Much to my surprise, it is very cold here. It’s a face-burning kind of cold. When I remove my glove to change my music, the wind stings my fingers and it feels like my blood is freezing. Then I put the glove on and I feel the ice-crystal blood fill my extremities once again. And then my hand swells with heat. The winter curse of a music lover. But I appreciate all of these things because it means I’m in Russia and snow is falling and winter is coming and it’s cold, but so what? How terrible it would be to not have any discomfort, no? The night and the snow shut the city up. Everything gets quiet, apart from the soothing sound of cars on slush. And I walk home with cold fingers and Edith Piaf ringing in my ears, a good situation indeed.

Tomorrow I’m flying to Kiev, again, via Aeroflot. From there it’s a night train to Moscow. From Moscow it’s a 35-hour train to Murmansk. Who knows what’ll transpire in the next two weeks. All I know is, my hands are likely to freeze to my camera.