Well you are on the last lap, and so am I.

Petropavlovsk had one more thrill for me. I go for dinner in the dungeon restaurant of the hotel and spot immediately that the place is ready for a party of some kind, as there is a long table, set for 12, already groaning (and for once that is the right word) with food of all kinds. All those standard Russian starters which would always just make a full meal, plus many many bottles (just your average Russian night out with vodka, cognac, beer, champanski (usually terribly sweet and best avoided or used to launch ships) and the tops are already off the bottles, so it must be all about the happen. The waitress takes my order and I sit and look and then realize that if this should be a celebratory event of some kind, then I am right in line to be the recipient of some international and probably, alcoholic bonhomie. The restaurant is too small to hide in and there are no nice potted palms or the like to take cover behind. So I awaits my fate and it turns up quite soon.

A VERY cheerful gang arrives, nearly all middle-aged couples and dressed up and already in a good mood. They take their pews and I soon spot the Birthday Boy, Vassily, 55 (cos I saw the extraordinarily glittery and garish card that was presented, along with the several bunches of flowers – it was a bit like the Olympics, without medals and national anthems). Vassily looked a prosperous and happy chap. They all start to have the usual eye to eye toasts and the vodka bottles are evaporating before my eyes.

Then the band turned up. I had enough entertainment to watch as it was and here is a quartet, which launched fast into their repertoire and bingo, just about all the eaters are up and dancing. Vassily dances with a woman in a red dress and they dance the way that couples who have been dancing together for 20 years dance, no surprise moves and very Fred and Ginger they are too. Between dances they renew their attacks on the food and drink (mostly the latter) and it’s a very convivial time that is being had. I felt quite like an intruder.

But then what I had dreaded would happen did. The woman in the red dress, who was very much the mover and shaker behind the whole thing, caught my eye and raised her vodka glass, so of course being a politely brought up lad, I raised mine. She grinned an exceedingly metallic smile (I’m getting used to these by now, but did have a momentary wonder if Russian toothpaste contains an added metal polish ingredient?). Anyway, she waves to me from really only a few feet away and gets up and makes obvious “Want to dance?” signs. She could be adding “You gorgeous hunk” or “You old fart”. I shall never know. I play hard to get, but this is clearly a woman who is used to getting her own way, so I takes a belt of my vodka and we take to the floor and generally behave like souls possessed. Fortunately, everyone else was too, so I was not doing a solo, as my John Travolta dancing days came and went in about one day, many years ago. Everyone is bopping away and the music is great and between dances we repair back to tables, eat a bit, drink a bit and back we go.

I’m finally exhausted and sit some out and she comes over and we have a total cross-purpose conversation as her English is about as good as my Russian. We establish that she is the mother of three (and I claim the same number of offspring, HONESTLY, it’s so much easier) and she is much amused that I think Vassily is papa .. no, her hubby is the man sitting opposite her, who is well preserved with a rather splendidly curled mustache and he gives me a big metallic grin and I wonder about them ever having a good snog, as it would be metal/metal And HE is called Vassily also, so I call him Vassily Tva (which is Russian for 2) and she thinks this is a riot and tells him and he falls off his chair and then she and Vassily One suddenly dance in a very romantic way and I just put it all down to Happy Families. The empty vodka bottles are replaced with new ones and they are getting set for being totally legless … well I would be.

Then it is time to make short speeches to honor Mr Vassily. I’ve come to the conclusion that he is something Big at the Works. Perhaps he is retiring/moving? and these are the underlings, so therefore there is quite a lot of sucking up going on. He sits back and looks suitably impressed and I decide to do my own simultaneous translation as to what they are saying. Have discovered, Mr Otto, that it’s a piece of cake, this routine, especially if a) you don’t speak the language and b) have drunk enough vodka. Anyone can do it. I could tell exactly what they were saying … I just shall say I fleshed it out a bit and leave it at that.

I’ve eaten my food and danced and now know that I must escape, as I have a date with a plane in the early morning, so I seize the moment when they are all busy and flee. I shall never know her name and just hope she wakes up in the right bed in the morning and not too hungover. She will always remain The Lady in the Red Dress.