We’re getting slowly ready for our Russia trip. About 5 weeks’ time. Because everything to do with Russia is done slowly, other than murders and military attacks.They happen quickly. And to check out everything’s safe and ok, I’ve sent Spurs Paul and Mrs Spurs Paul out there this week for a ‘recce’. And so far they’re still alive, which is pretty much an assumption because anyone could have got hold of his phone and sent me photos of the Bolshoi and of glossy Moscow eateries. Anyone. If you can hack into the US electoral system, sending a few whatsapps shouldn’t be a massive issue.

So this morning was ‘visa day’. That eagerly awaited day when you get to stand in line outside a grotty little building in Clerkenwell in the rain and beg the good people of Russia to grant you entry into their fine and… into their country.

Before you go… gawd. You realise why Russia is Russia. You fill in an online ‘application’ which takes no more than a few days to complete. You get not just booking references from your hotels but actual, formal, signed and stamped ‘invitations’, details of travel, details of where any dead relatives you have were when they died. Then, and only then, are you worthy to go and queue up in Clerkenwell (like a little Siberia next to Shoreditch). And get your first taste of Russia.

There’s a big sign on the door that says: ‘STOP SMILING!!’ Well, there might as well be. Because Russians, even when they’re being quite helpful, simply don’t smile. Its not in their nature. Or if it was they beat it out of them at some further stage on life’s pathway. And they’re officious. Even if they’re actually quite helpful, as they were, quite nice, as I think they could be, there’s a box-ticking jobsworthiness that you feel inflicts the entire nationality.

So our form had something missing. NOOOOOOO… FUCK!!! ITS SIBERIA FOR US!!!!

But its ok; you can re-do it on our computer over there. Only a fiver. And you’d pay 50 quid because by then you’ve absorbed the general level of nervousness and perfectionism that accompanies all things Russian. But it was fine. All done, paid for (not cheap) and now we wait for our passports to return so we can start (panicking??) preparing for the trip in earnest. If we’re not at war, obvs.

Schastlivoy sredy (happy Wednesday)

A xxxx