'Vicious Face Patrol & Technical Break Outs'
Miesje: Russian women. Let me elabourate. Even as I write this I am looking over my shoulder, for fear that I will be brusquely shoo'd out of the way, given the evil death stare or, as Lanty was so unceremoniously told earlier "I won't even bother to tell you how to do the washing up, f*****g hell!" (whilst clearly doing the washing up). I know that we as Brits have a reputation for being somewhat er... frosty, but I have to say, I think that award can now be safely passed over to the Russians. I'm sure that as a nation, once you get to know them and crack though the haughty exterior, they are the most lovely, hospitable, warm, friendly race on the planet (snort of derision) but when faced with a barrage of stiletto tottering, skinny trouser and fur-clad ice queens it is hard to imagine that this is the case. Perhaps I am being unfair. Perhaps it is because their demeanour only serves to highlight the differences between our sweaty, red-faced, rucksack-heaving, berghaus toting selves that we take such umbridge at their attitudes towards us. But surely it wouldn't hurt to smile just occasionally? Even just a glimmer of a smirk? I think the closest I came to this was when the cloakroom lady accidentally gave me back the wrong coat earlier today, brandishing a furry beast at me, rather than my beloved anorak. To be honest though she could have just as easily been chuckling at how daft she was being to imagine that a scruffy traveller such as I could possibly own such a piece of clothing, as at her actual mistake, but being that I was so bowled over by the fact that Russian women can really smile, I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. Anyway, I apologise if anybody feels I am ranting unfairly, but as Janey pointed out - a smile cost nothing.