sofasurfers

I located the right library (do you know, i’d been waiting there the day before, to be told, “Oh no! Not this one - you need…’), and was taken out to the hills by the librarian’s 9-year-old son. This turned out to be a spot of extreme public transport surfing, as like matches in a box, we were rattled to bits by the lurching bus. Frayed nerves were soon soothed by a six-hour sesh of child therapy - yes, four cherubic, twinkly-eye Mongolian children clambering upon me, playing the  recorder (me and them: London’s Burning of course), and feeding me chocolate. We all lived in one room, my bed the carpet, and I thought to myself: imagine the smokiest pleasure of a one-room family Ger ever working at home. I’m now Russia-bound.