“He went off on some mysterious late-adolescent errand and on his return said, “After you’re dead, I won’t be surprised to be told that you weren’t really a writer (the cruelty of youth), you were a spy.” This made me laugh quite a lot. Spying, as a profession, seems to me about as interesting and useful as designing horse blankets for ‘My Little Pony’. In my ideal world there would be an annual spies’ convention held in a large hotel. Secrets would be swapped openly in the lobbies and bars; so ...much more comfortable than hanging around on street corners; cheaper too, in the long run.He was suspicious because it was to be my third visit to Russia. The first time I went to find Dostoevsky’s grave. I’d fallen for him at the impressionable age of fourteen. If he’d been alive in 1961 I would have stood outside his lodging house badgering him for an autograph and begging for a clipping from his beard.My second visit was with my husband, in winter. The tour was called, ‘The Cities of the Golden Ring’.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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