Russia

Another flight at bollocks o'clock (or bollocks-hundred hours if you've done military service) in the morning from Heathrow meaning a through-the-night slog down the M6 from Heckmondwike via Liverpool. Basically you miss a night's sleep doing it this way, one you'll never get a chance to catch up on. I bet I missed some great dreams. The fatigue does make for quite a pleasant floaty feeling on the plane after a couple of ales though, and conveniently helps one overlook the rude behaviour of French fellow passengers (you know who you are Madame avec le gros cul). Mark (from Cornwall) quite sensibly booked himself a hotel room near the airport for the night so he's nice and fresh, the bastard. Now why didn't I think of that? Les was most impressed with Terminal 5, particularly the thoughtful inclusion of a bar right next to our boarding gate. I don't know how but we managed to shrink our check-in baggage tally to nine items from nineteen - a miracle of downsizing if ever I saw one, though Dan still carries with him a suitcase the size of a chest freezer. First time flying with British Airways for me - might as well have been EasyJet. Most unremarkable. Our Russian hosts met us at the airport. They are called Igor and Dmitri. It's like arriving in Scotland and being met by Jimmy McSporran. Perfect.