Goodbye Sanity, Hello Mud

Well so it begins. Swapping a life of ease for a life of mud. Let me see, cocktails at the Long bar or vodka at Planet Potato?

There are many things I could never comprehend in life. Now I have one more. Mud on shoes. Kharkov is a never-ending parody of London’s infamous weather with one vital difference. London is paved. Kharkov has random bits of pavement interspersed with holes. Plenty of rain and holes can lead inevitably only one thing. Yes, me swearing at stepping into another puddle. Of course street lighting seems to be purely optional in this town.

Now any time I leave the flat my shoes turn from beautifully honed black leather to a brown splattered effect. But no Kharkovians suffer from this insult! I’ve studied their shoes; they look the same. Like me they avoid the puddles or just walk straight through them but not one iota of difference it makes. Still their shoes are pristine. I can see a hit song coming along here – Walk Like a Kharkovian.

Now not all pavements are that bad; there are those outside the swanky boutiques which have been renovated; so the odd 20 metres of paving does give one the chance to dry the shoes.