babushka

In other news, the old lady/babushka/porter in the reception of Philip's building keeps trying to talk to us. She has a ghostly pallor and a burning question to ask us. Perhaps it concerns an ancient prophecy in which we unwittingly play a crucial role, or the key to the happiness and wellbeing of the masses, or the whereabouts of a family heirloom, but whatever it is it's clearly important because she asks it over and over again, rephrasing it in every possible way and becoming increasingly more upset with us. But it's not English. It doesn't involve the words 'hello' 'thank you' or 'my name is'. As such, it makes absolutely no sense to us. We politely wait for her to give up and then say 'goodbye!' and leave. It's awkward, frankly. I just hope it's not something like 'why do you English bastards keep turning up where you're so emphatically not welcome?' or 'are you aware that if you use the lift one more time the building will implode?'. Or worse, maybe she's not even the porter. Maybe she's just a little old lady who can't remember where her house is. Oh my god. I absolutely must learn how to speak this language.