За твоё здоровье!
While on a week long requirements analysis course in Oxford in the early 90s I got talking to a crowd of Russians in the same hotel who were attending an English For Business course. We got on well throughout the week and when the last of the drinkers on my course went to bed on the last night I joined my new friends who showed no sign of stopping.
I'd grown up in a Staffordshire pit village which was home to many families of Polish descent - their father's had come over during WWII and married local girls and brought along their customs of hospitality, which had some similarities to those of my Russian drinking partners. In particular they taught me how to drink vodka.
We drank well and drank hard. The bar man, who had been drinking with us, fell asleep so we brought out our own supplies rather than cause him any problems with the till. The Russians had a bottle of Smirnoff each, while I had found a bottle of Moskovskaya in a local off licence which was greeted with approbation. We formed bonds of international friendship until dawn, and I was given the compliment that I drank like a Russian. I was, of course, drinking like a Pole.
After an hour's sleep and reeking like a distillery I headed for breakfast before working out that it was a bad idea. What became a worse idea was that the previous day I had been elected to give the final course presentation to several senior suits. I got through that somehow, with some arch comments from my team mates after. After loading my car, I slept in the driving seat for several hours before feeling safe enough to drive home. I started eating again 36 hours later.
Drinking with Russians is a fine, exhilarating activity, but it is best done when young and bold.
I don't drink any more, but I did get several months worth of drinking done in that one night.
Выпьем за то, чтобы у нас всегда был повод для праздника!
Biting the hand that feeds IT
