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Published: April 2nd 2006
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The second university 'event' started in the building opposite the obshezhitie at 2.15. I sat at a table with four students from the history department, another boy called Roma and three girls. They were much easier to talk to than the students from the last party and we got on really well.
The scripts that the presenters read out made quite a few people laugh. They turned Zhanna's patronising text into a parody, especially the part when Michael pretended to be ill from fear of being in Russia. The way Yenu fussed over him while he resisted her help defensively was just like a scene from 'Sasha and Masha', a sunday evening comedy on channel one.
Each group of students spoke about their own country and taught the rest of the room their national song. When it was Britain's turn I stripped down to a rugby shirt and we talked about our sporting culture. With Tamzin at the ballet in Moscow there was only myself and Michael to lead "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot", but soon everyone caught the rhythm. Kolya played it on his guitar in a faster, blues style which saved my attrocious singing voice from being too audible. It sounds ok next to 70,000 rugby fans, not so beautiful with only twenty people joining in!
During the last song there was a rustling from the back of the room. Ten schoolgirls aged between four and twelve, accompanied by a large woman carrying an accordion, came in and hung their coats on the rack. They were all wearing traditional long dresses in red and purple, with plaited hair and clogs on their feet. They sang and danced to three old folk songs.
It was very brave for them to dance so confidently in front of a room full of strangers and watching them brought a smile to everyone's face. I saw one of the boys from the history department - who is also a guitarist in a heavy metal rock group, dressed all in black with long hair and a crucifix around his neck, wiping a tear from his eye. That is how cute they were.
When the last song finished the woman announced that her girls had prepared a play. Everything was ready, but they needed a groom for the wedding scene. Then I noticed one of the girls walking towards me with her hand stretched out. Oh no... I was already blushing as she took my hand and led me to the large woman. What's your name? Jonathan? I can't say that, we'll call you Vanusya instead. Stand there.
So I stood in the centre of the scene, in a jumper and jeans on my wedding day, still blushing and with my hands behind my back. The girls danced around me and sang to another accordion song while the woman told the story of our marriage. Near the end my wife took my elbow and swung me round in a circle. When the scene finished I sheepishly began to walk back to my seat but felt a tug on my sleeve. The girl who I had just married was looking up at me and said "kiss me!" so we did the Russian three kisses on the cheek.
A little while later the woman announced that it was time for the wedding party. All the guests joined hands in a big circle and played Russian kiss chase. The group chooses a boy, who in turn chooses his favourite girl. The boy stands in the middle of the circle and the girl goes outside it. They then chase each other in and out of the linked arms until the boy catches the girl and claims his kiss.
Later we played a game of charades using Russian sayings. My table was given "to put your foot in your hand", which means to be in a hurry. I sat with Roma and we mimed having a chat, until Aleksandra came up to us and tapped her watch. Then we grabbed our right feet with our left hands and ran back to our seats. There is a reason why each saying came to mean a certain thing - I'm just not sure what this one is!
The last game was Russian musical chairs - with no chairs - then the group sang one more song, did one more dance, then said goodbye to everyone. There was a quick buffet of sweets and glasses of tea, people swapped numbers and email addresses then we went our separate ways.
I had a deja-vu stationary experience in the evening, at the supermarket. This time I just wanted to buy a plain white envelope. I picked one from the card rack and went to the counter - the woman stared at me blankly and said "otkrytka?", so I assumed that I had to buy a card to go with it. Having picked one at random from the selection I went back to the counter, paid for both and left the card by the till. The woman stopped me as I left: "I don't understand". I replied, grumpily: "It's simple. I just wanted to buy the envelope". She said "I still don't understand. I thought you had forgotten to choose a card".
Do Russians often open letters to find nothing inside?
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