Playtime

The time of year has come in Moscow, when many go on holiday. Expatriate mother hens, fly back home to the roost, to their mothers or back to London, SW1. Oligarchs send off the family, with an army of nannies to their motor yacht in Cyprus, Lake Como or to the French Riviera.

Lucky, expatriate trailing fathers like me, get to spend quality time with their kids here in Moscow, before we also pack up shop and head off to greener lands. I had forgotten life in the playground these last months, as I have been busy spending time with other peoples brats, sorry, I mean darling angels. Playgrounds are interesting places to study human nature and to see a variety of personalities and stereotypes in all their, beauty, vulgarity and eccentricity. I think we all love playgrounds, as we feel like children again. I know this sounds all wrong in today's, screwed up society but I love playgrounds, I am a swinger and I love swings. Playgrounds are fun for you and the kids. Swing on the swings, go on the see saw, roundabout, make sandcastles and watch happy faces playing.

Being "expatriates", we live in an area that has other international expats. We were sold into this dream, by the real estate letting agent and we had no idea we would be placed into a community of expatriate clones. As a twist of consequence, we luckily, get to choose from a variety of different playground areas to take our kids to. The most popular being "Patriarchy Ponds". We don't live there but can easily take a bus or a metro. This is a large pond (it's a lake but called a "pond"), situated near the Moscow zoo and I won't bore you with it's history. It has a playground area at one end of the pond and is surrounded by trees, as a park in the centre, it's a nice one and away from the main traffic noise and smoke. When we first arrived here, I took my kid there everyday, as I did not know where else to go but since then, I have found a huge number of other playground areas that are far better. On most days, I would push my kid in the snow, rain and sunshine to the Patriarchy Pond. Mostly out of desperation to get out from my flat, to breath some air and to meet with other parents. In the summer, I would walk past groups of teenagers drinking beer from cans, while they ate potato chips. Drinking outside in parks, is very popular among Russians and not seen as socially unacceptable. Lovers, would sit kissing on yellow benches, women would be gossiping and people would walk by with small trophy dogs, that would look more at home in Beverly Hills than in Moscow. Patriarchy Ponds, is popular for wealthy Russians and for expatriates on wonderful relocation packages, as rents are very high in that area of Moscow. I would sit down on a bench at the playground and watch my kid, while he climbed the slide or went down the plastic tunnel on the play area. I always felt very uncomfortable at this playground, I felt a kind of impostor, as I was surrounded by women, many of them British. I felt like a man in a women's shower room. This would normally be fine, even exciting, in a different situation (the shower room I mean) but playgrounds and children are a world, that belong to mothers and not to us hairy men. In previous countries, I had always avoid other expatriates but moving here with a kid, changed that freedom and anonymity.

When you are a foreigner in a foreign country, you get a kind of desperation to hear your own language spoken and to speak to people who actually understand you. I was like that, although I often spoke to the wrong people, as I was desperate to talk to anyone that would listen to me. Expatriate mothers are often middle class, have husbands who are directors or top managers and who live comfortable lives abroad in an expatriate bubble, tied to each other by an invisible umbilical cord of motherhood. I had as much in common with them as an alien from another planet. These are the very kinds of people, that I would avoid back home. They cannot be avoided here, they are at the playgrounds, at the schools and at the kindergartens. At first, I tried to befriend them but was met with one way conversations and suspicion, a man at a playground, how very strange. After a while, I found myself chatting to Russian mothers or to Filipino girls. These people were far more interesting, genuine and real. I got to know the regulars and their faces and their kids. I could recognize a kids face and link him or her to a nanny or to a mother. A man would arrive every morning at the Pond playground, in most weather conditions and do stretching exercises or chin ups, on the playground climbing frame. He had a friendly, lived in face face and we would often chat in broken English, about everything and nothing. This brief male company, was a shot of normality, in a raging sea of vaginas as I felt I was drowning back then. 

After a while of being abroad, you can easily spot a British mother (and in fact, all British) without hearing her speak. They usually dress in certain way and usually push their kids in Maclaren baby pushchairs. Their babies or toddlers are dressed in "Next" or "Gap" clothing and they sound as if they have just absconded after hockey game, from a private girls boarding school, with the tuck shop takings.They huddle together, like grazing buffalo in a wind swept valley.  Filipino girls would sit on the benches, chewing gum, looking bored, listening to their music, while their adopted expatriate kids, would be playing in the sandpit. These Filipino girls, travel from the other side of the globe, to Moscow to work as cleaners or babysitters. There is plenty of work for them here and they send money back home to families in the rice fields and villages. Expatriates, generate jobs in a black economy in an industry of childcare and domestic help, that helps the GDP (Gross domestic Product) of the Philippine islands.

Middle aged Russians nannies, called "Natasha" or "Olga" would be wrapped up in layers of warm clothing in the winter, feeding the birds in the snow, while their adopted children would play nearby. These nannies would feed the pigeons seed or bread and were very happy to share their bird food with us. It is a delight to put bird seed into a tiny child's hand and watch him smile with joy when the birds ate the seed.  These nannies do not have boundaries or walls and are genuine people, that carry a history of life. They are fine, if you don't work with them, as I have done and are a dish best served cold and anonymously (See Best Posts to see why). I always enjoyed speaking to these women, when I found they spoke English, of course they had no idea that I did the same thing as them, in looking after my own kid and I did not try to tell them my story, what would be the point?. Filipino girls, would often ask me "sir do you need a nanny" I would reply "no I have one thanks", if only they knew. 

As a trailing dad, responsible for the daily childcare, you get to see playgrounds in every season. For me, winter is the best season to be in a place like Moscow and playgrounds take on a kind of city beauty that can't be seen in the summer months. Snow sparkles under a blue ski and the air is crisp, biting and fresher than in the summer months. The pond becomes frozen and people skate the air is filled with kids laughter as they play on the ice. The city takes on a warmer more friendly feel when you are at a playground, the city feels human again. After some years of being here, I no longer speak to these expatriate mothers as they frighten me. I keep my mouth shut and avert my gaze, preferring to try and blend into the ground and to be invisible. I don't enter into conversation and I don't burst their bubble. It's better this way for all.

Now I have returned to the playground but not to so much to Patriarchy Pond, unless absolutely necessary. I went there a few times recently, mostly out a perverse curiosity. Many of the familiar expatriate faces, of many nationalities, have since left Moscow, to be replaced by new expatriate faces, in an endless conveyor belt of people, all in a bubble of make believe. Does that make me sound like a hypocrite? well no, sure we are "expatriates" but we are not like them. I must say, it is refreshing to see them gone and to watch a new batch arrive, fresh from the factory.

The great thing about Moscow and kids, is that there are small playgrounds all over the city, they are like mushrooms, in a forest and come in different sizes, shapes and colours. They sit behind blocks of flats, in parks or in courtyards. If you don't like one playground, you can choose another. Some have their resident drunks, some have their resident nannies, some have their resident nut jobs who carry their possessions in a bag. Many are a peaceful oasis, in a city of concrete and traffic. Some have new plastic climbing areas and some have old climbing areas, that would look at more at home a post Soviet museum to communal living. After a while, you will find the best play areas that you like and they will be part of your daily routine. I have found three where I live that are better than Patriarchy Ponds. You hardly see a British expatiate, drunk or nut job but you will see a lot of Russian mums and grandmothers, playing with happy, smiling children. You can sit on a bench under a shady tree and watch your kids playing, play with them and feel at peace with the world. If you want to talk to other parents, you can and you won't usually hear a British accent. No one judges you and you can do as you wish.

New and old playgrounds are a lot of fun and without them, life here for the parents and for the kids would be impossible. Thank you playgrounds, you are a a lot of fun and although I may not be a member of the Moscow fan club, (ILM) the city does have a lot playgrounds and parks for kids and parents and as I have always said most Russian love kids. Happy playtime.

Related stories:Witches of the children, Best Posts

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Mr. Moscow

When living abroad for a long time, it is important that you keep paying into some kind of state or private pension. This will hopefully prevent you from living in total poverty when you reach the retirement age.

In my county, the United Kingdom, it is currently at about 67, although we have no way of knowing what these fuckers will do later to our retirement ages. I have been paying "NVC contributions" also known as "Class 3 national insurance contributions" every year since moving abroad. I will continue to do this, until I go mad, reach old age or win the lottery, in those situations, I will not care anymore and neither will you. To get a full state pension, you need to pay into it for over 30 years. Don't get too excited, as you won't be rich or even semi well off, you will get just 107.45 pounds a week, if you are a man or women and married. If you are not British, then you may find this story very boring, so I encourage you to look at Best Posts. However, the world of British bureaucracy may interest anyone who is not British.

I have been paying into the United Kingdom state pension, every year and send them a payment, by post once a year. You would think this would be easy, not so. We have moved countries and on each move, I had to inform them of my new address, every year I have to call them, because they have not put in my new address, into the giant head and post the payment request letter off to my last old address. The yearly payment goes up each year, so they must have your correct address. You cannot simply call them and say, here is my NI number (National Insurance) can you tell me what address you have in your system? That would be far too easy and no fun. No my friend, you must call them, read them your address and then they confirm it to you as the one they have on their system or they will tell you that the one they have on their system, is not the one the one you have just told them. They cannot read your address to you as you may be a spy or international criminal. This is because they are paranoid and there is nothing you can do about it.

The Data Protection Act (DPA) and political correctness, are the news powers, that rule the United Kingdom. If you are British and want to pay Class 3 national insurance contributions, then you will need to tell them your new address, so they can write to you each year, to tell you how much to pay them, good luck. Unfortunately, trying to contact the giant head, that is disconnected from it's main body, is about as easy as standing on your own head, while drinking boiled chili juice, while singing god save the queen. I wanted to ask them how many years I had left to pay into the state pension to qualify for the full state pension? This was simply too complicated and the giant head began to cry and ran away. Forms are the only solution. The British, love forms as much as the Russians do.

The United Kingdom's official government organisations, are so paranoid about data protection, equality and litigation, that they are shaking in their boots whenever they are asked any private information, by one of their actual birth citizens and this is even worse for them, if you live abroad. You have to call "The centre for non residence" also known as "HMRC International Caseworker" to get pension information. I telephoned them from Russia and wish I had not. 

The first stage, is to speak to them and to get out of Russia. Dial 8 0144 then the full number and you will speak to a man or women who has a heavy Newcastle accent, (as that's where their mother ship is kept, on the banks of the murky river Tyne). You say "hello I am calling from Russia and I pay NVC's class 3 contributions and I want to know who many years I left to pay into my state pension please" Aunty Newcastle will reply, as they are mostly women that answer the telephone "sorry we can't tell you with that, you need to call the future pension forecasting service team, we only collect pension payments", you then ask with a trembling voice, do you have the number? She will reply "its on our website or I can give it to you" you then thank them, grateful for this currency of information and with an excited hand, you write the number down on a bit of dirty paper, while your baby screams in the background. Feeling already stressed, you dial the number, again, first dialing 8 0144. Again, another woman, who sounds like your Newcastle grandmother, answers the phone, she says "Pension service, can I take your NI number". You give it to them, they then ask you for your: full name, address, date of birth, mothers maiden name and where you worked before leaving the UK, although they asked me where I worked in 1998? When I could not remember where I worked in 1998, that was 14 years ago, I was told I cannot have this information and they hung up the phone. The ironic thing is, their system should have all of this information, as everyone has their own unique national insurance number. I was not asking for the crown jewels, for a million pounds or for sexual intercourse with a donkey. All I wanted to know, was how many years do I have left to pay?

Having failed to get information by phone, I wrote by email, to a contact address that I found, on a government website and yes, you guessed it....  "the centre for non residence" also known as "HMRC International Caseworker", to complain, asking why I could not get this simple information over the phone and I only wanted to know how many years I had left to pay. I had an email reply. It read: 

"Dear Mr Moscow, Thank you for contacting HMRC International Caseworker. I regret I cannot respond to your enquiry by email. Internet e-mail is not secure. We have a duty of care to protect our customers and we will not reply where we feel that your confidentiality may be breached. If you are requiring information on how many qualifying tax years you have towards your UK National Insurance basic retirement Pension, all you need do is complete form BR19 and the future Pension Centre will write out to you and advise you. I have attached form BR19 for you to complete and return to the relevant office. If you have any further queries for HMRC International Caseworker, please do not hesitate to contact us. Our office is open Monday - Friday, 7.30am until 5.00pm". 

So I am now known, as "Mr Moscow", nice, I only hope, my individual record against my national insurance number, does not have me recorded as "Mr Moscow". By the way, the email did not have the BR19 from attached.

Giving up any attempts by email or by phone, to get this information, I went to the website of the "Future fucking, Pensions forecasting, I won't give you this information team" and opened their online form, for a pension forecast. I don't need a fucking forecast, I just want know how many fucking years I have left to pay, so I can know if I need to rob a fucking bank or make my fortune. A vice like grip began to squeeze my head and I almost began to cry. This online form is imaginatively entitled "BR19" like every British form is. It's nine pages long and you have to fill it in, print it out and post off to the United Kingdom, to know who many years left to pay, to know how poor you will be, when you eventually reach 67. The answer should simply consist of two or more numbers ranging from 1 to 30 plus years but this is far too complicated for British bureaucratic, organisations to cope with. Russia is not alone in being a total bureaucratic pain in the ass. If you are a "trailing spouse" and not working, (although looking after kids is very hard work and unpaid) the form, simply asks you to tick "Not working". If you have lived abroad, in more than one country and have not returned to live in the United Kingdom, the form does not have any section that will apply to you, so fill it in and pray. Note, these departments do not employ people with actual brains. They hire people from the netherworld of insanity who have Newcastle accents and who don't give a shit.

The solution, is to avoid contacting the giant head for any information that may send them into a mental meltdown of paranoia. Simply fill in a form online, load up your printer with lots of paper and post it off. Alternatively, you can make huge amounts of money or invest in properties or win the lottery, then the giant head will become irrelevant and you will not require multiple packs of Aspirin tablets or be known as "Mr. Moscow" as I am.

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Do you speak English?

Ape man

This is the most common question asked by people who speak English, to people who are not English, when living abroad. Do you speak English? Yes I do and very well but ask me to speak any other language and you will have a one way conversion with me, you may as well talk to a deaf ape. Everyone in the world should speak English.

I confess to hating all languages, other than my own. Some people may ask how does a person cope with living in a foreign country when they don't speak the language? How can a person work abroad without speaking the language? I always reply, very easily.

Isn't hindsight fucking wonderful

In my opinion, if you managed to learn a language at school, to any usable level, then learning another language, will not be too hard for you. Like many kids at school, during French lessons, I would spend all my time looking out of the window, dreaming of world domination and feeling totally bored. For my school French exam, I was given one mark for putting my name on the top of the exam paper. Little did I know, that years in the future, I would be living abroad as an expatriate and little did I know I would end up being married to a person from another planet. Hindsight is a tough bitch to please and it's easy to say, I wish I knew then, what I know now. If I had known this, during French classes, I would have listened to the teacher, I would have done my homework and I would have tried harder. However, my teacher was a bully and terrified half of the class, this may be why I now hate all languages and have a phobia of any man in a sports jacket with leather elbow patches. I digress.

However dear reader, all is not lost, if you move abroad to another country for set number of years. You can have a good life and you will survive, not being able to speak the local language. Don't be afraid, I will hold your hand. Here are some ideas.

Be a dumb ape and be proud of it

If you can speak another language, other than your own and you have the time, money and patience to learn a new language I encourage you try it. It will benefit you greatly. You will feel closer to the culture of your host country, you will be respected by the locals and you will be proud of your achievement in learning a new language. If you only move abroad for a few years, and don't really like languages, save yourself the effort and don't bother to learn the language you won't need to. That is exactly what I have done and I survive. If you are British, self confident, have a clear accent and have some understanding of English grammar, then you can always teach English. Most people who are non native speakers of English, want to learn English. They want to learn it for fun and for their work, as English opens many doors to employment, the world over. You won't get rich from teaching English but you will make a reasonable living abroad. Often, teachers that cannot speak the local language, are more popular than those that can. You simply do not need another language to teach abroad, ignore anyone who tell you that you do.

Technology rescues the ape

If you move to Moscow, or any other city in the world, there are many ways to survive without speaking the local language. Technology has helped us with languages and we now have the World Wide Web and Android smart phones, as tools for our language disabilities. When moving abroad, make sure you have a touch screen smart phone like Samsung for example, as these phones have Google translate on them and if they don't, you can download them for free. This is a great tool to have, as you can either speak into it or type into it and it will translate and speak the translation, into any language that you select. It does not always get it right, for example, if you ask "Can you tell me where the petrol station is" this can translate to "Can you come with me to the petrol station" or "You have a large nose and I want to sleep with you". My advice is keep your language very simple when using translator and don't make complex long sentences, you will save embarrassment or a punch on the nose.

You can carry your phone in your pocket and take it out at any time, when you need to ask something that is not in your own language. We also have Google Chrome, which is fairly good at translating any website into your own language. Just click "translate this page". This is very useful if you want to order anything online and get it delivered to your home. Ordering, can be dangerous although quantity cannot be misunderstood, sometimes descriptions can be wrong for example, something translated as "low fat yogurt", may not be low fat yogurt but high fat, yaks cream, so if you are not sure what you are ordering don't choose that item on your online order. All online shops, what ever the county, have photos of each product, so unless you are really stupid, you are unlikely to order the wrong thing.

People often ask but how can you go shopping, find your way around or get a hair cut without speaking some of the language? I always say, no problem. When I need a haircut, I go to "Google images" type in "short hair cut + man" and it comes back with lots of hair styles. Choose one you like, print it off and take it with you to the hair salon. Show it to the hairdresser and say, "shampoo" and you will get what you want without any problems. I will just suggest one thing, get a friend, local or non local, who speaks the language, to kindly write on a bit of paper, asking how much the hair cut is? This paper, can then be shown at the hair salon and will avoid any nasty shocks, when it comes to paying for your haircut, especially in a place like Moscow. Smart phones are wonderful things for the linguistically challenged and they come with Apps. You can download a map, a translator and a metro map. If you need to travel on the metro, you can just type in your own language, where you are and where you want to go to and the map will show the complete journey and show you where to change station. Google Maps, will show where to turn and will speak to you, if you have a smart phone that can accept Google Maps. Google Maps, on a phone is perfect for driving. I don't recommend buying a smart phone in Moscow for example, as prices are about 30% to 40% higher and phones are not subsidised, so you will have to pay the full phone price, which can be hundreds of euro.

Play the clown in an apes costume

Assume that most people do speak some English, especially if they work in professional jobs, look professional and look young and educated. Instinct, should tell you this information, when you look at a person and will allow you the decision to speak to them or not. Always be polite and never come across as arrogant and don't talk down to people, just because you speak English, it does not mean you are better than anyone else. Smile, talk slowly, clearly and in a normal way. You are not speaking to a deaf person, so don't shout. Form experience, the general rule is, when speaking English, to non native speakers, start simple and get more complex. You will know their level of English, after a few seconds of hearing them speak. You can use your hands, or your face and play a game of acting, to make your self understood. Don't be ashamed but see it as game, play the clown, people are happy to help, if you make them laugh or smile. For example, I did not know what eggs were or what chicken was in Russian, when I first arrived in Russia. One day, at the supermarket, I went up to a shop worker, made a chicken clucking noise and did the action of taking an egg out of my ass. The whole shop laughed and I was immediately understood. I got my eggs. If you don't speak the language, don't be shy and don't be afraid to make a fool of yourself. Don't see it as negative but have some fun. One of the most important things to do when moving abroad, is to make friends with local people. You will both benefit, they will get to practice their English for free and you will get their help with any complicated language questions, that may require more detail, than a phone or computer translator. Networking, can help you to find out things and will help you with any questions you may have about the city, when you don't speak the local language. There are many Face Book sites for expatriates and some forums can be a help, although be careful of forums as they often contain trolls on them.

Be a knuckle head

Of course, you will need to speak the local language to a good level, if you plan to work in an office with local people, you will need the language if you work with people or in jobs such as sales, accounting, law, the hotel industry etc. If you are "trailing spouse" (a husband or wife following their partner abroad) then you really won't need to speak the local language and if you have kids, and don't have a full time nanny, you simply won't have the time to learn the language but if you enjoy a challenge and are confident with languages, then give it a try and good luck.

As for me, I survive because I have technology and friends who can help me with any language needs, it's not ideal but it works. I am a knuckle head and wear the ribbon. I enjoy not understanding what people say, as I don't ever get offended. Will I ever learn Russian, beyond the alphabet and "a beer", "yes", "no", "how are you?" Only if hell freezes over. I would rather build a scale modal of the Kremlin, out of used tooth picks, than learn Russian. Here is why we should all speak English!

 Related stories:Russia beyond the headlines, Best Posts, Technical drama & tantrums, Dad excommunicated

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Dad excommunicated

A gypsy curse

I have had a few problems with mobile phones over the last few weeks here in Costa Del Moscow, (see Best Posts). I have been excommunicated and will rant about it below. I will share this tale of woe with you dear reader, so buckle up and take a deep breath.

I believe I am the victim of a gypsy curse, on anything technical and I have yet to bottle the tears of a thousand virgins to lift this curse. I had my Samsung Ace stolen from my bag, while riding the magic, Moscow fair ground, aka the Moscow metro. This was partly my fault for leaving the zip on my teaching bag not fully zipped up and my fault for being squeezed like a Sardine, in a tin already full of sardines, on a metro train, one summers evening, during mad rush hour.

ILGM - I love Google Maps

The phone was good and had Google maps on it. Google maps was designed for idiots like me. This was the best feature of the phone, because if you are linguistically challenged as I am, then having Google maps speak to you, to tell you when to turn left or right, when it sends you in the wrong direction, getting you totally lost, is really useful, when living in a difficult place like Moscow. Like a trained monkey, I can read the signs and manage the alphabet but ask me to say anything beyond "hello", "no", "thanks", "one beer" "big" or "small" and I am lost and you may as well throw me a fresh banana. In Russia, you cannot buy a phone for a pound, as you can back in the UK. They have phone contracts but they do not subsidize phone prices, so you have to pay the full price for a phone. "Pay as you go" (payment by by cash, for set units of talk time) is very popular here and I joined that ship, as it is a no strings deal, you can walk away when ever you like. Without repeating too much of the post before last, I went back to the same shop and was sold another phone, that turned out to be as much use as waterproof tea bags, it was a lemon. I tried to get the shop to change it and offered them sex and more money for a better phone but they refused, even though I had the phone box and the shop receipt. I offered the shop my child but they still refused, saying his warranty was not valid in Russia.

The exchange

My wife, who can make a grown man cry, just with a stare, decided to take on my hopeless case "pro bono". She likes a lost cause and a challenge, which may be why she married me. She speaks fluent Russian, although she is not Russian but from a galaxy far from here. She went back to the shop, when I had given up all hope of ever having a normal phone and demanded to change the phone. They refused, so she lied and said it was not working properly and they said, they would keep it for two weeks and send it off to be "tested" (in other words, dumped on a shelf in the shop stock room). They lent me a phone, that was worse than the one they had sold me. I spent two weeks, stuck with a phone that could not make calls but only send text messages. They gave us a receipt for this "loan" phone and valued their phone at over 6,000 Rubles (150 Euro) although, I think this must have been its value as new and they told my wife, that if I lost this phone, I would have to pay them this money back. The screen was so scratched, I could hardly read it to send a text message. Then the other day, we had a message from the shop, that we could exchange the phone. Tears of joy ran down my face and the chance to adopt a new phone, that once seemed an unattainable dream, where now a Russian reality. Communication would be mine again.

I stayed at home and defended myself from a toddler, who beat me around the head with giant, green, toy crocodile, as I fed a screaming baby Vodka, while my brave, loving wife, went back to the shop to choose me a new phone. We decided to buy a iPhone 3G. It was on offer at 16,000 Rubles (390 Euro) and is like me, an old model. I had always dreamed of owning an Apple phone and thus far, had only ever eaten an Apple, so the priced seemed reasonable for Moscow. I could finally join the iPhone club, after years of being an Apple outcast, forced to inhabit the edge of the giant, communication fruit bowel. They gave us the iPhone, although we had to pay 500 Rubles to get it fucking thing registered. I thought that was the end of my technical misfortune. Not so.

The boring technical part

My next hurdle, was to register the phone to get iPhone Apps. I put the kids to bed and sat down to get what they call an "Apple ID" easy you would think. Not so. You have to go through different screens on their website and enter in your name, address, shoe size, sexual orientation, country, zip zap code (although Moscow does not have "zip" codes) and finally enter in your credit card details. That sounds easy dear reader but my credit card is a British one and the credit card "billing address" is not in the UK or in Russia. Their system hated me from that point on and spat venom at me at every input screen. After an hour, of trying, The great Apple, told me that the credit card address, must be in the country of the Apple store where you buy any Apps. In the end, I used my wife's credit card and the technical dispute was resolved, as if it never happened. I then had to try and log onto the Apple store to get a few free Apps, as you cannot download "free apps" without first fucking registering. With Samsung, it was all so easy, as long as you have a Google account, you are not asked to register or to give any credit card details. As I said, you have get a fucking "Apple ID" and a password but the jerks that designed the log on screen, call it a "user" and "password" rather than a fucking "Apple ID" and a password, when you log on via the phone. This is probably the result of Apple outsourcing the log on system, getting it designed at another company, by over paid, spotty geeks, who never see the sunlight. I often think, Americans have no idea of life beyond their own shores but that's the subject of a later rant, possibly on a future blog.

I spent another hour, trying to log on to the Apple store, only to be told that "This is the wrong "user name" I hope you are following me dear reader? The registration asks for an "Apple ID" this is an email address, while Apps store log on, asks you for a "User" and "password". Two different terminologies and designed to annoy the shit, out a simple, nappy, part time stay at home man like me. After many hours and after many password and Apple ID "forget" email requests applied for by me, I could at last log onto the Apps store, once I realized that "user" and "Apple ID" are the same fucking thing!, I then found out that the Apps on an iPhone, are not as good as the Apps on a Samsung Smart phone and I can't get Google maps on my 3G but only have an Apple maps equivalent, that does not speak to you. I was told by a friend, to to buy the latest iPhone and I agree but I don't want to pay six hundred or more pounds, just for a mobile phone. As I have said before, dear reader, Moscow likes to make life as hard as it can for the foreigner and Russian logic, is a science that I have yet to understand. Moral, don't buy anything in Russia and this includes phones and clothes.

Russian's like to use a 24 hour clock, so any iPhone phone you buy here, may have the "regional format" set to this clock style. This would seem OK but the calender and phone alarm clock may have this format. Mine did, as well as days the of week set to the Russian language. I had to turn off the "regional format" and select the United Kingdom, as the "regional format", as I like a traditional 12 hour clock, since I'm not in the army. The phone still works. I had to select the phone language to "English UK" and the "regional format" to the United Kingdom. This was before, I even made my first phone call or installed any Apps. Who said it was easy? Not me.

Praise to the giant apple

So now I have a phone. I can translate Russian to English, using Google translate and this does speak to you and you can speak to it, I have two calenders that I'll never use, I can see the weather in as many cities as I want, I have an App called "location" that tells me where I am, when I don't know where I am. In summary, I am as happy as a fly on a shit but I don't have a map that speaks to me but I do have a decent phone. I am now a member of the iPhone club, I am an applet.

Here endeth my tale of technical excommunication. I am now re communicated, thanks to the great Apple and to god but no thanks to Moscow.

Related stories:Technical drama & tantrums, Best posts

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Two years in Moscow

Travelling around Moscow on an average day, in the world of stay at home dad, is an experience that is both interesting, entertaining and shocking. Life has changed, since first arriving here, over two years ago. English dad in Moscow, is out and active, I've done the time and lived the crime of being a man in a woman's role . To make a daily journey, as I do out in Moscow, is better than any movie and is real life, with real people. Walk to the metro, go down the steps, up the steps, walk past women selling flowers, a girl holding a fully grown horse, outside the metro station doors. No one looks surprised, no one seems shocked. The horse has a sign around his neck. I can't read what it says but it could be saying "feed me", or "I can be yours for the night if you pay my owner". I have no fucking idea but the sight is entertaining, if only for a second and it's fun to invent reasons in my head. A horse in suspenders and lipstick, there's a mental image.

I make my way down into the guts of the metro. Stale air fills my nose, as I stand on the escalator going down into hell. I see couples kissing on the opposite escalator and a man travelling up, carrying a pair of skis on his shoulder. It's Monday and I am going to meet a student. Student Z, owns a pet food supply company. I carry my teaching bag on one shoulder and take a metro train. My kids are at home being looked after by our part time Russian nanny. I have got used to using the Moscow metro. If you don't speak or read Russian very well, don't be afraid to use it. Don't listen to those langauge lovers, who say you must speak Russian to live in Russia. This is bullshit.  Sure, it would help but it's a lot of fun not speaking Russian and I like a challenge. From experience, most people who look young, normal and intelligent, will speak some or even good English and are often very happy to help you if you are lost. I find my way around the metro, based entirety on visual memory, rather than on any reading ability, although I can read the alphabet and the station names, I won't win any language prizes. The metro system, consists of stations within stations. You go up an down steps and escalators to get to where you want to go, to get to your required train line. Although bigger, the trains here are like London underground trains and get packed, to dangerous levels during busy times and often stink of body odour, garlic, stale breath, beer or all of these smells, so hold your nose when taking the train, as your nose will be treated to a symphony of interesting smells. I do, with my face pressed up, against the gap in the door, trying to get some fresh tunnel air as the train goes to my stop. At each stop, I stick my head out the doors and swallow the air, like a diver swimming in the abyss, air is a luxury on metro trains in Moscow. Russian's don't usually like opening windows.

As I leave the station, I see man wearing a pair of comical orange slippers that look like fluffy cats on each of his feet, no one stairs but I laugh out loud at the sight and continue to do so for another five minutes. I go outside, through the swinging station doors, into the warm smoky air, to walk to my students office. People stand outside the station handing out cards, for some unknown service. People from the far reaches of Russia, make their way somewhere, to make a living, having escaped from the bum hole of existence, from the far flung reaches, that was once the USSR, seeking a better life in the capital.

As I walk down the street ramp, to enter the maze of underground tunnels, that pass under the vast road systems, to get to the road I need, I see a young woman with no legs, begging. She looks fairly attractive and she is sitting on a wooden box with wheels. She has no legs from her knees down. I ask myself how did she get into this situation, how did she lose her legs and what took her to the depths of begging in the street? Maybe she had an accident and could not afford fake legs or a wheel chair? Maybe she begs as she makes good money? Maybe she actually has legs hidden inside the box? Questions, questions. "I will never know the answer to that question, if I did I would tell you" ABC (1). I need to know. How does a person end up begging? It bothers me not to know. I give her money and walk on thankful I have legs, past a man playing an old accordion. He is blind and is there every week, singing hits from the Soviet times. I walk past him each week and reminisce back to another time, which is strange as I'm not Russian, I had never lived in Soviet Russia but I feel perversely nostalgic. I am stuck in a nostalgic time warp of bad 80's/90's pop music and in a Soviet life that I have never experienced, maybe from breathing Moscow petrol fumes for too long? Sorry dear reader. See (1) (2)

I walk to pet man, student Z. I like him very much. He is polite, friendly and speaks excellent English. He is a father like me and I feel we have some things in common but live very different lives. He told me he rents out his flat to a British man for 8,000 British pounds a month, "WTF" yes, that's what I said. He told me his flat faces the Moscow river. He sends his kids to a private school, he wants the best for them. I admire this guy, he is the man I wish I could be, in another life maybe? After our lesson, I leave and make the long walk back to the metro, down and up stairs and escalators to go home, back to my temporary home in Moscow. I often go up the wrong stairs at interchange stations, when I change trains, as I forget where I am going, getting the days and destinations all mixed up. Early senile dementia or sleep deprivation? Maybe both. I walk down long tunnels then turn back, lost again. Days, merge into days, that merge into weeks.

At first, taking the Moscow metro, is like Gloria Gaynor (2). "At first, I was afraid, I was petrified" (although she never took the metro here, I digress). I felt like a blind man cutting grass at a shooting range but after some weeks, I got used to it, I survived. Taking the metro can seem like a computer Pacman game, as you bounce off the walls and stairs to go where you need. I make my way down tunnels, to my train, past women selling puppies, baby rabbits or baby turtles. Are they pets or to eat? More questions. I sit opposite some interesting looking people. Most of them are either reading an electronic book, watching something on their phones or listening to music. Again, I feel frustrated not to know their lives, where they live, what they do. I feel like a frustrated voyeur, only seeing half the story. One women has blond hair and a face that looks lived in, sits opposite me, next to her a man is wearing a hood and sun glasses and next to him, another guy that looks as if he has just stepped out of a 1970's USSR sex movie. All fascinating to watch, if only to imagine their lives. Each person has a different story to tell and a life carved by experience.

I return home at 9.30 pm, put my kids to bed and eat a left over meal. By the time all that is done, it's10pm and I'm exhausted but happy to be busy and making some money after staying at home here in Moscow, for almost two years of nothing. It almost pushed me over the edge and into madness. I don't how these expat women do it? Daily trips to the park to see the same mothers and the same park drunks, endless coffee mornings and domestic life and nappies. Of course, most have one or two full time nannies, so life ain't so bad for them. I suppose some enjoy it and have become proverbial whores, to a lifestyle that feeds them well and dresses them in designer clothes, while hubby plays the corporate game. I tried to fit in, I wore a metaphorical dress, I wore the lipstick, I went to breast feeding clubs and I tried to become one of them, albeit with my male parts and face stubble. I could not fit in, I could not adapt or be accepted into their female world and to their breast feeding bosoms. Some things never change and probably never will, within the sexes and within role expectations and I have written about this before on this blog. It still fascinates me sociologically, gender divisions often cannot be tampered with and were decided a millennium ago. Some say, don't try and alter this balance, however, a small number of us stay at home dads have have tried and got a bloody nose in the process.

Two years on, life is better now and I'm busy and free, Moscow is offering English dad some of her secrets and granting him some bail from domestic duties. I have thrown away my dress and nipple cream, I'm out there living Moscow, moving around, people watching and taking notes.

Source: Gloria Gaynor,  ABC, Look of love.

Related stories: Best posts, Moscow

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