A few crumpled cigarettes, slipped to the dishevelled Mongolian guards, would be our ticket into the decommissioning Soviet bases, where, like brooding volcanoes, mountains of military clothing smouldered. On more than one occasion we’d been offered Kalashnikov AK47s: crated in rough pine boxes and wrapped in oiled paper. With our diesel-stained combat fatigues, shaved heads, gaunt features and hungry eyes, we looked like a tribe of desperadoes. We were a tribe of desperadoes – but for us, survival of Berlin’s sub-zero winter wasn’t going to be about guns, it was going to be about big, fluffy, Russian hats.


4 responses

20 06 2011
Joanna Frangos

hahaha……. hello Mark…. I like your writing very much. Evocative. I’ve just found out what you’ve been up to all these years. Well, late 80s to mid 90s. Where are you now? In the UK, or still on the run in Europe?

20 06 2011

Am I in the UK or still on the run? – ‘fraid you’re just gonna have to read the book!

4 07 2012

so that’s where ye got your ‘look’ 🙂

9 10 2012

Russian Hats are the best!!!!

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