First impressions of Moscow: Dusty, bad haircuts, appalling dress sense, construction sites, everyone is earily quiet.
Having dragged my huge bag across the dusty streets accompanied by a hideous scraping noise from the wheels that don't work, I collapse knackered into Tim's flat, where I'll be staying for the next couple of months. Its nice. He is totally paranoid about ruining the varnish on the floors. My bag seems like the ideal weapon for doing just this, but I lift it up anyway. Because I'm nice.
No milk for coffee or tea because Tim says they don't have proper milk. Okay.
We go out to a weird live music/bar/cafe. Tim doesn't know how to summon a male waiter, only a female one so consequently the service is shocking. Menu was entirely illedgible-had some soup and weird fish. I decide I'm not like most British people who would go to Pizza Hut or Maccy D's for a first meal to 'ease themselves in'. Obviously very proud of that.