We came home from the pub a few nights ago and the false ceiling in the bathroom had fallen down. Imagine trying to communicate that with a landlady who barely speaks any english. Tim had to phone someone at work to translate the problem for him. Also Boris Yeltsin died. The two events might not be as unconnected as you might think because Yeltsin was actually earning a few extra roubles on the side putting up cheap plastic bathroom ceilings. Ours falls down, he dies. What delicious irony. To be honest no-one seems very bothered about him dying that I've spoken to, and I can't really be bothered to go to the cathedral and check out the mourners. Not my cup of tea.
In other news, we went to this big park with all sorts of old buildings that I can't be bothered to tell you about. Highlight was this man ringing the bells. He was up a tower and was playing them by hitting the ropes that the bells were connected to. He could teach some of those jazz idiots a thing or two I reckon (about playing bells up a tower really annoyingly for about an hour).
Ps. Andre has not heard of Pacman.
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