Sunbathing in Siberia by M. A. Oliver-Semenov

Author:M. A. Oliver-Semenov
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: epub, ebook, QuarkXPress
ISBN: 111-1-11-111111-1
Publisher: Parthian Books
Published: 2014-06-02T16:00:00+00:00

Aeroflot Flight SU2571. May 28th 2012. London – Moscow

My flight back to London in winter had gone without a hitch and before I knew it I was in Cardiff. As I had got my eight hours back that I had lost on the way to Siberia, I had arrived in Cardiff at about 6 p.m. I was still wearing Boris’s spare black hunting jacket and his ushanka of real mink fur. Carrying my half-empty suitcase over my shoulder, I bought a train ticket to Llantwit Major and stood on platform 6 of Cardiff Central Station. I was aware of how Russian I looked but didn’t care because people seemed to give me a wide berth, which I enjoyed. Not only that but I felt Russian; I was Michael Oliver of Krasnoyarsk, with a lovely Siberian wife to go home to, a dacha to enjoy in the summer, and the knowledge that I would soon be returning to Siberia for good. I stood with my shoulders back, chest out and head high. When I reached Llantwit Major however I quickly removed my ushanka and stuffed it into my suitcase as I had to walk for thirty minutes to my mother’s house in St Athan. She lives a gunshot away from RAF St Athan’s main gate and the approach to my mother’s is always overlooked by an armed soldier with a semi-automatic weapon; I didn’t want him to think the Russians were invading.

I spent a fortnight getting used to British life again, although it didn’t really take much getting used to. I ate more full breakfasts than were good for me and indulged in half a billion packets of salt and vinegar crisps. Russian crab flavoured ‘chips’ for some reason just don’t give me the same satisfaction. By early February it was high time to pay the Russian embassy in London a visit. The opening time of the department that dealt with certificate requests was 8.45 a.m., and it closed just three hours later. I needed to be in London early. The only way I could do this was by taking the National Express at 4.30 a.m. There was no way I could get to the station easily at that hour from my dad’s house in Ely, or my mum’s place in Llantwit Major. Once again I called upon the services of my mate Torben, who insisted we have ten pints in the pub followed by double shots of whatever he had left in his kitchen.

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