ohb

Next news is at nine, good evening

Patrick can do the dance that goes with that, though some people call it sign language. Loads of news, well I call it that, but really its just the details that have filled my days of late and if I don't spit them out they'll end up like those farts that you keep in, and we all know what happens to them, courtesy of one very cultured forward.
Thursday seems so long ago now, it ended fabulously and its all been downhill since then. Mesha had arranged a Russian teacher for me, and she's amazing. I was tired and worn out, having been teaching all day, but left her, energised and full of enthusiasm. She's the most energetic person I've met in Russia, mentally I mean. Having taught my kids all day and then an adult class in the evening I was drained when Mesha dragged me to the theatre to meet her. She was encased in a little office at the top of the building, it felt like being in the Phantom of the Opera, trudging up endless staircases with each turn bringing a little more excitement and wonder as 'theatre people' brushed past getting ready for the impending premiere. I'd forgotten how much I love theatre, everything from the building itself to the air of expectancy hovering above the audience as the curtain rises, the silence, the breathing and those few seconds of readjustment just after the interval when you are once again ensconced in the story and have forgotten about any other reality. I have my first lesson tomorrow, Monday though I feel like I've learned a lot from her already. She warned Mesha to speak to me solely in Russian which lasted all the way to the bus stop, but i'll try from tomorrow on-the good intentions surface once more. Her name is Olga.

posted by orlagh @ 3:46 pm