How nice it is that I have a job that frequently permits me the chance to get out of cold, damp, dark Britain in the depths of January. Many people would here make a point of going somewhere warm and sunny, like Australia, or the Mediterranean. I am a contrary bugger though, so I’ve come to Moscow.
Well, sometimes I have been known to work for my crust. My colleagues appear by now to be competing to make an appearance on this blog, Georgia complained audibly today that she’d never been on it — whereas Boris has, once before (in November 2011, a picture I still like). So there you go G — you made it…
You’ve seen plenty of photos of me in Moscow; for a change here is a Russian in Manchester, namely Olga, making her presentation at a sort-of conference I organised for them today. I like the way her hand has been caught in mid-gesture. They sure saw Manchester in a diversity of weather today, anyway — wild mood swings from foul to sun to foul again.
Being 42 