Russia and the Worry Factor.

I’m getting regular visits from Russia at the moment, and such a fact is bound to give me pause for thought. It’s like this, you see:

I know that plenty of Russians – probably the majority – at the populous western end of the country are normal, feeling people with more or less the same character traits as the rest of us Europeans. I know that they have doctors and nurses and bright young things just as we do. I know that they have scientists and engineers and artists to match the best in the world. I know that their cities have McDonald’s and KFC sitting incongruously next to grand architectural edifices. I know that they have modern transport facilities and other infrastructure. I know of their enviable reputation in the fields of Romantic and Modern period music, and that the Bolshoi Ballet is testament to their sophistication. And yet…

Russia is still perceived over here as having a dark and dangerous underbelly. We still see it through a veil, and behind that veil we see demons disguised as humans moving anonymously among the mass of the population. And in these troubled times the predominant face of Russia is the face of one man. It is neither a handsome nor a friendly face. The eyes are cold, and even when the mouth smiles it is a disingenuous smile unsuccessfully trying to hide a permanent snarl of ill will. It isn’t the kind of smile one would be advised to trust.

And so I can’t help just a hint of wondering whether I’m being watched. Are there people sitting in a dimly lit basement somewhere in Moscow, trawling the vastness of cyberspace armed with algorithms which spot any derogatory reference to Mr President? Are they making a list of people to be visited by demons carrying ricin-tipped umbrellas, and have I made it onto the page yet?

Well, I don’t have the ego to believe that such might really be the case. Neither I nor my blog have sufficient gravitas. Anyone with a brain cell (and even demons have brain cells) would know that I’m a million miles from being any kind of an influencer (and just for the record, the term ‘influencer’ has become one of my pet hates.) So I’m not losing any sleep over it (I’m losing sleep over several issues, but not that one.)

Nevertheless, it would be good to receive a comment from my Russian visitor along the lines of: ‘Hello. My name is Svetlana. I’m young and pretty and I think you’re wonderful. I’m so looking forward to meeting you in the next life when we will be carefree kids living somewhere in the remotest part of Indonesia. Catch fish for me and you will be amply rewarded.’

There now. It’s good to end on a joke, isn’t it?