My Russian mate has been counting eggs now. But he likes to deliberately throw a few on the floor first. He’s looked at the link to see The Bitch’s progress and thrown a mind grenade into my fragile truce. The bike is moving but it’s behind me and he reckons anything before the 3rd would be optimistic. I have absolutely completely and utterly had more than e-fucking-nuff of this now.
Back on the train we go. Another 24 hours and 1800km to Moscow. These trains are packed every single time.
I’ve sent the voices to separate rooms. I can’t deal with them right now. I just concentrate of hitting a mental tennis ball against the wall. Over and over and over again. I put up temporary diversion and road closed signs to try and stop me crashing.
Get to Moscow. End of the line for the Trans Siberian.
I’m inside the “where the fuck am I” zone for Google maps so have to navigate the old way, by just following the best pair of legs. It’s a bloody good job the tottieometer gave up the other day. If it had made it hear it would have taken my whole bloody arm off when it exploded. I’ve never seen anything like it. Jeeeesus Christ almighty.
I go out looking for food but it’s all to bloody much. This is the absolute complete opposite to what I came away for. When I have space I can let my mind stretch and let all the souls spread their wings. They can run about and play and keep out my hair () but here with all THESE FUCKING PEOPLE EVERYWHERE AND ALL THIS FUCKING NOISE AND TRAFFIC AND FUCKING DRUNKS LAYING ON THE FUCKING PAVEMENT AND ALL THESE FUCKING BLOODY ROADWORKS AND PAVEMENTS RIPPED UP AND FUNNELING THROUGH SMALL GAPS AND RUDE CUNTS BARGING THROUGH AND AHHHHHHHHHH I FUCKING HATE THIS PLACE. My head feels like a room full of screaming kids locked in on a rainy day. I need get out. I need to stand in a field and scream. I need to see nobody. Nobody at all.
Bitch minus 2. Yep. I said it. I’m counting. I held off as long as I could but there was going to be a riot otherwise.
Last night I made the mistake of going into a trendy coffee shop. You know the kind. Less is more. They do less that is and you pay a shit load more. I could see I wasn’t welcome immediately. Not their preferred brand of clientele. The barista looked like she had been in a piercing paintball fight and lost heavily. She also seemed to have a vijangle. I could hear her giblets jingling like a morris dancer as she wandered over to me. Face like an arse. That needed a good slapping. She served me a lukewarm warm cup of yesterdays coffee suds from the sink and charged me a weeks rent for it. Then proceeded to keep staring at me to leave. “Not until I’ve read a couple, let’s make that a couple of dozen chapters of my book love. Oh, and your giblets could do with a bit of WD40 when you have a moment”
Anyway, fuck that. Start today with a hot coffee and a delicious cake from the supermarket for a fraction of the price. And no annoying jingling either. Take a long walk in the sunshine. I’ve shoved a couple of fisherman’s friends up my chuff to take my mind off all these FUCKING ANNOYING PEOPLE everywhere. I hope it works.
And you don’t get this in London. You see a lot of these Belarusian tractors.. by the way did you know Belarus is famous for its tractors? No? I knew a woman that went to Belarus to visit the factory. Yes I did. Sad but true. Anyway they trundle round cleaning up the public spaces. Usually jetwashing the drunk’s chunder lumps and piss off the pavements and seats before anyone can slip over in it.
They tell you Russia has no money but everywhere seems to be being dug up, renovated and renewed. Perhaps all these blokes are doing it free and paying for the materials themselves. Maybe that’s the beauty of socialism.
Fuck it’s hot. As I amble along I begin to wonder. As I’m approximately 150m tall and have a one hundred hectare forehead perhaps I should offer it to the government as a site for a solar panel farm. Seems like a good idea. I’ll add it to my list.
There are a LOT of drunks in these streets. I saw a woman open the door of a supermarket today and chuck a huge bucket of water over one that was asleep on the shop step. The fucker never even flinched. Obviously a professional.
Still, there are plenty of other things to look at too.
Get to Red Square. Not even a slight blip on my bovveredometer. At least it’s open this time and not filled with scaffolding. Kremlin is closed though, as is Lenin’s tomb. Not really that busy though.
When I first came to Moscow back in about 98 it felt a proper Wild West city. Old cars everywhere. A real edge in the air. I can remember coming back from somewhere late at night and the person I was with just sticking a hand out to stop a random old car. Giving them a few quid to take us back. But now it’s lost that. It’s all shiny black Maybachs and BMWs. And loads of cars I’ve never heard of. I think this is a Jazzwangle.
And this is a HongkongFuey
And a “Tank”
I think brand loyalty is now a thing of the past. I’m sure my son would drive a “TingTong MuffBash CockSplash” as long as it had big wheels and Apple play.
The fisherman’s friends are beginning to burn through my anal cavity so I walk back and put a cold shower head up my colon before walking to the nearest park for a read. Count a couple more hours off. Every second is beginning to count now. Every. Single. Fucking. Second
Here is something else you don’t see at home. Instead of a local council spending millions of pounds and employing expensive foreign consultants to design some self cleaning system for tram junctions that invariably doesn’t work because has different kinds of leaves, Russia simply employs a woman with a skinny brush to do it.
Saw myself in a poster today too. See that. That’s me that is
And tonight I’ve treated myself to a lovely cold bottle of vintage moo-sel to celebrate what I hope is my last day wandering lonely as a clown. Tomorrow I go to see my Russian mate, and hopefully then my waiting is over.
