It has been a
hell of a week. The English for whom I work have made many demands on my time
and as soon as I completed a task they gave me two more. It has been an uphill
battle and at times it has felt like I have been pissing into a strong head
wind.
The English
for whom and with whom I work have told me that they don't really like being
referred to as the English. I think that this is because there is a slight
touch of contempt in the manner in which I say the word 'English'. Not much.
Just a little. It annoys them too when I address them collectively as 'The
English". For example when I arrive in the office each morning I say "Good
Morning English". They take affront at this for some reason and hit
back at me by calling me ridiculous things like Kangaroo boy or Skippy. They
can call me anything they want. The fact remains that they are English and I am
not.
Enough said.
After my
arduous week I went to meet some friends for a drink this evening. They were a
multi national lot. There were English, Australians, Germans and a couple of
Scots. Singapore is full of expatriates and we mingle together a lot.
I arrived
earlier than the planned rendezvous time and was enjoying a tall glass of
lemon, lime and bitters whilst awaiting the arrival of my friends. I had booked
an outside table at a bar that is in the shadows of the Marina Bay Sands hotel
and casino. The bar is called "South Coast". It is owned and operated
by a group of Australian businessmen. It is beautifully situated and overlooks
the splendor that is the Marina Bay.
Whilst I was
sipping away at my lemon, lime and bitters drink a group of well dressed
businessmen sat at the table next to me. Their table was a chair short and one
of the guys asked if he could use one of the chairs at my table. I could tell
from his accent that that he was Russian.
"Privyet.
Da"
I told him.
This is Russian for 'Hello. Yes'.
This is Russian for 'Hello. Yes'.
I have quite a
few Russian friends here in Singapore so I know a few of their words.
"You
speak Russian?" he asked
"Nyet", I replied.
This is
Russian for "No"
"Well
a little bit" I said.
"Spaseeba", he said as he dragged the
chair to his table.
This is
Russian for 'Thank you"
"Pazalsta",
I
responded.
This is
Russian for 'You're welcome"
"You
do speak Russian" he said.
"Nyet"
"Join
us for a drink" he suggested.
"Sure" I said.
I pulled my
chair over to their table and introductions were made. I referred to myself as
Pyotr. This is the Russian equivalent of Peter and it is also my name. The
Russian men's name were Vlad, Pavel, Oleg and Alexei.
They all spoke very good English.
They all spoke very good English.
When I asked
them if they lived here in Singapore or were just visiting they informed me
that they were here on business. All of them work for a very big Russian Oil
and Gas Company. The Russians ordered an extremely large bottle of vodka and
immediately began throwing it down their throats, They drank shots of vodka
like there was no tomorrow. I have drunk with the Russians many times before
and their capacity for alcohol is enormous. I had one round with them to be
polite but informed them that I am not much of a drinker.
They seemed a
little surprised by this.
"Oostralians
dreenk beer yes?" Vlad asked me.
"Many
do"
I agreed.
We chatted
quite amicably for a while and the Russians asked me lots of questions about
life in Singapore. I explained as best as I could the lunacy of the place and
they seemed genuinely interested. After a while my mates arrived and we joined
our table up with the Russians. They were well into their second bottle of
vodka at this stage. They had taken their suit jackets off and had rolled up
their shirt sleeves.
As is always the case in Singapore it was a warm and sticky evening.
As is always the case in Singapore it was a warm and sticky evening.
I noticed and
admired a vast array of tattoos on the arms of the Russian named Vlad. He was
impressed that I was impressed and he stood up and unbuttoned then took off his
shirt. He displayed his whole upper torso. It was covered equally in hair and
ink and it was not a pretty sight.
"Put
your shirt back on Vlad" I informed him.
"Nudity
of any type is illegal in this country"
"Chto
za huy" he spat.
This
translates to "What the fuck".
I know this
term as many of my Russian friends say it all the time. These friends are
actually mostly Russian women. They are very funny and extremely tall fashion
models and artists who live here in Singapore. Like the Russian men that I was
with they are exceptionally big drinkers. I occasionally go to some of the
functions that they attend and I find their arrogance and indolence vastly
entertaining.
It is hysterical
in fact.
A couple of
hours into the evening one of the Australian waitresses at the bar came over to
our table with a book of raffle tickets. She said "Gidday fellas
owzitgoin?".
She was a bogan.
She told us that her name was Sheila and Friday night was Meat Tray Raffle night. Sheila informed us that all tables at the bar were being given complementary raffle tickets. Twelve meat trays were to be given away that evening.
She was a bogan.
She told us that her name was Sheila and Friday night was Meat Tray Raffle night. Sheila informed us that all tables at the bar were being given complementary raffle tickets. Twelve meat trays were to be given away that evening.
This caused
great confusion and bewilderment at our table. The Russians and the Europeans
that I was with were perplexed and I had to explain.
"Vot
is dees meat ruffle?" the Russian named Pavel asked.
"It's
a raffle Pav. Not a ruffle" I replied.
"In
Australian pubs there are quite often raffles in pubs where the prize is a tray
of meat"
"Your
kidding?" Ernie the Scot said.
"I kid
you not Ernie"
The raffling
of tickets for prizes of meat trays has been around in Australian pubs for a
very long time. I recall with great fondness going to pubs in the New South
Wales township of Merimbula with my best mate Berty - when we were in our
teens. This is a very long time ago now. Berty and I won quite a few meat trays
in our day. Such trays generally consisted of a couple of pieces of T-bone or
rib eye steak, some lamb chops and a dozen or so very fine sausages.
We would take
the meat trays that we won back to Berty's parent house on the beach where his
Dad Brian would cook them up on his barbecue. Bert's Mum Shirley would whip up
one of her gourmet green leaf and potato salads and we would all hoe into a
sumptuous dinner. Berty's younger sister Angela and his crazy older brother
Shane would sometimes also be there. We would all sit on the outdoor deck with
some icy cold beers as we got stuck into our steak and chops and sausages. We
would then watch the sun go down over the Pacific ocean and chat away.
Those were the
days.
They really
were.
"Ere
youse are" said Sheila.
"Youse
guys can ave two whole books of tickets wiv all the booze youse are
drinking"
"Thanks
love"
I responded and took the book of tickets from her.
"When
are youse gunna draw the winners".
I slip quite
easily into the bogan language when I am amongst my kinfolk.
"Every
alf an hour"
"Sweet"
"Breeng
us more vodka" Alexei demanded.
I tore off the
tickets from the book that Sheila had given us and handed them out to the
Russians and my European friends.
As the evening
wore on the Russians and my mates got quite drunk. Conversations flowed as
easily as the vodka that was being consumed. I quietly sipped away on my lemon,
lime and bitters and began asking the Russians about the modern Soviet Union.
The rapid change of this country from communism to capitalism is of great
interest to me. There is enormous wealth now amongst many Russians and their
growing presence in Asia is as rapid as it is startling. Russians have all but
taken over several islands in Thailand. There are even Russian street signs in
places like Phuket where the Russians have built their own hotels. They also
run their own tour companies. There are two direct flights from Moscow to the
Thai resort island of Phuket every day of the week.
I told Vlad
that I had heard that the Russian mafia were amongst the nouveau rich that were
spreading their wings in places like Singapore, Hong Kong and Thailand.
"Vot
you think zat vee are creemenals?" he roared at me.
"Chill
out Vlad" I replied nervously.
"I vas
only asking"
As with my
slipping into the bogan way of speaking I find that I tend to automatically
replace my "w's" with "v's" when conversing with Russians.
I don't know why.
I don't know why.
"Of
course ve are creemenals Pyotr" he roared again.
He slapped me
on the back when he said this. Vlad is a large and powerful man and it bloody
hurt.
"Vlad
has keeled many peoples" the Russian named Oleg informed me.
"Keeled
peoples?" I asked.
"Vith
an ice peek" Oleg said.
I looked
across at Vlad and saw that he was nodding his head in affirmation. He was also
grinning manically.
"You
have killed people with an ice pick Vlad?" I enquired.
"Many.
I stabbed the Lokhis in ze eyes" he replied.
"Lokhis" is the Russian word for "Fuckers".
I have heard this uttered many times before.
"Wow"
was all
that I could reply.
Two Danish
backpackers happened to walk past our table at this time. Both were fairly
young men and they were blonde haired and blue eyed. We knew that they were
Danish because they both had the flag of Denmark sewn on the back packs that
they were carrying.
"Deenish
Lokhis" Vlad, Oleg and Alexie muttered almost in unison.
The Russians
then gave us a fairly vitriolic account of how they disliked all Scandinavians.
They ranted and raved in a combination of English and Russian and I couldn't
really understand much of the grievances that they were expressing against the
people of Denmark, Norway, Finland and Sweden.
They were well into their fourth bottle of vodka at this stage.
They were well into their fourth bottle of vodka at this stage.
I told Vlad
that I didn't really know too many Scandinavians but I had been to a barbecue
with a group of Swedish people late last year and they all seemed very keen to
take off their clothes. I ate their meatballs and left quickly before they got
naked. I also told him that I did not like IKEA furniture and I though that the
IKEA flatpack and Allen keys were abominations. I informed Vlad too that the
only Danish person I knew was my slightly deranged neighbor named Jens with
whom I have had a series of ongoing disputes.
I told Vlad that I considered Jens to be an enemy of mine.
I told Vlad that I considered Jens to be an enemy of mine.
Vlad told me
with great enthusiasm that he would be pleased to come over to my apartment
complex if I wanted him to.
"I vil
stab dis Deenish peeg in zee eye vith my ice peek for you Pyotr" he informed me.
Even though he
was quite drunk I got the impression that he was deadly serious and it alarmed
me.
I started to
tell Vlad that such an action wouldn't be at all necessary and was quite
relieved when the Australian bogan waitress named Sheila strutted up to our
table with a large meat tray balanced across each of her arms.
"Good
on youse guys" she announced.
"Youse
have won two meat trays"
"You
little fuckin ripper" I said in perfect bogan. Then I stood up and received them from Sheila.
The Russians
looked delighted as I handed one each to Vlad and to Alexei.
I then told
them that I had to leave. I did. I wanted to get home and write all of this
down.
We shook
hands, swapped business cards and promised to stay in touch. Vlad gave me a
monstrous bear hug that crushed all of the air out of me as I departed.
"Do
Svidaniya" I declared as I walked away.
This is
Russian for "Goodbye".
I will
certainly stay in contact with Vlad. Having a Russian killer as a friend who is
handy with an ice pick may prove very useful at some time in the future.
I am not sure
what Vlad and Alexei will do with their meat trays.
I suspect that they may take them back to their hotel rooms and eat the meat raw.
I suspect that they may take them back to their hotel rooms and eat the meat raw.
Vlad may well
tenderize his first with some savage blows of an ice pick.
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