Kalashnikovs, Christians & Calvin Klein.

On looking out of my window this morning I spied a boy of about twelve standing on the pavement outside the house opposite, he was in an army combat uniform and brandishing a very real Kalashnikov AK47 rifle. He was aiming the gun at passing motorists and making mock shooting noises. A few moments later a man, obviously his father and also in an army outfit emerged from the house with three more AK47's grasped to his chest. An ordinary looking Mercedes saloon pulled up and the driver, another 'soldier', got out and opened the boot, at which all the weapons were laid out inside. They then got into the car and it sped off. Disconcerting to say the least.

The owners of my flat are very nice. "They should be, you are paying five times what we are," Kuba was quick to point out. Worth it to get away from you I thought. I told my landlady I would be heading east to the capital Kyiv and beyond but would like to return in maybe a couple of weeks for another few days. I'd also like to offload some stuff as my suitcase is too damn heavy. "Fine," they said, "just hang on to the keys and pay us at the end of your stay." I still have not given them any money. Trust like this is unheard of in Eastern Europe. Having another look around the apartment I soon realised why. I discovered at least a dozen Bibles and a myriad of other religious reading including the old favourite Billy Graham's Christian Workers Handbook. Every summer the flat is let out to American Evangelists who, along with Mormons, spend months all over the ex-eastern bloc Spreading The Word. In order to attract people they usually offer English lessons at their church meetings... when the locals arrive they are bashed over the head with a bible. I don't care about the religious aspect, but there is nothing worse than Europeans speaking English with an American accent.

I wandered through a market for an early lunch and was overwhelmed and overjoyed at the variety of ghastly trinkets and souvenirs available. Russian and Polish tourists were clammering for the stall attendants, scooping up all sorts of paraphernalia for their pals back home. It's amazing the crap people will buy when they are abroad, stuff they would never go near back home. I was particularly taken by the glittering array of fake goods, dazzling in their hideousness. In the end, temptation getting the better of me, I couldn't help but fork out for matching oversized red Daniel Klein watches (obviously a distant cousin), a multi-coloured Golce & Dabbana t-shirt the likes of which you have never seen, and the jewel in the crown... a gloriously grotesque black, red and white double-breasted jacket, resplendent with tassels and adorned with sports cars and naked ladies... Kid Creole eat your heart out!