[tramvai] eight roubles of entertainment

Well I seriously don't know where you could pay eight roubles anywhere in the world and have that sort of entertainment. I'm writing, of course, of simply coming home just now. Yes - tramvai time again on Friday evening. Where do I start?

Perhaps at the beginning.

The day conspired to be classic from the very beginning. It was atmospherically misty, droplets fell from the turning autumn leaves but by afternoon, the rain had set in.

To end the day I had a "pair" at the uni at 18:40 and they're my most difficult group but my definition of that might be different to yours. It's almost impossible to mount adequate defences against the charm of these eight young ladies and my theory is that this might stem from them not being city girls [they come from another town], so I let them out early because they just were being too perfect and I couldn't stand it any more. So I decided to walk down to the tramvai and thence home.

Bad move.

The streets were deluged with rain, everything was black, glistening and a lake, I pulled the black leather cap down lower and set off wading through the water until I reached the café we always used to drive to and there was a young lady I knew from three years ago, now administering the place in jaunty uniform and she laughed fit to burst when I told her I was going home by the tramvai.

Plus she had her hair tied back that way and that's not fair, in my book.

By this time the other girls had all come up in their Egyptian outfits and were vehemently joining in the conversation until other customers wondered just what was going on up at the bar. One omelette and one apple pancake and green tea later and it was time to go home and write this.

Bad move.

See what happened here.