Feeling a Little Horse…

Sorry I’ve been incommunicado for so long… I was drafting a long, random and pointless post over the course of a few days, then had to shut down my computer and accidentally lost it, sending me into a deep depression from which I still haven’t fully recovered.

And I haven’t got the motivation to start on it again yet, but I am aware that I’ve been neglecting you, so I’m going to (attempt to) start making more regular mini-posts, which should be achievable even when I don’t have the time or inclination to write you something more substantial.

IMG_0638Like a metaphorical bar snack, for example… when you know you should eat something to fill your belly, but really can’t be arsed leaving the bar because… Hey, you’re in a bar, what more reason do you need?… or perhaps not like that at all?

Anyway, following some bar snacks (of the tapas variety) the other week, we bundled outside to find this horse being led along the street.

I never fully ascertained what the horse was doing there… I vaguely recall that the person holding it may have requested money (not because she had any discernible talent or was offering anything in return… her argument [if I am remembering correctly] seemed to be that she had a horse, so of course we should pay her).

Many people in Russia ask for money without giving any real justification as to why… Some don’t even ask, especially the Babushkas (technically translating as Grandmas, but applied to almost any woman of a certain age) who can always be found standing silently outside churches with palm outstretched. Of course, being from the UK, I assume that they would spend the money on drugs and booze so I’ve never succumbed…

Oh, and be careful who you refer to as Babushka, because you are essentially calling a lady old… proper old! Plus, they have lived through hard times so are made out of nails. My landlady lived in Nazi occupied Leningrad during the war, and when we moved in she bought me a double mattress (Russian roll up mattress, but still pretty heavy) and transported it to the flat on her own using only a little trolley… and she is a tiny slip of a woman. Nails, I tell you!

So I saw the horse again (sans owner) later on that evening standing outside a nightclub… At first I assumed it had fallen foul of the dress code, but when I saw it was wearing a collar and shoes I surmised that the girl had only raised enough money for her own entry fee… Although if she didn’t have the horse she wouldn’t have gotten anything, so really it should have been her tied up outside.

It’s probably for the best though. Most horses are terrible dancers!

p.s. when I say that making mini-posts should be achievable, I am obviously not taking into account the fact that I can’t use just ten words when there are a hundred I could use… or that I occasionally (only occasionally mind) might veer off topic.

But if we keep me believing that all I have to do is write a mini-post then hopefully I’ll have the impetus to start and once I’m going all should be fine.

About Anglichanin

Anglichanin is a pen name. It is the name I have called my pen. For more useful information please read 'About the Author'.
This entry was posted in Curiosities, Nights Out, Philosophisations, travelogue and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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