A tale of too shitty…

We recently went on a road trip to a small town, roughly three hours south of Saint Pete.

And when I say “we”, I mean ten friends in two cars (neither of which is the one in the picture, btw… and the road in the picture isn’t the one that we went down either… it’s just a picture, alright?.. I didn’t take it… Well, I did take it, but from the internet, not with a camera!).

Anyway, we arrived, we walked around a bit, we ate, we drank, we were merry, we checked out the local nightclub…

If power tends to corrupt…

A friend of mine was selling his car a few months ago, and one of the potential buyers wanted to check the underneath of the vehicle for rust… or bombs or something like that, I don’t know.

There are lots of random fruits on Saint Pete’s Metro…

…and for previous readers of this blog, I’m not talking about the chaps in the homo-erotic headwear.

[also for previous readers, I’d like to apologise that I make no apology for my last post being almost a year ago. It’s been a strange year… I may at some point tell you something about it, but don’t hold your breath… unless you are particularly into auto-asphyxiation]

Nope, I’m back to weird marketing (which considering I have no background in such, it may appear I am borderline obsessed with)

Check out these juicy melons!!!

Pointless!

Okay, so technically in this picture there is just one melon, but I’m pretty sure that one melon is only a single entendre, and I particularly wanted to make a double one.

Anyway, Saint Pete is currently in the grips of melon season. More specifically, watermelon season… the most pointless of all the melons!

My beef with melons (beef with melon? really?) goes back as far as I can remember. It isn’t that they are particularly offensive… but perhaps that’s the point? I can and have eaten melon, but why would I want to? They aren’t even dignified enough to taste awful (or indeed taste, full stop)… And I find that in itself offensive.

If I am at a wedding and the starter is melon with parma ham, then it is only the parma ham which prevents me from marching over to the head table and forcing my melon down the (soon to be un)happy couple’s throats, rind and all!

Sitting in my underpants…

Dreaming of the South of France
Could be on the Cote D’Azur
What am I in Russia for?
(Traditional Russian Folk Rhyme)

So Summer finished (although I’d argue it never really got started to any great degree)… You can tell because they’re taking down all the outside seating areas they put up back in… whenever it was people started getting all optimistic?

They say to truly understand the Russian people you must know their history.

Fortunately for someone as research-shy as myself, the team at Epic Rap Battles have distilled this into a two and a half minute hip-hop track… Genius.

Oh wow. I was just typing in the tags for this post and realised that Rasputin and Putin are related… though probably only on their mothers side.

‘Ras’ (or to be more accurate ‘raz’) means instance or time, and is used instead of ‘one’ when counting. This suggests either that Rasputin was an instance of Putin, the first Putin (some kind of proto-Putin?)… or time-Putin (a bit like our Doctor Who)?

I’m not sure of the relevance or accuracy of this claim. ‘Ras’ actually means races, but races-Putin makes no sense whatsoever.

Happy (belated) Birthday Ma’am!

A little bit late, I know, but I couldn’t post on her actual birthday because I was at the British consulate attending a birthday party in her honour.

Yes, me, your faithful Anglichanin, nobbing my hobs (still no biscuits by the way) with the great and the good associates of St Pete (at least those of a more anglophile bent), at the high consulate of Great Britain, no less.

To be honest it wasn’t her actual birthday either, as she has two… (she’s the Queen, she can do what she likes), but her official birthday.

So why does she need two birthdays I (virtually) hear you ask?…