Thank god for free wifi with your coffee...

... or in my case, hot chocolate. This could be the shortest blog post ever as I'm on High St Ken, beset by the boys as they eat lunch noisily and messily whilst I try frantically to check my e-mail, organise a night out tonight, and write a blog post... (do I need to say that we're we staying doesn't have internet?).

We made it back to Blighty - finally - yesterday, two days late, after hours spent at Moscow airport, in taxis, and on the phone and at airport check in desks rebooking flights (3 times) because of the snow at Heathrow. We raced across concourses, trunkies trailing behind us, cannoning into whoever was unfortunate enough to get in our way, and muttering curses under out breath (well, that last was me. The cannoning into was done the boys - mostly).

We were the victim of soviet-style lack of communication, misunderstandings, and random acts of kindness (thanks Tattie Weasle for reminding me of that phrase!), and were adopted at 10pm on Saturday night by Amy Winehouse's tour manager who sent one of his guys to go and find our luggage for us so we could go home rather than spend the night in a cruddy airport hotel.

And finally, after a Sunday spent doing not very much in particular (which was actually a welcome bonus in an otherwise crazy Christmas season), the boys and I made a flight yesterday afternoon which went amazingly smoothly and which delivered us and our luggage intact into an incredibly deserted Heathrow Terminal One.

And now, having scored the last pairs of snow boots in the Boys sizes for a 100mile radius of London (according to the shop assistants in the 5 stores we visited this morning), we are taking a break before heading back to where we're staying. Well, when I say 'taking a break' I'm alone with the boys and one of them is desperate for the loo. So now I have to go.

You get the picture... Happy Christmas, all!

Co-operation- and how it can work

This is a sponsored post...

Here's something I can bet you didn't know about me; my dad grew up living above a Cooperative shop in a small Northern town, which his father managed and which provided a community hub for the locals when supermarkets as we know them today were the stuff of fantasy or tales brought back from across the Atlantic by tourists. I don't know this for certain but I imagine grandad knew all his customers by name - because, back then, that's how things worked in small towns - and that he exchanged pleasantries with them whilst carving them the requisite slices of ham or slicing them the right weight of crumbly Wensleydale.

Dad left that small Northern town more years ago than he might care to think about, but my grandparents stayed on and some of my earliest memories are of visiting that flat with it's icy concrete steps in winter, feeling the heat from the bars of the electric fire burn my chilblains, and huddling under nylon-topped quilts, sheets and blankets... (Why is it always cold up North in my memories, I wonder?)

Since then, the Cooperative has become more than a store and a savings scheme (remember the stamps?); it's now also a mainstream bank that punches above it's weight not only in terms of customers but in terms of ethical codes of practice, holding true to it's name and remaining a body run for the benefit of all it's members than just for a small handful of share-holders.

I was particularly interested to learn about their initiative The Cooperative Community Fund. This is a charitable foundation which receives donations from a group of public-spirited members who chose to give a percentage of their twice yearly share of profits to be used for the benefit of the larger community in their area. This year's total was £1.2 million and is to be allocated within the geographical area that money is received from.

Projects are allocated by postcode, and grants vary from a minimum of £100 to £2000. That may not seem a lot in today's world of high finance and telephone number mortgages, but even that much can make a positive difference if spent wisely.

Why was I asked to write about this? Because they are looking for applicants. I was tasked with thinking about an example; something that money could be spent on in my local area that would have a positive long-term benefit on the community (note: a group does not need to have charitable status to apply for one of these grants), will address a local issue, support co-operative values and principles, and ideally be innovative in it's approach.

Hmmm. I live in Russia, remember. 'Co-operative' is not a word that get's bandied around very often here; it smacks too much of pre-1991 and communism. 'Every man for himself' is more like it, if I'm honest. You only have to travel on the metro in rush-hour to see that. Unless of course you're talking about in a family environment, where everything is shared equally and one person's trouble is the problem of all. The problems arise, however, when a person has no family, for whatever reason that might be. I've recently become involved with - in a very minor way - a charity that helps with that, giving orphaned children not a home or care, because that is already - to a point - provided by the state, but which helps to give them the tools to deal with the outside world once the umbrella organisation looking after them moves them out of their institutions into a semblance of every-day life.

Now unfortunately, £2000 isn't going to provide much tuition for these children (teachers need to be paid, overheads need to be funded), but what it could do is provide them with some interactive tools to help them practice budgeting - even in gaming form, for example - and which might simulate some of the real-world decisions they could be called upon to make once they leave their 'home'. I read recently about a new computer game which simulates the effects on the world of certain environmental policies; make the wrong one, for instance, and India is flooded or Spain becomes a waste-land. I'm not a gamer, but I'm sure there must be similar games out there which do the same job but with real life situations.

And whilst it may not seem like a very worthy way of spending this type of grant, anything that could stop the young people I'm writing of being persuaded to swap their government-funded flat for a new wii, for example (and this does happen), and then finding themselves homeless as a result because they had no proper understanding of the ramifications of their decision, can't help but have a positive effect on the local environment, surely?

Cooperative Membership Fund

Click here to find out more about the application process to qualify for one of The Cooperative Community Fund Grants

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Banya hats & letting it all hang out...

A few posts back I wrote about a visit to the banya. I loved it, not sure why, but I did, and I'll be going back.

And when I do, I'll be wearing my fetching felt lilac flower-pot hat. Nothing else - except perhaps a decorously-draped towel - just the hat. It's not (only) a fashion statement - although the regular banya visitors all seemed to have much more interesting ones than mine, with pretty appliqued flowers etc - there is good reason for it; apparently it protects your hair from overheating which is a) bad for it and b) bad for the scalp beneath it.

So I don't know why I was surprised when Husband confirmed that men also wear these hats in the banya, but I was. The thought of a group of men sitting around naked in extreme heat, no doubt not bothering with anything as girlie and modest as towels, letting it all hang out, and wearing big felt hats (although probably without the flowers), for some reason seems even more ridiculous to me than a group of women doing the same thing.

And here, for those of you asking to see my hat, is a picture of what I'm talking about. Don't worry Iota: head-shot only...

Lovely, isn't it?

*Please note; I was wearing a towel when this photo was taken...

No time for Shrinking Violets...

Russia is not a country for the shy and retiring. Exciting things can happen here - and do, every day - but not if you sit at home waiting for them to drop through your virtual letter box. Well, not normally, anyway. But today has been a bit of an exception...

It's easy, as I sit here in Moscow 1500 miles from home, to feel a little bit out of things. My trip back to the UK a couple of weekends ago didn't help matters; I had a lovely time but discovered that 2 of the group of 4 close friends I've known for 24 years are moving; one to the Far East, and the other to Yorkshire. (Well, at least she'll have Betty's). I hadn't expected that time would stand still whilst we were in the frozen wastes of Russia, but... Actually, scratch that. I had expected that time would stand still. Rather naively, I thought that we would be away a couple of years, it would fly by, and then I would return to London and just slot seamlessly back into my old existence.

Well, PM, life ain't like that.

So I found myself - more than after previous trips home - feeling a little bereft. That's not to say that we haven't made a life for ourselves out here in Moscow. As a family we've put ourselves out there (never was there a better piece of advice given to arriving expats than 'when you first get there, say yes to everything!') and in return I have been on the receiving end of more kindness and warmth than I could ever have expected. On occasion, people have so surprised me with their generosity of spirit that I've found myself thinking 'Why? What's in it for them?'

The interesting thing though is that the longer I've been here, the more I've come to understand the impulse behind such actions - helping people out who are in the situation you so recently were in yourself, and crucially in this transient expat world, could be in again at any point - and the less cynical I've become.

Established expats put themselves out for the newbies because they can remember feeling lonely, disorientated, confused and homesick themselves.

But even with that support structure, I have to say that there is one thing that, perhaps above all else, kept me from going crazy when I first arrived out here. You guessed it: the blogging community. Specifically, the blogging community centred around the British Mummy Bloggers ning.

Because I knew that if I blogged about it, there were people out there reading, sympathising with, hopefully laughing at and commenting on my posts. And that they understand that whilst life isn't always a bundle of laughs, it can sometimes make the hard things so much more bearable if I concentrate - in writing - on those that aren't.

So I'm not ashamed to say that I teared up a bit when I saw that I've been nominated in 2 categories as a finalist in the BMB Brilliance in Blogging Awards alongside some truly awesome writers. You'll find The Potty Diaries in the shortlist for 'Funniest Post', and 'Outstanding In Their Field'. Thankyou to anyone who nominated me; I would love to say that I blog simply for the love of it, but this is the icing on my bloggy cake...

And finally, since one of the things that being here in Russia has reinforced for me is that if you don't ask, you don't get, I'm not ashamed to ask this of you; go and check out all the other nominated blogs. But then:

VOTE FOR ME, PLEASE!

You can read my post nominated for Funniest Post here, and click here to go through to the BMB blog to find out more about these awards.

Stop Press: Proof that there is a god...

... or alternatively, that I am a goddess.

(It all depends on your point of view).

So there we were, the Boys and I, making our way home from a friend's house and up against it to get there in time before Boy 1's slimy (I'm sorry, but there is no other word for him) guitar teacher arrived and started charging us for time from the second he clocked in.

Picture the scene; it was a relatively mild late afternoon of only -4 degreesC. It had been snowing, but only a little, so whilst there was a light covering on the road, it wasn't enough to allow the sled to run freely with 2 tired boys on it. I had to choose. Knowing which was the more troublesome of my two sons, I put Boy #2 on it for the first 200 metres, and was planning on putting Boy #1 on it for the second.

Obviously, it was going to be disastrous whichever way I tried to play it. Obviously. And so it proved when I forcibly ejected Boy #2 from the seat of power as we passed the compound Christmas tree (the pre-agreed tipping point), and tried to replace him with an up-until-that-moment-whingeing-terribly Boy #1.

Boy #2 retaliated against his fall from grace by shouting even louder than his older brother had previously been doing ('anything you can do Bro, I can do better...'), and bodily hurling himself across the back of the sled (one of those picturesque wooden number on raised runners that actually works quite well), and holding for dear life as I tried to tug both him and his older brother along. Since their combined weight was around 50kg, the sled was having none of it and stuck fast on the meagre snow covering as I slipped and slid around, cursing somewhat, on the icy road.

Oh boy. It wasn't pretty.

But then, a brainwave.

"I tell you what, Boy #2. You come up front with me, stand inside the rope of the sled, and you can be Rudolph and help me pull Boy #1 along..."

I held my breath.

"Oh yes! Yes! YES MAMA! Quick, quick, let me come in!" And he shot around to the front of the sled in 2 seconds flat and ducked under what were now to be known as 'the reins'. But that's not all. We walked 10 meters before animal crazy Boy #1, reclining in splendour on the seat of power, spoke up.

"Can I be the reindeer, Boy #2? You be Father Christmas, and I'll be the reindeer."

"OK."

And with much dashing, prancing, whinnying (because reindeers do that, you know), and 'Faster Donner! Faster Blixen!' and pretend whip cracks from the sled, we were home faster than you could say 'And when we get home Boys, let's make glittery paper snowflakes to hang in the window.'

Who would have thought the solution could be so simple? So I rest my case; either there IS a god (and he put that thought into my head), or I am a goddess.

And in honour of that second possibility, here is the last of the illustrations from Next's 12 Days of Christmas campaign (yes yes, I know it's the 13th today), and my final pick from their catalogue. Cue - appropriately - drumroll...

After this afternoon's brush with divinity, I decided to look for something suitably goddess-like - or at least, that might make me feel that way.

I think these might do it. On the other hand, I might instead end up with a muffin top, and get all hot and sweaty whilst I stick to the seats of a leather sofa, but a girl can dream, can't she?

This was a sponsored post - and if you click here you can still enter Next's Christmas Giveway where £1000's worth of prizes are being given away, wrapped, and delivered to you in time for December 25th...

On the 10th Day of Christmas, this expat blogger is looking forward to:

Being able to read the ingredient labels at the supermarket. Or even, the product names, if I'm honest. Memorable purchase mistakes to-date have included:

• Hair lightening cream for moisturiser (realised after the first smear that this was not going to deal with my dry skin - or indeed make any difference to my freshly shaved legs..)
• Spicy tomato ketchup for normal (Boy #2 was NOT impressed)
• Potato starch for corn flour (the former does not make good shortbread)
• Tuna in oil for tuna in salt water (yeuch - Russian tinned tuna is not the best quality to start with, so throw in cup of oil as well and...)
• Salted salmon steak for normal (just too horrible to even begin to describe. Christ knows how the Russians cook it, but there must be some secret way to use it or it wouldn't be everywhere masquerading as an edible foodstuff)
• Russian hard cheese for non-Russian. (Because - and apologies to anyone who likes the local version here - Russian hard cheese is rubbish. Think; the blandest edam you ever tasted, take away the flavour, and bob's your uncle).
• Sweetened fruit juice for non-sweetened (Kids on a sugar high just before bed, anyone?)

So yes, I am looking forward to being able to decipher packs without the help of the dictionary I invariably forget when going to the supermarket when I get back to London for the holidays...

Today's Top Pick from the Next Catalogue

(Thanks again Next, by the way, for the lovely illustrations, and this is why I'm including this). Now, who knew that the Next site sells electricals along with clothes, homeware, and shoes etc? Not me, that's for sure. So I took a quick look and bingo; In amongst the tv's, ipods, and camers etc, I came across this Ben 10 toy for Boy #1... I may even get my Christmas shopping sorted yet...

And click here for the chance to participate in Next's prize draw; they're giving away prizes each day, wrapped and delivered in time for Christmas...

Boy #2's holiday...

Boy #2 has an imagined trip to go on at school today. He was asked to think about where he would like to go on holiday, pack a bag, and bring it in to talk about at circle time. So today, he arrived in the sub-zero temperatures with his blue Trunkie (he was very insistent that he be able to take the Trunkie) packed with a number of small toys (all, of course, forms of transport), a Mr Sloooooowwww Mr Man book, a pair of sunglasses, his swim shorts, a pair of armbands and his towelling cover up.

Clothes will not, it seems, be required.

Oh, and as to where he's going?

The South of France, obviously. ('No clothes, mama. It's very dry in France. Very dry...')

That's my boy...