I had a lovely Russian encounter this morning. I got chatting to three tourists who were looking for somewhere to buy fruit. The city is a bit short on markets in the centre, but I was able to direct them to a large supermarket about 5 minutes walk away. Mercifully, it has a name which is easy to translate into Russian. They were so happy, one of the party gave me a small balalaika fridge magnet as a gift. I could have hugged him. It only occurred to me later how incongruous “Fridge Magnet” and “Balalaika” are in the same sentence. A winsome American keepsake is adopted by Perestroika and boom, there’s the delicate red instrument sitting on my huge Korean fridge. It’s almost as sacrilegious as putting Bulgakov’s stories into hip hop.
England vs France tomorrow morning.
I won’t be able to drink French Roast coffee for breakfast due to my accidental incineration of the Mocka pot.
I can’t eat croissant, because I’m on a diet.
Chocolat chaud also out, due to sugar.
But there will be home made Barmy bread and marmite and a big pot of Earl Grey tea to steal the nerves.
No comments:
Post a Comment