The 'ice' in service.

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Spring will soon be here; the weather is getting closer to zero after four months below freezing. The sky is now usually cold blue rather than cold grey. Icicles are begining to melt, which means they are falling from the tops of buildings and crashing to the ground. Most places underneath rafters are taped off, but the post office isn't. A piece of ice the size of a chandelier fell only two yards in front of me, making a sound like crashing glass. I walked away feeling startled: if it had landed on my head I'm sure it would have done similar harm.

Worse was to follow in the day, as I was re-acquainted with the Russian service industry. The peroxide blonde woman in the internet café put two fingers up and repeated 'dva?' in a loud voice to make sure that I really meant "two hours please." I don't speak with much of an accent (ask anyone) but even six syllables give me away as non-Russian. After five months in this country I'm still treated by strangers as if I shouldn't be here.

Meanwhile, in another part of town, Michael was waiting in line in a shop to put some money on his phone. The lady in front of him had written her number down on a piece of paper especially, to give to the woman behind the desk. She was shouted at for not reading the digits out herself. When she did the woman shouted at her again for not reading clearly enough. When Michael's turn came he asked if he could add 200 roubles to his account. The answer was yes. He then waited for a minute, while the same woman stared at him coldly then - finally - made the connection between the previous question and the two 100 rouble notes on the table in front of her.

With no official unemployment in the Soviet Union it seems that middle aged women who work in shops still have no concept of losing their job. Worse, they don't even bother to look at the customer, let alone say their pleases and thankyous. It is enough that the money goes in the till.

With no homework to keep ourselves busy myself, Yulia, Yenu and Kseniya went to a café in the evening. It is painted spanish red and plays flamenco music. My bet with Yenu was that the waitress would make me repeat the word 'latté' before she wrote it down in her notepad. If she did she would buy my drink, and vice versa. It was a fun and sociable night out, made better by the fact that it didn't cost me a kopeck!

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