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There’s loads more, like the time my mum got caught up in a shady deal between a newly-minted oligarch trying to flog a decommissioned nuclear sub for titanium scrap to a British ‘businessman’, resulting in the aforementioned spiritual healer who was brokering the deal getting assassinated in a drive-by.
My grandad just rawdogged the rain in his ‘Volga’, no wipers. Partly as an anti-theft measure, but mainly due to being absolutely terrified of them wearing out.
He then got excommunicated from the Soviet party and almost sent to a gulag for believing he was doing the right thing in exposing corruption by the apparatchiks embezzling machinery from the steel processing plant where he was an engineer, and was forced to work as a PR agent for a spiritual healer, and as a smuggler of cars and parts from Europe. There were wipers oozing out of our every orifice.
Sorry, how rude of me: #csb