Elena and I had been showing a friend around Moscow. Not knowing much about it, we decided to take a guided bus tour. The destinations and the information relayed were both eloquent testimony to what the successful tour operator, targetting Russian speaking tourists, thought that Russian citizens would like to see and know - which was what a great, vast and historic city Moscow is, a city which has borne more than its fair share of adversity, has come perilously close to extinction, a city which has always clung to God even when he was banned. We did spend quite a bit of time at the memorial to the Great Patriotic War, which whilst completely understandable, must rate as one of the most soul - less and depressing examples of memorial architecture and public space ever constructed. We hope that the ghosts of all the 26 million Russian dead of world war two are harrying and howling at the architect and whoever commissioned and approved this monstrosity as they try to rest, and that they will be chased into their graves by the sheeted dead of the Red Army. We were also informed, as we raced by them,of the former Soviet leaders who had lived in the various massive apartment blocks near the Kremlin, and finally the solid block of a building that is the Ministry of War was pointed out to us. We hoped that they had nothing to do in there and that they were sitting around yawning with boredom and playing chess..........but if they were not busy with war, they were probably playing war games on their computers or watching internet pornography.
After this edifying tour, which did succeed in displaying the scale and grandeur of Moscow, which was its main aim in two hours, we walked across Red Square, past St Basil’s Cathedral, which looks as if it should be in Disneyland, to the Tretyakov Gallery.
Of the many stunning works in this treasure trove of art, one which seems so apposite for our times, is the masterpiece by Nikolay Gay, depicting Pontius Pilate asking Christ ‘ What is truth?’
We wonder how many are employed to shape the truth nowadays, on behalf of governments, corporations or celebrities or charities, or to suppress it altogether? It’s called public relations or advertising, and whilst every individual case for someone to make sure that the protagonists’ view is heard seems reasonable enough, the total result must surely be that nobody knows what is truth anymore. We are with John Lennon, again, on this.
Of course, as a reformed advertising man, I realise that the medium is the message, and that a lot of the time, it’s the way that you say it, not what you say, that gets results. And herein lies the problem: we are too often with our guard down, our critical faculties are on the lookout for the wrong stuff, when we are protecting ourselves from misinformation we are buying a bottle of vodka in a supermarket, and guess what? Yes, we bought a bottle of Putinka vodka on special offer, and very good it was too!
It’s hard to imagine David Cameron adopting a similar strategy - Cameron Ale, it’s thick and rich, would be my slogan, or Clegg Bitter, will help you to say anything, and still leave that famous bitter taste in your mouth.
Still, Prince Charles manages to sell ridiculously overpriced organic food in Britain, and we reckon that Prince Harry could sell his own brand of cocktails to Russia’s new rich youngsters in their nightclubs. It would be called Helicopter Harry’s - these will get you up there whilst your trousers remain down here - from the artist formerly known as Prince Harry.
Harry is the son of the late Diana, Princess of Wales, the ‘Peoples Princess’ and of....well.....….he does not show any signs of Prince Charles - ness, as his older brother William obviously does - you know, that well meaning but not quite comprehending smile, the patronising grimace upon hearing of the suffering of his subjects. No, Prince Harry is a ‘Peoples Prince’, he likes drinking and dropping his trousers, he likes shooting bad guys that do bad things to our guys, he wants to take them ‘out of the game’, he wants to be young and free and live on state benefits at taxpayers’ expense, just like other ordinary young people in Britain - no wonder the British people love him, he’s one of them, he wants to play video war games from his helicopter and bone a babe when he comes down. But the future of the Monarchy in Britain is uncertain - the country keeps trying to cut its budget, and let’s face it, like the Royal Navy, sooner or later it won’t be able to afford it, especially the live it up on the razzle version represented by Harry - and he’s the only one we really like. William and Kate are boring, so square they are cubes, and their honeymoon, desperately extended by the tabloid press, can’t last much longer, despite the forthcoming princess. (They are anxious to change the law so that she can take over when William has shuffled off)
So what can Harry do - a guy has to drink, after all, and party.
The answer is Russia.
The family connection is well known : the Romanov’s and Windsors are two names for the same family. They straddle Britain, Germany and Russia.
Look at this happy family photograph taken not long ago.
And let’s consider other things that link the two nations.
Harry has just returned from Afghanistan, just as many Russian boys did many years ago. ( and many did not ) Just like them, he is convinced he killed some bad guys, although he admits he can’t be sure that they were all bad guys, because he was a long way away from them in his helicopter. And just like the Soviet army, despite the good work done of killing bad guys, Harry and his army will soon be home, leaving Afghanistan as they found it, except with more rubble than before.
The connections are deep in the hearts of both peoples.
Russia’s most popular poet was a Harry from the last century - his name was Sergei Esenin ( 1895 - 1925 ) : a self confessed hooligan, a spectacular drunk, a serial adulterer, bi-sexual or gay, but anyway a swinger, good looking and totally irresistible to women, even if he did beat them up once he’d married them for their money. He was a loveable rogue, just like Harry, but he was a fabulous poet, so they loved him, and they still love him very much, even though he committed suicide at the age of thirty. He had another source of appeal too - he was from a peasant and rustic background, and the combination of this with an early suicide is irresistible to the Russian psyche.
Now if Harry could only write a poem, or show a talent for more than putting his foot in his mouth or dropping his trousers, the Russians might fall in love with him too.
After all, Harry may have a posh Mum, but we suspect that his Dad was of plebeian origin. What’s more, although he has shown no sign yet of poetic talent, like Esenin, he’s a babe magnet, and he has a kind of poetry of dance which he revealed in Las Vegas, sans pantalons.
Perhaps one can say that his life itself is a poem?
The moment for Harry may be ripening - Russian politics are brooding with uncertainty.
And people everywhere yearn for the kind of certainty that monarchy can represent, particularly the ‘Peoples’ Prince’ kind of Monarchy.
Why do you think the hopeless Windsors have managed to hang on for so long in Britain?
As The Soviet Union collapsed, Russia toyed with restoring the Czardom.
But the scheme collapsed - they chose a young boy Gregori Romanov who was destined to be a sober square, and he has fulfilled that promise.
Russians, like the British, like a drink and they like a drinker.
Closing distilleries, pulling up vineyards and making it illegal to get a drink before 2pm, let alone banning alcohol at official receptions, is the equivalent in Russia of a long political suicide note.
Boris Yeltsin came dancing in to rescue Russia from Gorbachev’s Prohibition, and boy could Boris drink.
For a little while, until he lost it completely, Boris was very popular.
Have a look at this - Boris and Harry could almost be twinned, like a town in Britain might be to a town in Russia.
Now, the Russians’ have got another sober square running the show, and they are not entirely happy.
A Party Prince could be just what Vladimir Putin needs to win back the hearts of his people.
Harry, sign up to Busuu.com and get started on the Russian lessons.
Catherine the Great was a German, and so are you really, and she couldn’t speak Russian when she started out on the job.
Orthodoxy, Autocracy and Nationality, the slogan of Nicholas 1st and the subsequent Czars, makes for easy work for you, Harry.
You will be the Father of all the Russians, and you will let them have their fun, as long as they let you have yours.
Is there a better job?
Keep an eye on the guards though.
Otherwise the early exit overlap with the great poet Esenin may kick in, which would be a shame.
