On jumping out of the fire.

So you are recently back from an extended visit to Moscow. July in a scorched, smog smothered city. You have almost got rid of feeling as though you have smoked a truly unwise number of cigarettes recently. In addition, the Star’s rash has almost faded, your knee only twinges when the Star jumps on it, and you are hoping to get a new pushchair any day now.

On the upside, the house is full of Russian delicacies so your husband is almost reconciled to life in Britain, at least as long as the jelly sweets last out. And the cold, windy, rainy weather you’ve been treated to this week is looking really good right now.

More things to look forward to are the entries you wrote while you were there, illustrated by the five hundred photographs you took. These will be appearing in a series of flashbacks over the next few weeks. If your ancient history lecturer could subject you to slides of his holiday snaps in the name of education (“… and here is an excellent example of a shrine to Apollo. We had to crawl through the grass under the noses of Greek border guards for half an hour to get that one my wife and I. How we laughed about it later over a glass or two of retsina in this little taverna surrounded by olive trees. But that was nothing to the time when…”) then you feel confident in inflicting a what I did on my holidays series on the blog.

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11 thoughts on “On jumping out of the fire.

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