My thoughts today are uncharitable, and I feel irrationally irritated, for no real reason that I can put my finger on. Maybe it is time for me to move on. Perhaps Carrie isn’t what I’m looking for after all. Or maybe I’m just feeling a bit out of sorts and in need of another adventure. I’ve always had a short attention span. I tend to spend a lot more time coveting what I think I want, than I do enjoying it when I have it. I used to beg my parents for things when I was younger, and they used to hold out for as long as possible, just to see me suffer. Then they’d relent, and I’d be fed up with whatever it was I had campaigned so hard to get: everything from the newest trainers, to fancy dresses, overnight stays in fancy places, and eventually a car. They bought me a pale-blue Saab 900, wrapped it in a red ribbon and left it on the driveway. I didn’t even bother to learn to drive it. For reasons that no one could ever understand, my parents and I played a constant game of cat and mouse – with each of us taking turns in both roles. I suspect it was because we were all extremely bored. What’s the point of getting all the things you want if you don’t even have to make an effort?

The market turns out to be one of the covered, permanent types, in a huge building taking over an entire block. This seems to be where everyone in the town hangs around, as there are more people just at the multiple entrances, hovering around, smoking, chattering and doing nothing, than I have seen in any of the streets up to now. On a bench outside, a youngish man in a tracksuit sits swigging from a can of beer while jabbering away on his phone – at the other end of the same bench, an elderly woman is knitting. A small bottle of vodka rests on the ground next to her handbag. Behind them both is a kiosk, about the size of two telephone boxes jammed together. It is glass fronted, and all that is on display is about five hundred different kinds of alcoholic spirit. On the counter itself are several different brands of beer, cans and bottles.

So this is what people get up to in Russia. The guidebook did suggest that drinking plays a significant part in their daily lives, but I hadn’t expected it to be quite so blatant. But then, we are in the depths of Siberia. It’s a nice enough day right now, but I hate to think what winter might bring.