A to B

I’ve been observing the Sahib of late. I had nagging feeling of déjà vu and couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Finally I’ve worked it out: he reminds me of someone else.

I used to have a colleague who thought he was far brighter than anyone else. Like rocket scientist bright. He wasn’t. Nor was his work rocket science, but he didn’t seem to think so and treated it as such. He was a Yorkshire man – not that that has anything to do with intellect, but….who knows! One of the irksome habits he had (and there were many) was that he never moved his upper lip when he spoke. In fact he never moved his lips very much when he spoke. Drove everyone nutzo, especially my esteemed American colleagues. Whenever anyone asked him a question about his work and he had to think of an answer he used to do the following: rub his eyes with the base of the palms of his hands, inhale deeply, exhale deeply and then put his head back and look at the ceiling, gurning slightly, deep in contemplation (of course) as if communing with a higher power. He would stay like that for a good couple of minutes before deigning to answer. Once a really brash American colleague bellowed at him “No point lookin’ up there - God ain’t gonna help you with this” I had to leave the room as I was laughing so hard.

So how does this relate to the Sahib? Well, the Sahib also likes to think he’s a bit of a rocket-scientist. He’s been working hard of late and telling everyone that he’s being doing some revolutionary analysis – the results of which will blow our minds away. There’s been a lot of melodrama. Huffing and puffing. Swearing and uttering of things like “eureka” (I shit you not). Obviously the cogs in his brain are working overtime. The revelatory analysis? Something along the lines of the fact that the Russian middle class is the same size as the British middle class, as percentage of the population as a whole. I’ll let you decide as to whether it’s akin to rocket science...or not.

Alternative to Love

“It’s hard to argue against cynics – they always sound smarter than optimists because they have so much evidence on their side” - Molly Ivins

Hey look, I know I am an infamous cynic and rather scathing to boot. When I left London I thought maybe it would change – I would change - and that the cynicism was less to do with me and more a result of my milieu and surroundings. My time living in this glorious city hasn’t changed much. In fact it’s made me a cynic of even greater proportions, and a touch more jaded. I have two tales to impart – neither of them are particularly unusual for here and they give you a flavour of the libidinous climate in this city. One I heard about and the other I got to witness….in part.

Tale 1:

There lives in Moscow a young man - British, good looking, successful (banker/lawyer or something of that ilk) and an expat. He lives a pretty cushy life with his beautiful Latin American partner and their new new new baby (merely months old). Happy families one would have thought. I would have thought so too had I met them. As with all parents they sought the services of a babysitter (mum and dad have to have some time off…) and found a friendly and pretty 20-year old university student who seemed to be the perfect babysitter. Within weeks the new father began pursuing the baby sitter. At first she resisted and then finally capitulated succumbing to his whisperings of sweet nothings and the suaveness he possesses that is devoid in most Russian men. They copulate (for want of a better word). Several times no doubt. And a few weeks later the man and his partner head to South America for their wedding. Before their departure he gets a call. It’s the babysitter. She’s missed her period. He still boards that plane.

Tale 2:

I have a friend who works in an esteemed institution. She loves her job, but her boss drives her totally batty. He’s English (what is it with these Brits?!), not particularly attractive, in his mid 40’s (at a guess), a total omega-male and a bit of a nebbisha to be honest. I call him The PHILANDERER (my friend calls him the tool who knows nothing). He’s married to a rather pretty woman (who rumor has it, is a little high maintenance) from the Caucasus and they are parents to a young (very young) child. The PHILANDERER has been suffering at home for the last few months as for some reason his wife has been giving him a little of the silent treatment. No one outside the marriage knows who is to blame (maybe it’s that the wife is too high maintenance or maybe he is just too much of a nebbisha). Everyone knows about the troubles as he complains (to anyone who will listen) how he can’t really go home and how he’s worried his wife will leave him and take the child with her. It hasn’t taken long for The PHILANDERER to find pastures green. One random evening, a couple of weeks ago, in a bar he found himself a student. Had a flirtation (no bodily fluids were exchanged – I promise) and took her number. A week later he called her and agreed to meet up with her. I was there for the second meeting. Young student she may be, but she wasn’t the prettiest tool in the box, she looks a bit like a farmer’s wife to be honest (he’s no Bruce Weber subject by any stretch of the imagination). Why was I there at the second meeting? I had gone to meet a colleague of my friend. I hadn’t expected to see there boss there with the farmer’s wife. We sat there having beers and trying to ignore unfolding events: The PHILANDERER and the farmer’s wife making out at the table like 12 year-olds who have very little experience of making out, very little control of their saliva production and very little shame. The noise was unbearable. After an hour of this he walks her down to a cab and put her (no doubt further saliva swapping and groping ensued on the pavement). The PHILANDERER then comes back upstairs to our table and pulls aside his 23 year-old junior and asks this boy his advice on whether he should have gone home/slept with the farmer’s wife. I distanced myself at that point and headed home. There is something so fundamentally wrong with that picture – a 40+ year old man (and person of authority) asking a 23 year old boy (his junior) for advice on whether he should cheat on his wife. Alas the saga doesn’t end there. A couple of days later the 23 year-old junior gets an sms in which The PHILANDERER asks if he can use the 23 year-old’s apartment to sleep with the farmer’s wife. He was refused. He then approached other of his colleagues in the workplace, those who witnessed the snog-fest, and tried to get them to engage in conversations about his predicament. I’m guessing that as I type this many bodily fluids have been exchanged and the wife at home will have every reason to ditch him and run off with the kid.

But that’s not the point. Finally some validation for my well honed cynicism. The lesson to be learnt from these tales is that in this city morals, fidelity and loyalty account for nothing.

A Kick In The Teeth

“We are all British gentlemen engaged in the magnificent work of governing an inferior race.” – The Earl of Mayo, Viceroy of India 1869-72

My new job. Officially its editor, unofficially its observer of the freak show that is my place of work. My direct boss is a rather special creature. Public school educated (or prep school educated - for the Americans out there). Cut of a cloth that I thought was long extinct. Yes the Colonial Rah. Signet ring toting and all. He of the British Raj. Those of you who haven’t read Charles Allens’ books on the Raj (they’re really cool actually) should swat up. As what was once thought to be an extinct breed of person – is in fact alive, well and functioning in Moscow. He’s not the last of a dying breed alas as he has procreated. The Sahib (I think this name shall stick) has a team of bright young kids and he treats them like mental deficients because they are simply foreign. Yet, and stop the press on this one, the irony is that HE’s the foreigner in THEIR country. It is quite unnerving to witness, especially when he publicly chastises and ridicules his analysts. He discusses his employees with other non-natives, in English (a language his employees understand), while standing in front of them like they were a bunch of remedial children he has been burdened with. He thinks them so idiotic that he believes that the only way he can control them is through this Byzantine system of fines. It is, in his mind, the piece de resistance of his regime. The fines range anything from $20 to $500 and can be for things such as missing deadlines to not putting doctor’s appointments in the right diary and bad punctuation. Here they tolerate it; sometimes answer back in that sullen Slavic way that Russians have. Ultimately though they just grin and bear it…without the grinning (actually there’s a whole load of joking going on here – much of it about him). The whole thing breeds apathy (they lose interest in their work) and it basically reinforces his notion of the stubborn foreigner (which he translates to mean “idiot”). It’s bizarre to witness. Sad too. I dunno.

But the analysts are absolute dolls. Total characters in their own right and that makes it kind of fun around here.

Emerge

Good news people! My intrepid friend, miss M has kicked my behind into shape and told me to get back on the blog wagon once again. So here I am. I do have rather a lot stuff to write about – so now that I have regular access I am going to try and be a little more diligent.

The last few months in a nutshell: quit teaching, though not fully (I have kept on a private student) and have moved to an editorial position at a financial institution. Sounds rock ’n roll huh? Maybe not….. I also moved apartment and now live in the centre of town (for those of you have Moscow metro maps to hand – I’m living around Pushkinskaya). These small changes have put a little spring in my step. Not that I was unhappy before, but now I am pleased as punch. I keep decent hours (with more time on my hands to gallivant), I live close to my friends and I am able to walk most places. Rest assured some things still haven’t changed: I am still busy exploring, having adventures, meeting new people, my Russian still sucks massively and I am still totally smitten with this place.