RuKsaK

This bit’s about the half-dozen who visited me while I was in Russia.
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Nic first:
I remember we went to Club69, whose name is not deceptive, and watched Russians blowing and being blown – drunken. Ginsberg would have loved it. So, did we and I even danced, but not with a cock my mouth. We took the morning metro home and slept until it was almost too late to get to the For the Love of Three Oranges.
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That was the famous day I bargained up for a taxi with my still-born Russian:
Me: ‘How much?’
Driver: ‘40’
Me: ‘mmm – maybe 50?’
Driver:‘Well – OK.’
Sweated and shook all the previous night’s alcohol onto the floor of the Marinsky theatre watching the only opera I’ve ever seen. In that weekend I found out Russians can actually be gay, and operas are up there with cream of chicken soup when it comes to hangover cures.
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Big Dog and siblings:
The above three saw me squeezed when I needed to say ‘Да’ so I got myself my wife. That was good. Another highlight was bro’s wedding speech. We’ll have to see if Ana ever plays for Manchester United.
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Big Dog turned up smothered in pink lipstick and got us thrown out of the Marinsky Theatre – I’m still only on one opera thus. I don’t blame him though – I blame bastards.
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Big Dog and Morganovski:
After looking at lots of live tits, I found out I’d been talking too much and listening too little for a week. Still feel bad about this – sorry Ste. However, this visit made me and Ste one-all after he’d let me know several years before about how I’d sold out. On both occasions I still don’t know who was completely right.
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Ste and Dog met Lenin in Moscow and became Russian Pioneers. I want that photo please. I miss that time and would still love to remedy some of my behaviour.
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Big Dog, Chaz and Bro:
Got the chance, finally, to see my friends and brother naked. My brother removed his boxers in a 3-point turn and stood mustering manliness with his undies up at front for 5 minutes after they’d come down at the back – nice blonde arse Bro! So, we sweated together naked with voices an octave lower than usual for 2 hours.
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Chaz had my tears hitting the carpet of the Cosmology Museum when he put on Yuri Gagarin’s outfit. Had Yuri been a jockey?
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Bro couldn’t play the Baltika drinking game on the train:
Dog: ‘Ok – I start with a name which uses consecutive letters of the alphabet. I’ll start – Alan Bennett.’
Chaz: ‘Ok – Brian Clough.’
RuKsaK: ‘Right – Charles Dickens – now you bro.’
Bro: ‘Erm, Paul Newman.’
This went round several times until Bro dropped out mumbling. Later that night Bro called Sylvester Stallone a ‘fat cunt.’ Pure poetry once again.
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I'd need a bucket to carry the tears of laughter from these visits. Thanks to all.

Thursday, October 28, 2004

The first and last half-dozen