn't have the sirens on, and indeed the police officers seemed content just to watch the mob from a distance (which I was doing), while smoking (which I wasn't doing). It was only when one of the younger members of the mob started shoving a rather frail old lady that the police felt compelled to intervene. The young man, once he saw the police approaching, started quite hilariously to sidle off and pretend that he wasn't involved. However, Moscow's finest were not fooled. But as soon as they grabbed the man, half the crowd started shouting, 'It's not fair! He's not to blame!'

In the middle of this rucus, the two women in the window took the opportunity to pull up the rope that was dangling down from their window. As it ascended I saw that an incredibly large and full shopping bag was tied onto one end. The bag made its painstaking journey up the side of the building. Slowly the crowd turned to watch - even the policemen seemed to forget about the young man they had seized.

Oh no! The bag wedged itself under the window ledge and wouldn't climb any higher. Half the crowd shouted for the women to pull harder, the other half for them to let it down again. It was like some demented quiz show. The women decided to pull harder but - disaster - the bag split, raining down tins of food and items of fruit, mostly bunches of bananas, onto the crowd below.

The crowd were not to be deterred even by aerial bombardment from baked beans and bananas. Indeed most of them reached for the fallen fruit and started lobbing it at the window. The two women in the window responded with encouraging words - 'Come on! Throw it! You can do it!' but whether they were being supportive or defiant I haven't the faintest idea.

So that was when I was treated to the strangest sight I have seen to date in Moscow. Bananas pinging off walls, off gutters, bananas bouncing back onto policemen, into windows. It was an early morning theatre district banana fight. Fantastic! And I still don't have the faintest idea what it was all about.

*

So, I'm still in this crazy, violent city where metro trains explode and leisure centres collapse. What the hell am I doing here? What are any of us doing here? Why is Rich here? Gareth? Julia? Liz? Anthony?

Moscow is a fantastic place to be. I hope that the story I just wrote shows you that. If you still don't understand why I'm here, then I don't think there's anything else I could say to you.

JD.

SPECIAL GUEST BLOG POST ABOUT HATS
by Julia Davis, who I should say is American


So, this analysis is about hats. You know the big furry things you see on top of the heads of Russians in movies, thinking to yourself 'no one would actually wear something that ridiculous in real life,' here's the news: they really wear them. And not just one or two people, they're everywhere. Honestly I thought it was strange until I began to understand what was going on: The Russians are competing for Biggest Hat. Now for those of you not in Moscow this may sound like a simple, uninteresting competition, but as an inhabitant of the battle ground I can tell you it is quite a show.

But first let me say that not everyone is involved in this highly complex War of the Hats. As with most any Russian competition, those who do not have a shot at winning simply choose not to compete. This is announced by
going to the other extreme and having a small, knit hat that fits tightly to the skull (in these cases it seems the scarf
must be quite big, nearly swallowing the head, but I haven't quite figured this one out yet).

Anyway, for those who can afford or have the ways and means to hunt for some large, furry animal to stick on their head the competition is on. There are several ways of winning Biggest Hat. The men usually opt for
the straight ahead approach and simply kill or buy something that perches just above the ears and hope that it's big enough.

The general form of the hat can be made bigger by getting an extra furry skin or by finding a long-haired animal whose tuffs wave in the wind. Color is also an issue. Some, confident in the size of the hat, wear a simple black furred beast. Others, perhaps trying to trick other contestants into thinking their hat is bigger, wear wild colors. I have seen orange, red, purple (on a woman - I'll get to that) and, for those who are really going for it, combinations of these abominations.

Now, in the category of color it seems that women have more freedom than men, being able to pull off (used loosely) all sorts of crazy business. For goodness sakes, I have seen yellow. A big, poofy, yellow fur hat?I would have run screaming in the other direction but I was too busy pissing myself. The women also adhere to a differently formed hat. Not the traditional shoot-it-perch-it-top-the-head that you've seen in movies. For the women it is more of a
buy-it-wrap-it-round-the-head-like-a-hood. This gives the advantage of having more material to work with. I have noticed it is important for the fur to stick out in every direction as much as possible thereby drastically increasing the size. Also, some women supplement with poofy, furry tails that hang from the hat and are wrapped about the neck like a scarf. These women are usually front runners.

Now, I hear you ask 'How can you be sure this is a competition? Maybe they are just cold.' To that I say, 'pfaaagh. cold my arse.' These folks are warriors. If you have ever seen the look on a man's face as he strolls down the street, his hat towering above all others, you will know that Hats are serious business. Or a pair of eyes swiftly scanning the metro car to see if anyone's hat is bigger and the look of triumph when they confirm that, indeed, they have the Biggest Hat. How that triumphant look can turn to despair when a Bigger Hat boards the car. I have seen Russians running blindly from hats that seriously out size their own. Babushki board a packed metro car and immediately be given a seat in deference to the size of the Hat. Occasionally, when there are two men with equally sized hats in the same car, one will get off and board the next car up so he can be alone in his victory. Yes, in Russia Hats are serious business folks. I just wanted to let you know.

HEAD, SHOULDERS, KNEES AND WHAT?

Okay. Pop quiz.

What's the name of the walky bit on the end of your leg?
And the name of the joint connecting the leg to that bit?
Your arm bends in the middle. What do you call that?
And where your fingers bend. What do we call those knobbly things?

I hope that you answered, in this order: foot, ankle, elbow, and knuckle.

I have been trying to teach my Russian students vocabulary for parts of the body, only to be hampered by the fact that Russians either don't have a word for a body part (foot!), have it but can't remember it because it's so obscure (ankle, elbow), or worse, don't know if they even have a word for it or not (knuckle).

It seems that, in Russian, everthing from the hips down is 'leg'. There's also little distinction between fingers, thumbs and toes (if you want to talk about toes, you have to say 'fingers on your feet', which is quite a scary mental image).

On the plus side, there is a word in Russian for the back of the head, which is something I'm pretty sure we don't have in English.

NEW COAT

I have bought a new coat. I actually look like a Russian now, rather than a downhill skiier who got a bit lost trying to find the Alps.

I knew the type of coat I wanted to buy. I asked a couple of acquaintances who had recently bought coats how much they had spent, giving me an idea of a reasonable price. I went to a clothes market that was recommended to me. I found a coat I liked. I tried it on. It fitted. I asked the price. It was, indeed, reasonable.

I agreed the price. But no! The market trader wasn't having that. He was so offended I didn't haggle that he started haggling with himself.

"3,300 Roubles."
"Okay. I'll take it."
"No! 3,200 Roubles. That's my final offer!"
"Okay, okay. I agree."
"No!"

I felt so bad for the bloke that I was tempted to start haggling the price up.

EAT YOUR HEART OUT JAMES EARL JONES

I have discovered a new and lucrative sideline to my teaching career, courtesy of the translation department of Language Link. One of the girls there, Jo, got me a contract recording the English language voice-over for a short film. So I spent one afternoon last week in a recording studio in North-East Moscow laying down my part.

I am sure you are dying to know what future blockbuster it is that I was working on. It is yet to be titled, but it concerns mineral deposits in a Siberian lake called Kuchuk. I am sure that it will take the box office by storm.

Actually, the text that I read was so full of scientific terminology that I doubt I understood much more than the Russian recording studio staff.

Me: What's this? 'Astrakhanite'? How do I pronounce it?
Russian: How do you think you should pronounce it?
Me: Er. Astra-KHAN-ite? AST-rakhanite?
Russian: Yes, one of those. In three, two, one...

Also, I'm not sure who translated the text from Russian in the first place but it wasn't exactly racy. I recall that it began: "Lake Kuchuk. A meridionally elongated body of water...." Plus I had to read it at an incredibly fast pace - four pages of typed A4 in nine minutes, including pauses. So I sound more like a horse-racing commentator than anything. "LakeKuchukameridionallyelongatedbodyofwater!"

The recording studio was a converted flat, and we had to keep stopping the recording while the neighbours flushed their toilet, slammed their doors, did the vaccuuming... Russian professionalism at its best.

Still, for some of us, fame beckons.

IDENTITY CRISIS

Hello. I'm still alive.

So, I went back to England for Christmas and New Year. I realised then that I am slowly turning into a Russian, doing things like: shaking the hands of everyone I meet, even friends old and new; taking my passport with me to change money.

Either that or I am turning into an American. People are 'guys', holidays are 'vacations', everything is 'sweet'. I think I know how is at least partly to blame for this (and no, it's not South Park). And did you know that Americans don't use the word 'fortnight'?


A SMALL BUT ILLUSTRATIVE ANECDOTE

This, er, vacation, I took the brand new high speed train link between Moscow city centre and the airport for the first time. I was impressed to see that the airport had two platforms, inbound and outbound, which they had cunningly numbered 1 and, er, 4. Some things never change.

NIZHNIY NOVGOROD

This weekend was, you may be surprised to learn, yet another holiday weekend. 'Consitution Day' no less, which is quite funny considering the recent elections.

Julia and I took a trip to Nizhniy Novgorod (literally, 'lower new town' and not to be confused with Novgorod in the North of Russia), about 8 hours east of Moscow - a third of the way to the Urals. It's Russia's third largest city with well over a million inhabitants, and yet still able to prompt responses of 'what? where?' whenever you tell anybody. It used to be called Gorky under the Soviets, as it was the birthplace of the writer Maxim Gorky. Interestingly, he wasn't in favour of the city being renamed in his honour. Didn't stop the Soviets doing it though.

My more attentive readers may remember that I had attempted to go to NN previously, but was prevented by the fact that the train station staff weren't aware that the city changed its name ten years ago. For my part, I wasn't aware that the city had been called Gorky. This misunderstanding made buying tickets rather difficult.

This time round, however, the process was much simpler. I queued up. I asked for tickets. I was told 'Gorky nyet!', with no explanation. Rather perturbed, I joined a different queue. A passing woman told me to queue in queue number 15 instead. I queued in that queue. There I was told to join a different queue in an entirely different train station in a different part of Moscow, even though I was at the train station from where the trains to Nizhniy, I mean Gorky, departed. I went to the other train station. I queued again. I managed to procure the tickets. Easy.

Nizhniy is actually a really well laid-out and easily navigable city, built either side of the river Oka where it feeds into the Volga. However, arriving at 5.30am in the pitch black after a night on the train, with no map, no hotel reservation and a temperature of -5, would be a challenge for the most intrepid traveller. Julia and I did the only sensible thing: caught a bus and got off when most of the other people did. That was how we found the imaginitively titled 'Hotel Oka', so renowned that not even Lonely Planet mentions it. But they seemed quite pleased to see two foreigners at 6 in the morning. At least, they weren't actively obstructive and gave us a hotel room.

A little about the city. It seems by far the most prosperous place I've been to in Russia, though not in an overtly western way. Perhaps because it is far enough away from the influence of Moscow. There is a proper centre, with the city's bars and clubs along a main drag leading up to the Kremlin and the administrative buildings. Bizarrely, the entire length of this street is strung with speakers; perhaps in Soviet times they were used for propaganda but now they are used to subdue the population with 24 hour Ricky Martin.

Personally, I was happy because the locals didn't seem to bat an eyelid at my heavily accented Russian; not once were we accosted by 'Hey! You is English, yes! I know English good!' People just chatted, in Russian. It was really nice. Plus - and this was a huge shock - everbody was incredible friendly and helpful. The lady who tried to explain to us how to use a pedestrian crossing was probably taking it a bit too far, but her heart was in the right place.

The city's Kremlin is something special, a gigantic fortress overlooking the meeting of the two rivers and with a restaurant built into its ancient stone walls. The inside of the Kremlin is dotted with old military hardware, including the top of a submarine, artillery guns and Soviet tanks.

The only other thing I'd like to mention is that we had had to buy first class tickets for the return journey because of availability. I can tell you that the only difference between Russian first class and Russian second class train travel - apart from costing a third more - is that you get a packed lunch. Not even including caviare. But hey, because it costs more, no other bugger travels first class and you're pretty much guaranteed to get a cabin (if not a carriage) to yourself.

CHOICES

So we had the elections. The Pro-Putin United Russia party trounced everybody, as predicted. Putin's puppet national socialist 'Homeland' party stole enough votes away from the communists to give him the two-thirds support he needs to change the consititution. There's no longer any liberal representation in the Duma as both the liberal parties fell just under the required 5% threshold. Allegations of vote fixing and ballot stuffing are rife, both here and abroad, though here it's just coming from the communists, the only opposition with any teeth left. They've even been arguing the case for the liberals, their natural enemies.

But hey, nearly every Russian I've spoken to is pleased as punch. Their leader has more strength than ever; strength enough to push through any changes he wants. I don't think Russia really understands the role of a political opposition. Most of the Russians I come into contact with on a day to day basis are atypical of the nation as a whole: they're young, educated, westernised, and cosmopolitan. Yet nearly all of them voted for United Russia. Ask them why, and most parrot: "They're a strong party. A united Russia is a strong Russia." I tell you, it's seriously scary. I think that, if Putin has previously appeared as a very moderate leader, it is because he has been held in check by the remnants of Yeltsin's supporters, known as 'The Family'. This set of elections has seen The Family lose the last of its influence and power.

Putin now controls: the presidency, the Duma, the security forces (including the FSB), all television channels, and most printed media. He has enormous influency on the judiciary, and the Duma itself is a coalition of aggressive nationalists.

But at least I'm not in Amerika.

Well, I haven't written for a long time. That's because nothing much has happened.

We are becoming slightly more international at our company, having acquired people from Sweden, Lexumbourg and France recently. The average scarf-wearing ability has increased noticeably, mainly due to all the French girls.

The weather is strange. We haven't had a big snow fall so far this year, and all the snow that did fall has long melted by now. So it's the first week of December and the ground is still bare. We even had some rain a week ago!

I'm going back to England for the holidays, flying on the 22nd of December. I love British Airways. Although I was taken aback by the level of security in their Moscow sales office - one employee, one customer (me) and three armed security guards!

I don't know if I mentioned this before, but I have a 'prestige' student. Not quite on the level of Natasha Yeltsin, but I teach the Russian under-17 gymnastics champion... now all I have to do is try not to lose her.

Well, that's all. I did tell you that nothing had happened!

ROBBIE

Also, I went to the big Moscow Robbie Williams gig on Sunday evening. The perfect way to round off a holiday weekend.

Well, I was treated to the sight of Robbie a) speaking quite a lot of Russian, b) Cossack dancing, c) parading around with a big Russian flag, and d), saying "Fu*ing hell, I'm in Russia" about ten times. Plus he had his dad with him.

I went with Julia, and being American she had almost no idea who Robbie was. "He looks like a boxer. Is he gay? Surely he's not a singer? How old is he? Did he really use to be in a boy band?" But hey, she liked it.

KALUGA HO

We've just had a three day holiday weekend. I'd like to tell you which holiday we were celebrating, but even the Russians here didn't exactly seem sure. Perhaps something to do with the constitution? Or the revolution? Or both?

Anyway, we decided to get out of Moscow for a day or two so four of us took the train down to Kaluga, about 200km south of Moscow. In my first year in Russia I was working in Kaluga region but never made it to the regional capital. So it has been an unfulfilled ambition - until now. Actually, another reason we went to Kaluga was that we could get there on the electric 'local' train, rather than the book-in-advance overnight trains which tend to be pretty full on holidays. The local trains also cost peanuts - about one pound fifty all the way to Kaluga.

So we arrived in Kaluga. A very old city, with almost no Soviet buildings. It was disconcerting not to see tower blocks everywhere. There are even some wooden houses left in the city centre.

We totally failed to find a hotel to stay in. All except two were full; of those two, one only had one room left, and the other refused to let us stay there when they found out we were foreign. Seriously. So we did what any self-respecting young people would do and stayed in a club until the morning. Actually we managed to get a table so we just sat, ate and drank the night away. We also got into trouble for playing cards, which is apparently *absolutely forbidden* in Russian clubs and bars. Didn't know that.

As we tried to leave the club, we got accosted by some drunk Russians who made us drink vodka with them. I don't know why I'm telling you this, as it barely counts as an anecdote any more. My flatmate poured his vodka into a potplant though, as it was either that or vomit on some strangers. Which would have been a better anecodote.

When we finally managed to leave the club, we had the brilliant and not entirely sober idea of finding a train to an entirely different provincial city. So we turned up at the station only to find no trains but a big, warm, clean bus with a 'MOSKVA' sign. It seemed like fate. So we returned home. That was our very brief trip away - 13 hours in Kaluga!

A SERIOUS POST?

Never! Actually, I was just wondering how much you were getting in the western media about the whole Yukos / Yabloko scandal that kicked off here recently. It's pretty big news over here, and what with the Duma elections in December it doesn't look like it's going to sort itself out any time soon.

It also means that Putin will have almost no opposition on any level. As much as I respect him as a leader, it's still pretty scary. He's got the media sewn up pretty tight too; there was a big crackdown after the Dubrovka theatre terrorism thing.

Oh. The scandal did hit the rouble briefly but then, annoyingly for me, the government acted to shore it up so the exchange rate is still pretty unfavourable. Bah. I'm still waiting for the sudden collapse that will make me rich beyond my wildest dreams. Or at least let me afford a new DVD player!

WAR - WHAT'S IT GOOD FOR?

Okay, so one more Jason-related incident.

On the Sunday, Jason's last full day in Moscow, I took him to that most typical and representative of Russian cultural events - the Napoleonic battle re-enactment.

This basically involved shivering in the snow on a hillside about 100km south of Moscow, while lots of very drunk Russian men pretended to be very drunk Russian or French soldiers. The re-enactment was to commemorate the battle of Maloyaroslavets in 1812, in which the Russians, after having previously and rather cunningly burnt down their own capital city, got trounced yet again by Napoleon. The battle was a bit of a pyrrhic victory for the French, though, and it forced them to run home east rather than carrying on pressing south to the warmer, sunnier bits of Russia. The wusses.

Actually, as Napoleonic battle re-enactments go, this one was a bit of a corker. Not only did they have horses, and big cannons that actually went bang, but they had also put up little wooden buildings to torch whenever they got too cold. I did pity the soldiers that 'died' in the first five minutes of the battle and who then had to lie in the snow for the next hour and a half...

Another particularly fine aspect of this event was the running commentary. Some bloke in a van at the top of the hill had loudspeakers and obviously thought he was a sports commentator: "And the French are coming up on the left , oh but that's a bold move by the Russian cavalry..." Well, it kept me amused.

Jason and I also met up with some friends of mine from my first year here in Russia (who had told me about the re-enactment), so Jason got to meet some real Russians and experience real Russian hospitality. This basically involved forcing him to drink strange, nameless and incredibly syrupy spirits. I'm sure he was very grateful for the whole day. But hey, what are friends for?

Well, my friend Jason has flown home now but I thought I'd write about a couple of the things we did when he was here. Sadly, he'll probably be reading this web log too so I'm unable to embellish the truth / slag him off / bluntly lie. Never mind.

FIRE

On Wednesday we went to a gig advertised in the paper. A local post-rock band (yes, there are such things in Russia), that I knew through one of my students, was supposed to be playing. Sounded good. So three of us went after work - myself, Jason, and the girl from Portland (Julia), who is into that sort of thing.

Unsurprisingly, the venue was underground. I say unsurprisingly because not only is a) every place in Moscow underground, but b) this particular place was called 'Bunker'. That sort of gave the game away. Actually it looked like a converted wine callar more than anything. But obviously with more alcohol in.

The first band were terrible. The second band was pretty good. The third band were also decent. None of them, however, were the advertised band that we had come to see. Small details like this aren't important in Russia.

By this time we'd missed the last metro. Julia didn't want to get a taxi back on her own, and had the not-too-brilliant idea of getting a taxi first to her place then back to mine, so we could drop her off. Sadly she lives in the opposite corner of Moscow, about 20km away: we're not that rich.

The only alternative (apart from leaving Julia when she wasn't looking, which I suggested but Jason - in a rare attack of gentlemanliness - vetoed) was to stay until the metro opened at about 5.30am. Having to work the next day, I wasn't strongly against this plan. So obviously that's what we did.

Earlier that evening Julia had seen somebody ordering a very stupid drink from the bar. You know what a flaming sambucha is, right? Well, this was the Russian equivalent. Instead of setting the drink alight, the bartender sets the bar alight and you have to reach in through the wall of flame, grab your drink, and down it before your sleeve ignites or your arm combusts.

Julia suddenly decided that she wanted to drink one of these. And that she wanted us to as well. Thus followed a very stupid conversation with the barman as we tried to explain that we wanted the 'drink with the fire... flame... burn!' He eventually got the idea. So there were the three of us lined up at the bar in this bunker. The bartender puts down our drinks, and pours some sort of flammable spirit along the length of the bar. He lights it. Woof! Wall of flame!

To be fair, the doctors say that the scars should fade over the next ten years or so. Okay, okay, I'm embellishing again. None of us were burnt. But I didn't feel too good teaching the next day. Jason blamed it on that final shot of tequila. Perhaps it was off or something.

GOLOD

The new Russian reality show: 'Golod', or 'Hunger'. It's basically Big Brother without any food. Who will be the first to starve?

Talking of starving, can anybody tell me what happened to David Blaine?

Anyway, Hunger starts in the first week of November so I'll let you know more when I've seen it. Not too tempted to apply myself though.

THOM AND ME

I've got a poster on my wall I want to tell you about. It's of Thom Yorke, the squinty-eyed, ugly lead singer from Radiohead. But in this particular picture he's been (deliberately and obviously) airbrushed to remove all his deformities. It's a sort of comment on image and media. Fair enough.

But the thing is this. Several people have said, in all seriousness, that the airbrushed Thom Yorke looks like me. I'm not entirely sure whether I'm happy about this. You look like a freak, James, but a normal-looking one. Ta.

Well, I haven't written for a while. That's because I've been having such an exciting time recently.

First, not only was our flat burgled (wow!), by someone with a key (ooh!), but then I had food poisoning (gasp!) and couldn't eat solids for a week (wow!). I have spent my free time either on the toilet (flush!), or in a police station giving statements, in Russian, in triplicate (blyn!). Now I have lost my voice (croak!).

Wonderful.

Seriously, it was fascinating to see the long arm of the Russian law fully unfurled. I think that the break-in at our flat must be the most exciting thing that has ever happened as far as the Northern Tushino police are concerned.

Not only were we interviewed by two inspectors (bad cop - bad cop style) but then no less than six officers came round to inspect the flat. We even had the official police photographer taking pictures of the crime scene. I was quite tempted to draw chalk outlines of the stolen electricals in my room to help with their investigations.

THE MUSIC SCENE IN PORTLAND, OREGON

...is not as good as Moscow's, apparently. That's what I've learnt this week.

I met a girl from Portland, an intern at my company, who has a very similar taste in music to me. Willfully obscure, in other words. She'd been asking me to take her to 'a show', as she called it, for a while. Obviously I don't like socialising with young, attractive, interesting women, but eventually I succumbed and took her to see my favourite Russian band, 'Zveri', play on Saturday.

After taking the tram in the wrong direction, (oops), we arrived at 8.55. The band, unbelievably, came on at 9 on the dot, without any support - so we had to desperately fight our way to the front throwing small teenage girls hither and thither. That was fun.

Zveri, meanwhile, came on with a troupe of dancing girls and spraying big magnums of champagne into the crowd. That might give you a good impression of the kind of show it was.

Apart from that, my favourite moment was the encore. The crowd was shouting 'Zveri, Zveri, Zveri!'. After a couple of minutes the band came back on, but instead of playing anything, just started chanting 'crowd, crowd, crowd!' Well, that made me laugh.

And actually, it was just nice to have a night out where nobody got arrested.

In other news.

The weather is very Autumnal at the moment - lots of wind and rain. I quite like it. It's not cold at least. But the central heating in the flats came on on the 1st of October, so it is quite tropical indoors at the moment. The mosquitoes seem to like it.

We also have no electricity at the moment. It went off last night. I did look in the fuse box in the hall this morning but decided not to poke around too much for fear of electricuting myself - the bare, loose (and probably live) wires put me off for some reason.