Especially 'Nebomoreoblaka'.

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A lazy sunday, perhaps my twentieth in a row. I took my camera around town - as I do one day a week - and took some photos of ulitsa Sovetskaya. A lorry splashed me up to my thighs with muddy water for my troubles, at the furthest point from home.

I spent the afternoon on my own at my kitchen table pondering the past, present and future with cups of coffee in my hand and all my photographs in front of me. The boy who sits with his back resting against the fridge in a hostel in Tver most evenings listening to Zemfira is very different to the one who walked along ulitsa Svobody in Yaroslavl every day while the summer sun was shining, listening to the songs coming from the curcus loudspeakers. It's the same me, but in six months the places and people around me have changed so much.

Although it is still six weeks away I'm already thinking about the end of term, which will mean me moving on again and everyone from the obshezhitie going their separate ways. It makes me sad that all I will be able to take with me into whatever happens after Russia are their photos and email addresses.

University is even back in my thoughts again, after being forgotten for so long. I feel as if I have a 4000 kilometre long bungee cord wrapped around my foot that is tied to a classroom door, and one of my teachers has just begun to reel me back to my chair.

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Photos

A building on a corner of ploschad
The fir trees are as much a symbol of Tver as the Russian flag is of Russia.