The Further Adventures of an Idiot Abroad (12 page)

We got to the station early, which was just as well, as it wasn’t easy working out which train I needed to be on. No one spoke English, and the signs didn’t help in the slightest.
Russia has the angriest-looking font in the world. When email first came about I used to get told to stop writing everything in capitals as this comes across as though YOU’RE SHOUTING.
That’s what all the signs in Russia look like. A love note would look like a warning on a bottle of bleach.

After a lot of wandering around trying to make sense of the departure boards, we eventually found our train. A stern-looking woman who had a face like there was a bad smell in the air checked my
ticket and gave me a nod. My little cabin wasn’t as fancy as I thought it was going to be. I was picturing the Orient Express, where the carriages have bright white table cloths and silver
cutlery. This had worn red velvet seating like the type you see in an Aberdeen Angus Steakhouse in London, and an off-white net curtain. Still, I had my own space, and that was more important than
the decor. When on a train at home it’s nice to get a table, but it’s a gamble, as you never know who you’ll be sharing it with. It’s like going on
Come Dine with
Me.

I sat and played Patience, and made my way through another packet of Revels. Things were going well until about two hours in when guards came to my door and asked to see my ticket. It only gave
me the first-class coach for so many stops, and I should have moved a while back. I said I would move but I needed some time to get my stuff together. They waited to make sure. I followed them as
we made our way down through the carriages that got smaller, smellier, smokier and busier. We stopped. The same space I’d had to myself in first class was now shared with five others. It was
like one of those mad charity events where they try to squeeze as many people as possible into a phonebox. The guard pointed to a bed. I say bed, but it was more like a shelf. This was third class.
I don’t even send letters third class.

The people below gestured that I sit with them. The way they were crammed together I presumed they were a family, but they weren’t. The man of the group looked tough. He
had a black eye and some cuts and bruises on his face. He offered me a beer, which I took. Richard the director told me I should give him something in return, as this is what travellers do when
using this train. I offered the bloke some Revels, which he declined. Just as well, as they’re not to everybody’s taste. I like all the flavours, but some people don’t like the
chocolate-covered coffee or the chocolate-covered orange ones. In a way, it’s the equivalent to Russian roulette in the chocolate world. I got my cards out and tried to teach them the higher
or lower game.

I didn’t have to sleep in third class in the end, as the guards moved me into second class after it started to kick off between some drunk Polish people and some Russians. I guess they
didn’t want us to film it. Second class was like first class without the velvet.

I slept like a baby. When I say slept like a baby, I mean I was up all night. The toilets didn’t work. They were locked half an hour before getting into a station, but then some stations
were half an hour apart, which meant they were never open. They also have a rule that you can’t use the loo while at a station, as the toilet had a pedal that empties the loo straight onto
the track. I think they should allow you to use the loos while in the station because if human waste was all over the tracks it would stop kids messing about on them. Putting up signs saying
‘Danger’ doesn’t stop them, but if there was a chance of getting shit on their trainers I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t be as keen to mess about on the lines.

The next morning Ricky called to tell me that it was 50 years since Yuri Gagarin became the first man in space. To celebrate he suggested I visit Star City, which is home to the Yuri Gagarin
Cosmonaut Training Centre. A teacher at my school said he waved to Yuri Gagarin when he visited Manchester in 1961 after his trip into space. He said Gagarin drove through Moss Side, which some
would say is more dangerous than travelling to outer space, and hundreds of people came out in the rain to show their appreciation. He said he was a true hero who had risked everything to make
history for his country. I remember not being that impressed at the time, as I knew monkeys had been launched into space before him. He was basically taking over a monkey’s job. How hard can
it have been? Plus, there was so much more that needed inventing back then. What was the rush to get to space? You know, we landed on the moon before someone thought about putting wheels on
suitcases!

The teacher then asked us to write a story about doing an heroic act and the speech you would make afterwards. I made up a story in which I had one of my tonsils out to give to my brother. I
wrote that I couldn’t do a speech about how I felt about my heroicness afterwards as my throat hurt. The teacher wrote ‘Lazy’ in red pen.

I wasn’t really interested in space when I was younger. It was something that was a big deal before my time. I liken it to how Benidorm was a popular place to go in the 1970s, then
Tenerife in the 1980s. Space was all the rage in the 1960s. Since Armstrong landed on the moon it seems everyone has lost interest after seeing there wasn’t much there.

I got to Star City. There was a statue of Gagarin not far away from the apartment he used to live in. The head of the statue was good and looked like him, but the trousers were not so good.
Maybe this is why most statues are of naked bodies. Sculptors find it easier carving out a knob and bollocks than getting the creases in trousers to look real.

I was greeted by a man called Andre kitted out in cosmonaut overalls. He was going to show me around the place. First stop was at the centrifuge. This is a bit of kit they use
to give cosmonauts the feeling of G-force, which they experience on taking off in a rocket. The centrifuge was 30 years old and looked it. Andre took me down below into the big hall, so I could see
the scale of the thing. It’s the biggest centrifuge in the world. A huge 60-foot arm sat on a massive motor with a type of cockpit on the end where the cosmonaut would sit as it spun. Imagine
a giant swing-ball, with a seat in the ball.

We went back upstairs to the control room where loads of staff were standing around. Andre said I could have a go in the centrifuge. I wasn’t keen on the idea, but he reassured me it would
be fine. I got into a large dentist-type chair where a few men in jumpsuits buckled me up as if I was getting on the waltzers at a fair. I kept asking who was in charge, as I wanted to get across
that I wasn’t an adrenaline junkie and don’t even like rollercoasters, so don’t make it go too fast, but it seemed like no one was listening to me as they were all concentrating
on their job. My heart was pounding. This must’ve been how Yuri felt before his space trip, with the extra pressure of knowing he couldn’t back out due to the whole world watching.
I’m a good driver and can reverse park quite easily, but once I know there’s a car waiting for me to park before he can pass I can’t do it. Having an audience changes things.

They wheeled me in the chair and slid me into the cockpit like a chicken being slid into an oven. I was now horizontal.