Dear John!

In the first lines of my letter I’d like to apologise for my awful handwriting, my hands are agony trembling because I’m suffering a severe hangover from yesterday’s drinking to death party.

In Russia everything is going fine. I’m writing you sitting in a candle-lit room. We haven’t had electricity in our area for months because someone has stolen electric cables.

Yesterday there was a great event at the tank-building factory where I work as a plumber - we launched a new model of a tank. To be ready to this event I woke up early, at the midday - the day before we had celebrated our foreman’s bonus and I got lifeless drunk. Having gulped with satisfaction a glass of cold vodka to be healthy, I hurried to the factory.

You know it’s beastly cold in Russia, now. I wear “valenki”, “ushanka” and my splendid fur-coat made of the wolf that I had knocked out in the park near my house last winter.

John, you must remember I’ve written you about my lovely car, speedy as a cheetah, Folkswagon-Beatle, produced in 1967, that had been cheekly stolen from a deserted car dump somewhere in Germany five years before and secretly smuggled to Russia. Last month I had a hair-raising car accident, crashing into a bear, that suddenly jumped on the road, in the central street of our city. Since that, I’ve been taking a reindeer taxicab to get to work.

The celebration at the factory was magnificent. We drank litres of vodka eating appetising pancakes with delicious Russian caviar and played ‘balalayka’ and ‘garmoshka’ singing loud charming Russian songs such as “Father Frost, don’t freeze me, please, and my horse either” and “International”. My friends and I made a decision not to occupy America in this year. Under the cover of night we went to test the new tank in the city streets but, shortly after, we were stopped by KGB agents in the central square. Our erudite foreman, a member of the Communist party since 1924, told us that last time, celebrating the launching of a new tank, they had managed to reach Prague. It happened 34 years ago.

How are you, John? I hope you are fine. Are you still jogging and keeping on your vegetarian diet? As for me I don’t feel very well, since I’ve been seriously injured. Last Monday my wife, Natasha beat me with a rolling pin when I came home in the middle of the night with a woman, whom I still can’t remember. By the way, Natasha begs you, with tears in hers eyes, to send her a pair of true American jeans. Her size is XXXXXL.

John in your last letter you wrote that the dollar is weakening steadily, and cost of living in America is growing daily. It’s unbelievable. We heartily feel for you, Americans. Here in Russia the dollar’s rate is stable and always equal to one bottle of vodka. That should make you think, right?

So, if one day you feel bored, please, come visit us in Russia. You’ll always be welcome at our home.

From Russia with love,

Yours Vasya,

Somewhere in Siberia.

P.S. If you decide to visit us, please bring a new paper-bag because the one you sent me 10 years ago, was torn off early this week.