Having landed safe and sound from Moscow there are several things that one half of H&G discovered.

Firstly, that the much vaunted Russian economy seemed to have collapsed while I was there.

The other that the other half of H&G has messed around with the 'Profile' section in order to use an amended version of this blog during an interview. For those wondering why Jack suddenly had control fear not.

The monkeys have only briefly been let out of the asylum.

So, a quick thanks to a sibling for this latest piece of breaking news.

We've always been partial to Bacon. Indeed in earlier posts you'll note that there are specific rules about the consumption of Bacon and Cheese in combination. But we hadn't noticed this site before.

H&G wish we had the time to actually write a full time blog on Bacon...but as there are so many things to critique or worship in this life we are greatful that there are others who can.

So. The final post for the great adventure. It's a short one really and that's because it's trying to sum up the frankly unsummariseable.

Russia is for want of the word.

Random.

More than the outback of Australia.

More than northern Laos.

And definitely more than most of India.

It's a place of utter confusion, suprise, mystery, incomphrehension, rudeness, charm and frankly the bizarre. But it's also wonderful and deeply historic with all that's been this adventure.

I've spent 2 weeks in one of Stalins great edifices to the world. One of his absolute 2 fingers to the West, and yet it's also strangely humbling to be in a place of historical significance, guarded by 3 old ladies and their two pet dogs.

I won't miss the inability to communicate even the most basic of desires...but everything else....

Well..what a roller coaster.

You shoud visit.

Customs, as HSBC have often told us, vary around the world. And I've just had this brought home to me by the fact that one of my colleagues has finally whispered in my ear that my habit of whisting has caused something of a stir in the office.

In Russia to whistle indoors is considered deeply bad form because it means that the person causing the offense is about to loose all their money. It also spreads the bad luck around.

So, suitable chargrined I thought it worth checking up on any other customs that I may have inadvertidely infringed.

It seems that I've upset several restaurant owners by not handing over my coat to the attendant. This dates back to the days when diners would come in from the cold covered in ice and snow. To drape onces riding cloak over the back of ones chair would therefore fill the establishment with a slushy mess - hardly the done thing.

When giving flowers one should only give odd numbers. Unless that person is dead. Pretty clear I think and not one that I've upset anyone yet with !

Before leaving the house for even a couple of days, all members should sit in silence and contemplate life for a moment.

Then finally, shaking hands while wearing gloves is utterly unacceptable - even if it's many degrees below zero. The only exception is if you are a person of such extreme power that you extend your hand in the intended 'shake this you insignificant insect'. there's a rather good story about glove wearing and indeed shaking between a former head of my former agency and someone else also rather senior within the same company.

I'll tell it to anyone who knows me - and it rewards every retelling !

Another tale from Moscow, albeit short but hopefully rather sweet.

Traffic is a bit on an issue. In fact it's been known for a relatively simple journey to take 2 hours or more, if one strikes Lady Luck unawares.

So the great and the good of this fair city have a failsafe plan. Blue sirens for all important people.

Like a never ending episode of The Sweeney various unmarked cars go hurtling past, with large stick on siren resplendant and coiled black wire trailing back inside the vehicle.

'Must be an important politician I mused'.

Except it seems that with typical Russian attitude the occupants might not be quite so important.

It seems that local Russians, seeing in their eyes as something of an opportunity to get home for tea quicker, have been purchasing said blue sirens by the box-load.

So we're now in an intruiging situation where the local police, knowing of this blatent law breaking, are now periodically stopping supposedly important cars on the off chance that it's a miscreant.

I'd love to see the look on officer Vlad when he opens the door to see Mr Putin staring back !

Leaves. Not the most dramatic of openings I will confess, however as Autumn hits Moscow it's all proving quite dramatic for the locals. You see Moscow is blest with two things of relevance to this musing. Many trees and a desire for civic neatness.

Which means that with a State eager to ensure high employment there's no reason to have such pesky things littering the pavements or parks. So everywhere you look there are people equipped with rather feeble brooms frantically sweeping and tidying the never ending application of Autumns golden, leafy blanket.

It's a mission that can never be completed and one due to play out for the next few weeks, puzzling me no end.

The question I keep asking myself is this. 'Why not switch from daily to weekly sweeping ?'.

At least that way I, and al l the other children in Russia, can enjoy kicking our feet through them before they're tidied up !

Strolling through Victory Park, a place built in memory of the defeat of the Germans, I've been struck by the prevelance of flowers in Moscow.

While Amsterdam is famed for it's stalls of tulips I've never really seen the locals carrying them that much.

But in Moscow everyone seems to be clutching bouquets flowers. Men. Women. Young and Old. They're clealry wrapped as gifts for others but I thought what a great and unremarked custom. Whoever you are to bring flowers to the person you're visiting.

Makes me want a return to pipes and hats all over again.

Todays entry concerns weddings. Customs vary across the world. For many it's a special day celebrated with friends. For others it's an elopement to the Little Chapel of Love in Vegas. But for Moscovites things follow a rather different routine.

Weddings, you see, happen very early in the day in Moscow. Why is that I here you ask ?

Well that's so that they can hare around the city in stretch limos all day desperately trying to ensure that they have their photo taken in front of every key monument in the city.

Fountain with ponies. Check

Tomb of unknow soldier. Check

Bridge looking over vast Peter the Great statue. Check

Lenins tomb. Check

The list goes on - but what makes this giant photo race all the more amusing is the quantity of brides jostling for position for the next photo.

My host and I spent a happy half an hour just standing watching the bridal carnage as it swept past...groom looking suitably hangdog and the rest of the bridal party desperately trying to keep up.

Perhaps made all the funnier if you then set these monuments within sea of general tourists that are already there.

It made for quite a sight !

Last night I braved my local highstreet intent, not on staying in, but braving my lack of language and indeed alphabetical knowledge to get something other than a European meal.

I wanted meat Russian style and I knew it !

But here was the catch. After 30 minutes of walking around and beseiged by a fearsome array of illuminated and flashing signs I was unable to discern what lay behind them. Windows are often either blacked out or papered over and there are no handy menus to pick from. Was it a 24 hour techno club, a strip bar or a fine restaurant ?

So I grasped the nettle with a bar that I could at least see served beer (and that is an international word wherever one travels!). It opened out to become a full Metro theme bar - the Soviet underground recreated before me.

I spied an escalator going down, dodged the guard standing at the top by wagging a single finger and pointing at my chest - which I hope conveyed the sense of 'there's only me, I won't take up much space' to be greeted by the most wonderful scene.

Carriages, signs, stained glass, chocolate brown couches and booths. Heaven !

Then came the true challenge. Beer was delivered alongside a menu.

No pictures.
All writing in cyrillic.

Ooops.

I reached into my bag for the guidebook I had been lent confidently turning to the section at the back containing simple words and translations. This section, the one guaranteed part of every guidebook wasn't there. Nothing. So I plucked the only Russian food I could think of out of the air and with a grin repeated 'Stroganoff' until my waitress understood.

Was it worth it ?

It was magnificent.

Next week watch this space. I'm going to try for dessert as well !

Todays musing concerns TGI, that bastion, or not of consumer research.

Much amusement has always focused around the relative bluntness of 'lifestyle statements' which ask respondents on the level to which they agree to a long and sometimes amusing list of questions about their attitudes to the world around them.

Corkers from the UK questionaire include the likes of ;

'real men drink beer', 'I like to drive fast' and 'a womans place is in the home'

But it's been fascinating looking through the equivalent Russian survey which has a rather eyeopening list which include 'sometimes I think of things which it is better not to mention to others', 'it is unwise to express your opinion', 'Russia should ban imported products' and my favourite....'I am proud that I have both masculine and feminine characteristics'.

My point is not to chuckle..but to say this. You can do a lot worse when learning about a culture of a nation by reading the kind of questions that are asked in surveys.

Fascinating stuff.

Rain has finally made it to Moscow and it changes the view rather a lot from my concrete building. Somehow everyones shoulders are just that little bit more hunched and a the bright lights of packed (but extraordinarily expensive) clubs and dining places seem a little more tempting.

However tonight I'm hoping to leave with enough time to contentedly purchase a bottle of wine and something European and then the wonders of Slingbox will be unfolded.

Slingbox for those that don't know is a rather nifty gizmo that plugs into your Sky+ back in blighty and then connects remotely to a foreign land via the interweb. So much so technology advance. But what I love is that feeling that when you press a button something happens a long way away as the method of communication are the infra red sensors setup in front of the UK Sky box.

Pressing a button in Moscow is actually more long distance remote than broadband...which reminds me of the first ever remote control VCR players.

My dad brought it home and proudly set it up. The only thing was it was pre infrared. So the 'remote' was actually a large, black, snaking cable designed mainly to trip up any tray carrying mother that ventured into the room.

And if you remember such a thing consider yourself dated to over 36 !