Today there was the story of a young pigeon in the toilet.
I kept hearing strange loud noises in the bathroom throughout the day yesterday, but I attributed it to my high imagination and generally thinking 'oh well, I guess that's how it is here, sometimes one just hears strange sounds.'
So this morning, still slightly influenced by the cognac from the last night's party, I was unsuspectingly and rather contentedly peeing in the toilet, when a loud desperate shriek directly behind me made me jump higher than any possible gym activity. Having nearly suffered a mild heart-attack, I composed myself and peeked behind the toilet, and there was a PIGEON looking up at me, trying to free itself.
That, I have to say, I was not ready for.
What do you do with a little but loud pigeon trapped behind your toilet?
Luckily, I have an incredibely courageous Russian woman-artist as my neighbour.
Anastasia looked at the pigeon, told me she found five pigeons in her flat once when she was pregnant, and came back with a pair of gloves and instructions to open the windows. Then there was a whoosh and swoosh and Anastasia saying come little golubik, and out it bursted flying in the studio, crashing in one of the windows that was still closed. I got a blanket to shield it away from the room, another skilled pigeon-catcher's move by Anastasia and bye bye baby pigeon!
Do they teach this as a survival skill in Murmansk art school? I was very impressed.
What will the next adventure be here? A bear cub in the shower? A moose wandering in an exhibition hall? I hope Anastasia will be around.