Kharkov here I come

Me and Andrew have just been doing a bit of Google travelling. He checked where has streetview and up popped Kharkov.

I'd only heard of it as the site of a nasty battle in WW II. One of those bloody Eastern Front slug fests.

I thought it might have been smashed to hell. But on streetview it's a wonderland. Like Prague circa 1985. One of my favourite places in space and time. It'll be one of the first spots I revisit when the time travel stuff gets sorted.

Look:

Prague, but with a soupçon de Stalinisme architecture-wise. (Check out the block the tram line leads to.) Magic. Can't wait to get there.

Andrew isn't so keen. "It looks a dump, Dad. Like some Communist country."

"Yes, exactly. That's why it's so brilliant."

"I'm not going there, dad."

Not if I don't tell you beforehand. You'll think you're going to Munich.I'll claim to have made a simple mistake and booked Kharkov. Kharkov, Munich. easily confused. Both have an "h' in their name.

"Do you want to go to Kharkov Lexie?"

"No!"

"What about if I give you 30 euros a day?"

"How many days will we be there, Dad?"

"Three."

"Yeah, OK then."

I love Lexie. He'll do anything for money.

"Do I have to spend the money there, Dad?"

"We'll discuss that later."

"Look at all those air-conditioners."

Lexie's an observant lad.

"We'll go in the spring."






Just to be clear about this: I really do think Kharkov looks wonderful.