Gala Pie
With a very Russian (or East Anglian) pessimism, I recently attended a local Police Gala in the depths of Siberina.
Whilst always enjoying the thrill of the chase, and sometimes even the catch, I must confess I wasn't looking forward to the day - mainly because I didn't want to traipse around the several hundred Skolda panda cars, and plainclothes Pobodas.
Also the thought of reviewing the huge stash of home distilling kits that had been handed in as part of the Alcoholic Amnesty last month filled me with a very particular horror. I really miss mine.
As it turned out, the day was fine - if blustery, and the bravest touts at the gate were very subdued. Touts? No-one had thought about the irony of trying to tout tickets to a Police Gala - let alone the danger of being arrested on the spot and being forced to hand over one's hoard of Barry Manilow tickets for next month's concert in the Urals.
Onwards.
Ever since Perestroika, there has been a downturn in the popularity of the Gala. This is because no-one is now forced - upon threat of being denounced - to attend to make up the numbers for the TASS cameras, for the Evening News at Seven. Lots of kids go now, and weary Mums push the latest designer Zil buggies around the showground, looking for the freebie handouts such as pens, keyrings, and souvenir handcuffs from the Lubianka.
Talking of prisons, there was a Police Dog Show during the afternoon intermission, where local cons were required to run around the specially prepared sawdust ring with the variously snarling and snapping German Shepherds at their heels. If you looked really closely, you would notice two things; firstly the cons didn't have the arm protection on (left at the Police station no doubt) and secondly there was a certain number of illicit books running, discreetly round behind the dog vans. The odds are heavily weighted against the cons escaping of course. But three out of seven getting away ain't bad - even by Siberinian standards.
Roll on next year.
Must be time for my annual bath shurely?
Sergei
Whilst always enjoying the thrill of the chase, and sometimes even the catch, I must confess I wasn't looking forward to the day - mainly because I didn't want to traipse around the several hundred Skolda panda cars, and plainclothes Pobodas.
Also the thought of reviewing the huge stash of home distilling kits that had been handed in as part of the Alcoholic Amnesty last month filled me with a very particular horror. I really miss mine.
As it turned out, the day was fine - if blustery, and the bravest touts at the gate were very subdued. Touts? No-one had thought about the irony of trying to tout tickets to a Police Gala - let alone the danger of being arrested on the spot and being forced to hand over one's hoard of Barry Manilow tickets for next month's concert in the Urals.
Onwards.
Ever since Perestroika, there has been a downturn in the popularity of the Gala. This is because no-one is now forced - upon threat of being denounced - to attend to make up the numbers for the TASS cameras, for the Evening News at Seven. Lots of kids go now, and weary Mums push the latest designer Zil buggies around the showground, looking for the freebie handouts such as pens, keyrings, and souvenir handcuffs from the Lubianka.
Talking of prisons, there was a Police Dog Show during the afternoon intermission, where local cons were required to run around the specially prepared sawdust ring with the variously snarling and snapping German Shepherds at their heels. If you looked really closely, you would notice two things; firstly the cons didn't have the arm protection on (left at the Police station no doubt) and secondly there was a certain number of illicit books running, discreetly round behind the dog vans. The odds are heavily weighted against the cons escaping of course. But three out of seven getting away ain't bad - even by Siberinian standards.
Roll on next year.
Must be time for my annual bath shurely?
Sergei
posted by therussian at 6:52 AM
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