T. I. R.

When we first moved to Moscow I met a lovely lady who's favourite phrase is 'This is Russia'. (TIR, for short). She uses it whenever confronted by a situation that falls so far outside our normal home life expectations that really, one has to ask oneself how the hell one got into it. I've had a number of those moments since arriving here; the heating, the driving, and the weather are just three examples.

But you begin to suspect your home is indeed far far away when you pop over to a neighbour's for an informal lunch and the lovely couple and their children who join you, and for whom you've cooked your best Deep Filled Meringue with Berries, turn out to be an Ambassador and his family. Long term readers; please be advised that I managed to avoid liberally peppering the lunchtime conversation with that famous Ferrero Rocher catch-phrase. Actually, I think I deserve a medal for that since the temptation was almost overwhelming when he proceeded after pudding, very tunefully and charmingly, to serenade us with lullabies from his home country, shortly before which our host had brought out a copy of his (as in, the Ambassador's) latest volume of extremely good poetry to be signed by the author...

But that's not all that happened this bank holiday weekend to emphasise the fact that I'm not in Kansas anymore. Lunch was followed the same day by a girl's night out where - this being Russia - taxis were not required (since most people are far more sensible than I am, and use a driver to chauffeur them around), there was bear - BEAR - on the menu, it was cheaper for the seven of us to drink cocktails than to order a bottle of wine (mmm - yummy mojitos....), and our table was visited by someone wearing what must have been the hottest and sweatiest grisly bear costume around. (And did I mention the children's party where the entertainment consisted of live animals featuring a monkey, parrots, a crocodile for chrissakes, and not one but two - real - bears? All of which are apparently considered suitable guests for a child's 6th birthday celebration).

Then - because yes, it goes on - I collected Boy #1 from another party yesterday afternoon where my outfit of tunic and jeans - perfectly acceptable clothing when you consider the former was by a (minor) designer and the latter were clean - let the British side down markedly when faced with the much-further-upmarket Russian mums attending. The birthday child's mum, for example, was sporting a turquoise and blue halter-neck maxi-dress with a plunging neckline, accessorised with an artfully tousled blonde mane, a truly splendid cleavage, and a lacy g-string displayed to maximum effect through the clinging material of her dress.

The sad thing is that I didn't even manage to get the name of her stylist because she, her husband and their friends disappeared half an hour before the scheduled end of the party without saying goodbye, leaving the clutch of children and a few less fashionable guests (like myself) watching cartoons and in the charge of the nanny and the housekeeper.

Oh well. This Is Russia, I guess...

With this post you are spoiling us, Ambassador...

Or, perhaps not...

So yesterday evening I pulled my Marc Jacobs dress out of the cupboard, got myself a mani-pedi, dug the Louboutins out from under the bed, and settled down on the sofa in my role as a Disney Blu-Ray Ambassador again.

I have to admit, the movie I'm about to write about was not one that was high on my list of priorities. In fact, the very thought of watching it sent Husband scuttling away on a business trip to Holland for the night. But still, a deal is a deal, and I turn you to now with Ferrero Rocher smeared lips (as befitting all ambassadors) to tell you all about High School Musical 3.

Before we start though, I have a confession to make. A number of them, actually...

1. I have not watched High School Musicals 1 or 2.

2. I have no intention of allowing my boys to watch any of them (until at least next month when they are bound to start asking due to the High School Musical themed party they've been invited to, anyway).

3. But I want Gabriella's legs. (Although I suppose that they might look a tad out of place on my body, if I'm honest...).

4. Zac Ephron is a better dancer than I expected him to be.

5. Previously I thought basketball players were generally giants but most of the actors supposedly playing them here couldn't have been more than 5'10".

6. I guess that I might be splitting hairs, but that is probably because, in spite of this, I'm embarrassed to admit that...

7. ...I actually found myself getting a little bit carried away by the Wildcats theme tune.

8. Although that might have been the box of Burnt Sugar Original Fudge I ate whilst watching the movie kicking in...

Seriously? The movie was better than I expected it to be, but still not something grown women should admit to watching on their own on Wednesday evening. Having said that, I think it would be fine for tweens to watch, and I know that a lot of parents think it's fine for kids significantly younger than that.

Overall, it's harmless fun, and the boyfriend/girlfriend relationship is handled sensitively without too much physicality (if you worry about that sort of thing, which I do). In fact, there's probably nothing in the film that would make my dad jump up in embarrassment and change channels should the moon turn to cheese and he found himself watching it.

As with the other films I've watched, I can't comment on how this would look on a normal dvd, or the improvements that watching it on the Blu-Ray format make. However, with this new technology it is possible to see every blade of grass, every perfectly groomed hair and every teenage spot. Or it would be, if any of the actors were actually teenagers...

So to sum up, HSM3 was actually alright. (Sorry Disney, but I am so the wrong audience for this one...). And I have no doubt whatsoever that as the Boys get older and I lose control of the remote this sort of movie will appear on our tv with alarming regularity.