Forgot to say. Terrible news.

The kebab shop near my house has shut down.

Also, we are now on our 15th day without hot water in the flat.

So I haven't eaten or washed for over two weeks.

Found a great, if very strange, restaurant on Sunday night. Went there with three other teachers.

It's called the Simple Cafe (Or 'Simply a Cafe' it can also be translated as), in the China Town part of the city. It's under the ground, like everywhere decent in Moscow, through a seedy little doorway. From the outside it looks shut, or possibly shut down.

It's not simply a cafe, though. It's not even a cafe. It's a restaurant. Also (I hear you groaning), it's a karaoke restaurant. This made me laugh because the only two groups of people in the restaurant were a) me and my friends, who aren't that hot at singing in Russian, and b) a group of deaf people!

One of our party was a vegetarian, and wanted to know what she could safely eat on the menu. This led to a great conversation (all in Russian) with our waitress, reassuring me that this was indeed an authentic Russian restaurant:
Liz: I'm a vegetarian.
Waitress: What?
Liz: I'm a ve-ge-tar-ian.
Waitress: What?
Me (trying to be helpful, with my marginally better language skills): She doesn't eat meat.
Waitress: She doesn't eat meat?
Me: Right.
Waitress: What about fish?
Liz: No, no fish.
Waitress (pointing to page on menu): This, this is all meat. (Turns page) This is all meat. (Turns page) This is all meat. (Long pause) You can have a salad. You will have this salad.

Needless to say, the salad came a good twenty minutes before the other three (meat) dishes. I had pork with cheese, surprisingly tasty.

Oh. The other great thing about the restaurant was the special weekend beer prices: 18 roubles. Now, that's the same price as a bottle of beer from a kiosk, and 52 roubles cheaper than a beer from the club next door to Simply a Cafe.

BLEURGH

A horrible little anecdote for you.

I stepped onto a metro train last Thursday evening, heading into the centre to meet some friends for a drink. The middle third of the otherwise-busy carriage was empty, and for good reason - there was a big pool of greeny-yellow vomit spreading across the floor. Luckily, I managed to grab almost the last remaining seat in the 'clean' part of the carriage, although the stench of the sick still carried.

A couple of stops later, a little old lady with a younger man, probably her son, stepped onto the carriage. The old lady, seeing vacant seats, barged her way through to the middle in the typical manner of violent Russian grannies. Unfortunately, she didn't see the vomit. She stepped onto the vomit, slipped, and fell backwards *into* the vomit. Splash. Her son tried to catch her but failed, and nearly ended up on the floor as well. He did get hit by some of the splashback, though.

The carriage was in uproar - everyone trying not to laugh, or gag, as the old woman pulled herself up and tried to wipe the vomit from herself with the one little tissue she happened to have.

The term is drawing to an end and many of my classes have finished, or about to finish. Still don't know what I'll be doing after the end of next week.

I had my final lesson with my group of little kids last week. Nikita, the eight-year-old who has been tormenting me with kitchen implements and laser-pens all year, brought me a present - a hardback book of Winnie the Pooh stories in Russian! All is forgiven. He even signed it, in big scrawling capitals: "IT'S FOR YOU! TO JAMES! FROM NIKITA!"

And although he had promised to bring his new hamster in for the final lesson, that never happened.

So, my amusing anecdotes are out the way. Time for some general news.

Had a crazy week this week. I was phoned at midnight on Sunday by my administrator who was panicking because a teacher who had left on a short trip to the States before the holidays hadn't come back when she was supposed to. So I have been covering some of her classes this week. My timetable has been a mess, but this teacher is allegedly due back today so hopefully next week will be slightly calmer. Some of my own groups are coming to an end about now so my timetable is naturally easing off anyway. With any luck, I'll be down to 25 or 26 academic hours next week.

In other good news, we gave the insane cat back on Thursday. Finally. Incidentally, the teachers who had gone down to Sochi near the Turkish border for the holidays - a mixed party of English, Americans and Russians, including the girl who foisted the cat on us - had all, almost to a man, been arrested on the train on the way back for 'indecency'. Basically, the police pulled them from their beds and arrested them for not wearing trousers. Genius, eh? Who wears trousers when the sleeper trains are superheated? Anyway, the police refused to accept any bribes and one Russian girl, Marina, was forced into signing a confession - so it's probably not the last that they have heard of this incident. Though the police did threaten Ian the stereotypical northerner with writing to Bridlington Council about his behaviour! I bet he's quaking in his DMs.

Some of the teachers are starting to reach the end of their contracts and drift off now. I have my second leaving do to go to tonight, an Australian friend called Emma. Personally I am contracted to work through June and the start of July but I don't know what I'll be doing as the academic year will have finished. Luckily one of my groups want to continue studying throughout this period so it's unlikely that I'll be shipped off to summer camp. Mind you, even that could be interesting (as long as I don't end up back at Dubravushka!).

Remember my eight-year old student, Nikita, who likes to bring things - toys, weapons - to the classroom?

My administrator told me of the following short conversation that occurred between Nikita and his mum (his mum must have told my administrator).

Mum: So, Nikita. You've had four English teachers now. Wendy, Katie, David and James. Do you remember them all?
Nikita: Yes.
Mum: Which ones did you like the best?
Nikita: David... and James.
Mum: James? Why do you like James?
Nikita: He's not normal.

So there you have it. Even knife-toting eight-year olds think I'm strange.

REMONT

Remont. What is remont? Remont is the bane of my life here in Russia.

Let me explain. 'Remont' is a Russian word with no exact English equivalent - a dictionary will tell you that it translates as 'repairs' or 'reconstruction' or 'refurbishment' or something along these lines, but that's not quite accurate.

Remont can apply to shops, flats, amenities, services - anything really. Remont is when a Russian takes something that is working perfectly well, then pulls it to pieces just to make sure. Having reassured himself that it was in working order before he broke it, he will then spend the next couple of weeks putting it back together. With any luck, it will then work nearly as well as it did originally.

At the moment, I have no hot water in my flat. Neither have several thousand other people in my district. When I asked how long this will go on for, I was told - for May. The whole month! So what calamity has caused this situation? One word - remont. Apparently this happens every year. The water board stop the hot water, just to check that the hot water system, the pipes etc, are working properly. After all, they wouldn't want people to have problems with their hot water now would they?

Incidentally, remont can also apply to cities. St Petersburg is currently undergoing remont, which goes some way to explaining why we could get into some of the places we didn't get in to.

WEATHER

It's now +24 in Moscow! Yes, really scorching. All the trees are in full bloom as well. I'm not looking forward to going back to work next week if the heat keeps up. In some ways I prefer the cold. But it means I'll probably come back to England in the summer with a tan and confuse everyone who thinks that Russia is always cold and snowy.

St. Petersburg wasn't quite so warm but we still had a lot of sun. The trees haven't really started to bud there because it's so much farther north, but to make up for it we were getting sun-set at around midnight (and, disconcertingly, getting noticeably later each night). It's only a few weeks till the 'White Nights' phenomenon starts and the city has practically 24-hours of sunlight.

PIE SHOPS

Last night I discovered a great place in Moscow. It is called Proekt O.G.I. - 'The OGI Project', though in Russian it is a sort of pun on the word for 'pie'. It's a small basement bar-stroke-venue-stroke-bookshop-stroke-restaurant-stroke-gallery. It didn't really have much to do with pies. Even the restuarant bit didn't sell them.

We saw, or rather heard from behind a sea of heads, a Moldovan funk-punk band called WK? play. The beer was sooo cheap, and it wasn't crawling with ex-pats (only us, he-he). It's also in a nice part of the city (Chistiye Prudy, or 'Clean Ponds'), and right near a metro station - but well-hidden in a courtyard, so no passing trade. A really nice, friendly, enthusiastic crowd too.

I sometimes feel that all the really nice places in Moscow are in basements. In fact, I don't know a single decent place at street level or above. There's another place I like run by the Proekt OGI people, called Pirogi ('pies'), and that's also mostly underground. It does sell pies, though, among other things. It also has a bookshop. Bizarre. But I would recommend either of these places, should you ever be in Moscow (Pirogi is near Teatralnaya metro station).

Having just read my previous post about our trip to St. Petersburg, I have realised that it might seem somewhat critical. So I would like to add that I had a great time, and apart from the first day, when it pissed down, had great weather as well. Incidentally I spent that first rainy day with Kostya waiting for my family to arrive and following two traditionally Russian activities - drinking vodka, and watching a Jackie Chan film. These two activities go together surprisingly well.

The other great thing about the trip to Pete was that I wasn't at the flat in Moscow. This week we, that is, Anthony and I, have been cat-sitting for a teacher who has skipped off to Sochi for the holidays. And what a mad cat it is.


SOME FACTS ABOUT MARGARITA THE CAT

1) Named after Margarita from Bulgakov's 'The Master and Margarita' (a great novel by the way). In the book, Margarita hangs out with the devil. So it's quite an appropriate name for this cat.

2) Eats anything. Including, but not limited to - hair clippings, pot plants, coffee, and, once, an empty pack of condoms (not mine).

3) Loves water. Tries to fish clothes out of the bathtub when they are soaking. Jumps into the sink. Tries to join people on the toilet.

4) Does not sleep. Ever. Likes to sit on people's heads when they are sleeping, though.

5) Obsessed with a laser-pen. She will chase the little red dot for hours, without stopping. Actually, the batteries are dead now, as it was the only way we could find to stop her eating our property.

6) Uses the litter tray, but instead of scratching the litter, scratches the wall and the floor around the tray.


We can give the cat back on Sunday. That's if we haven't turned it into cat-shashlik by then.

A few people have complained that I haven't been updating the log very much recently. That is, of course, because I have been burning the candles at both ends, living the high life - the life of an international playboy - and so on. However, just for my fans, I will take a break from my hedonism to tell you about:


MY FAMILY TRIP TO ST PETERSBURG

So, I have had holidays all last week and spent most of that time in Saint Petersburg with my family. Perhaps not quite as eventful as last year's familial visit to Moscow, as no luggage went missing, no-one got pickpocketed, etc, etc. This year's trip was marked, however, by our total failure to get into almost anywhere we wanted to. In no particular order:

1) The Catherine Palace at Pushkin - open only for tour groups in the morning, shut for breaks all afternoon. The staff there obviously work very hard, to need breaks of two hours at a time.

2) The palace at Peterhof - we think it was open, but there was a ten-deep scrum, sorry, queue, to get in - and besides, the ticket office was - having a break. Even when it was open, the office refused to sell anyone a ticket. The fountains were on, though. Well, some of them. For about ten minutes.

3) The Lycee, Puskin's old school, coincidentally also at Pushkin. We did manage to get in here, but only to be shouted at by all ten of the babushkas (translation - irate Russian grannies) who work there. For various reasons:
- Going the wrong way round the building
- Loitering
- Hurrying
- Not being part of a group
- Getting in the way of a group
- Looking at things
- Leaving

4) The Hermitage. Gareth and Mei claim to have actually made it in here, but I don't believe them.

5) St. Isaacs. We didn't get in here, and I don't remember why. It was probably shut, or having a break, or being guarded by grannies.

6) The Church on Spilt Blood. See above.

7) The Jimi Hendrix 24 hour Blues Bar. It is closed at night, and in the mornings.

8) A bar with a big sign reading 'Open! Come in!' It was closed. They told us to go away.

9) It's not really a place, but the hydrofoil to Peterhof wasn't running either.

10) On one occasion, my hotel room, when the cleaner thought I was a burglar.

Hmm, my holiday starts on Thursday.

I made it through the stint at work on Saturday. Over the course of six hours, five people came in to be tested, of whom I tested a grand total of one. Which took me five minutes.

Have I mentioned the sudden and dramatic improvement in the weather? All the snow has melted, and it's getting up to about +15 in the day. Even at night it is only hovering around freezing.

This past winter in Russia was the most severe for a decade, according to the papers. As evidence of that, despite the recent sun, the riverboats are not running yet and the lakes are *still* frozen over. I wouldn't risk walking across them now, though Anthony said that the fishermen are still sitting out there on the ice, eskimo-stylee. Wonder if they ever catch anything in the Moscow waters?

My furby-loving 8 year-old brought a scooter to the lesson on Friday. I was quite tempted to mug him then sell it on at the Mitino dodgy goods market. But then, I thought, maybe he's carrying a blade.

Talking of 8 year-olds, the young learners workshop I mentioned earlier never happened. A good job really, as this week has been a bit mental. The only other full-time teacher at my centre, at least since the departure of Trevor the Canadian, has had to go back to the States for a couple of weeks because of a death in the family. It was all very sudden and sad.

As a result we are now seriously understaffed. Language Link have, however, quite helpfully been sending us some other random teachers to cover all the lessons that Anthony and I were unable to take on. My personal favourite random teacher is Ian the stereotypical northerner from Bridlington.

And Bridlington Ian had a great story to tell:

One of Ian's regular groups contains a very racist skinhead. After months of putting up with his small-mindedness and bigotry, Ian decided to take a little revenge. He told the student, quite innocently, that the verb 'to beat off' was a cool way to say 'to beat up'. Now the skinhead goes around telling anyone who understands, and I quote: "At weekends I like to go into the woods and beat off niggers." What a mental picture eh? Well, it made me laugh.

It's Saturday morning... and I'm at work! Yes! Our rota system has decreed that it is my turn to sit here in the central school at the weekend doing nothing. Someone has to be here in case any prospective students want to have their language level assessed.

I am 51 minutes into my six-hour stint so far and no-one has shown up. So this is thrilling. At least the internet is working, and there is one other teacher here with me. We also have a list of menial tasks to do, such as:
- clean the whiteboard
- put away the resource books
Er, actually, that's it. So we'll be hard-pushed to get it all done in time!

Briefly, went to a new church last Sunday. It was a New Frontiers International church - so like Bracknell Family Church, if you know it - in the far North East of Moscow, called Rosa. A bit of a trek from the metro but now the weather has suddenly and radically improved, it's not too much of a problem.

Someone from Bracknell Family Church came to preach here recently, which is how I found out about it, through a very pro-active friend.

Anyway, to help you get a picture. It's in a modern building with a large congregation. Russian language service. It even has an evening service which is quite handy... it might help my Russian improve anyway. The church seems quite active locally, and also friendly, so I think I will go here more often.

My knife-wielding 8 year-old has not yet brought any more weapons to the classroom, but we have had a singing furby, four laser-pens and something called a Bok-Rok. I'm not sure what it is or what it does, but we never had them when I was a kid.

I have just been co-erced into attending a Language Link 'young learners' workshop next week... should be barrels of fun. Actually, speaking of young learners, one of mine brought a stanley knife to the lesson yesterday. It went something a little like this:

8 year-old Nikita: James! I have knife!
Me: That's nice, Nikita. (he often makes outlandish claims - 'I have elephant! I am pink panther!')
Nikita: Look! (brandishes knife above head)
Me: Aargh!
Other students: Let's play game...
Me: Give me the knife, Nikita... (Nikita waves knife in my direction) No, no, the other end... (I disarm small child)

So, another potentially life-and-death situation brought under control by the cool-headed, quick-witted English teacher that I am. Workshops? I shouldn't be attending them, I should be running them.

As I write this, it's snowing. I'm really fed up with snow now, especially as it's well above freezing and shouldn't be snowing at all, it being April and everything. I even unsealed the balcony yesterday in the hope that it would persuade the weather to buck up, but it doesn't seem to have worked.

Anyway. Went to Obninsk at the weekend, as a friend from last year, Eugene, had his birthday. In true Russian style it was celebrated round his flat where his parents prepared a three-course meal for twenty-five people. And I saw a lot of people I hadn't seen for the best part of a year, so that was really great.