The boots were saved, following a madcap dash through rush-hour metro traffic, for those of you who were losing sleep over their safe return.

A fine example of Murphy's law: last night myself and my friend were walking to the metro station, discussing the hazarous footpaths in Moscow at the moment. The ice and snow is melting during the day and then refreezing into lovely patches of black ice. She mentioned that she regularly falls on the street but has never really hurt herself. Like a fool, a fool I tells ya, I said that I had only fallen once this winter and hadn't really hurt myself. The words were barely out of my mouth when we hit a patch of black ice, Rachel slipped and I tried to grab her and she knocked me over like a skittle, the two of us fell pretty hard (I landed on my poor defenceless computer!) and the two policemen standing about two metres away just looked at us, god forbid they would ask us if we were ok or help us up from our fallen turtle impressions. If it had been womens day they might have but they don't have to pretend to be chivalrous anymore. So two bruised knees and two bruised egos carried on their merry way.

In other news, Slobodan Milosevic is probably going to be buried here. They love him here, the russian media was full of glowing praise for him, they thought he was a misunderstood genius and that the Hague is a murder machine. I don't really get Russian logic sometimes....