Red Square

Regular readers (aMToNW) will be relieved to hear that I have turned down the many requests to attend the funeral of Yeltsin.

Frankly, I never liked the man, although I never met him sober. He spoke English with a strange west country accent, which made him sound even more dense than he actually was. Beware of leaders who are described as “not having lost touch with ordinary people”, it is usually a euphemism for being thick. Andropov remains my favourite Soviet leader. He could breakdance with the best of them, and sang the complete Rolf Harris song book with a Queensland accent. These were only two of his many talents, I am, as you know, not given to spreading idle gossip about my talented and famous friends, so I will not tell you more, for the moment. Brezhnev was actually a blonde woman called Tracey, from Kiev. The old Soviet Union could not countenance the prospect of the world knowing that they had a woman leader, so they constructed that awful face mask for her. This explains why Brezhnev’s expression never changed.

Both Andrew York and John Major wanted me to accompany them on the journey. Dim Andy is afraid that he will miss his stop. You might be surprised to hear this and treat it as a joke, but on at least four occasions he has forgotten to get off the plane when it touched down, and consequently missed affairs of state, to be returned home looking even more confused than usual. The last time I travelled with him I had to place a postit note on his forehead to remind the stewardesses to escort him from the plane. John has read an interesting book about Huntingdonshire butterflies that he would like to discuss. Is it any wonder I am staying at home?