Churchill’s aphorism about the riddle wrapped in an enigma has always been taken out of context.

Referring to the predictability, or lack thereof, of the Russian, Churchill went on to posit that the key, the guiding principle, might just be national self-interest. Well yes – and not just with the Russian either, one would think but nevertheless, the point does stand.

In little ways, this comes home in daily life over here. For example, yesterday I was late for work, after my car decided to spring two punctures on me simultaneously – not unusual and this involves ignoring it and catching a car from the side of the road.

I can’t recall once in Britain doing such a thing but over here it’s the usual way. Thoughts of some homicidal maniac preying on the unsuspecting loiterer don’t enter into it. The hand needn’t even extend – it’s enough to be there on the bitumen and some car will stop for you and that’s that.

On the way to catch the car, there’s a wide, tree-lined nature strip and crossing this at an angle are two pathways, trapinki, meeting at an intersection. Approaching the intersection from the right, at a rate of knots, was a young guy, eyes firmly fixed ahead on the shop he was headed for.

It was pretty clear we were doing about the same speed and were about the same distance from the intersection. In Britain I would have dropped the pace just a little to avoid the confrontation but this time I thought I’d conduct a social experiment.

We collided.

Hard to believe but then the second predictable thing happened – he was quite literally shocked that I hadn’t avoided him. After all, it was his space, wasn’t it – he’d been the one walking there and it was my job to look out for him and make any moves to avoid the confrontation.

I put the same to him. I was just walking along my path and he’d suddenly appeared from nowhere [iz ni otkuda they say here] but of course, this cut no ice with him.

This is by no means an isolated case and it goes a long way to explaining the bingles on the road – it’s not uncommon to see two or three each day on the way to the centre, some of them real humdingers, with cars wedged under trams and the like.

The second governing factor is the word ‘just’. As in ‘I’ll just nip through this space here after the light’s turned red and the traffic coming the other way hasn’t yet charged out of the blocks’. The only thing is that the young buck in his Lada 9 does charge out of the blocks from the right, just in time to just take advantage of the traffic-less crossing and slap bang into the first vehicle.

Then it’s outraged righteousness from both parties until the authorities arrive.

The Russian is predictably unpredictable. He loves to find the lateral solution and an example of this is the old joke about the broken down tank in the desert. The American expert checks it over and concludes, ‘We’ll order the part from Pittsburg.’

The Englishman comes up, gives it the once over with a discerning eye and mutters, ‘Bloody typical, isn’t it?’

The Russian comes up, non-plussed that the thing should break down on him. He circles it and then another Russian comes up to join him, then another and another. Pretty soon there are seven or eight of them deep in conference, having all shaken everyone’s hand, offering cigarettes and it becomes a regular little meeting. One of them takes the chewing gum out of his mouth, dives under the vehicle, calls to Kolya above to try it; after twenty minutes, seven tries and much cursing, it starts; they all pile into a space meant for four and off they go.

Now no one’s saying the American and Englishman aren’t equally resourceful but they’re more likely to do things by the book.

Another example is, once again on the road. There are four lanes, merging into two and widening out again into seven, before funnelling into one to cross the bridge. It’s peak hour traffic. The bottlenecks are mindboggling.

Solution? Well, there’s still the footpath, isn’t there? Soon the marchroute buses and half the city are tearing down the footpath and everyone’s happy. Lateral solutions, instant fixes and artless directness are the way to cope with the harsh environment and I’ve probably gone half this way myself. People tell me I’m now half Russian.

An example of the interface between the two cultures was in a visit I paid to a young lady who’d prepared a little supper after I’d answered her on the phone that yes, I was hungry. Once in her kitchen, at the table, it smelt very much to me that she was preparing ‘pyechonka’ [liver], which I’ve always detested, from my childhood days.

Sheer terror gripped and I didn’t know how to extract myself. So weakly, I said, ‘Er, Liya – I’m not really all that hungry, you know. The salad will be just fine.’

‘James, you said you’d eat. Do you want it or don’t you?’

They don’t ask, ‘Would you like?’ They ask, ‘Budesh li ti?’ [will you]. That’s when I finally summoned up the courage to be direct.

‘I don’t like liver.’

‘Well why didn’t you just say? Fine.’ She then went and took out some chicken and served that instead.

In the shops, you’re always asked, ‘Shto vam?’ [what to you]. Why waste time over the niceties – when you go into a product shop, you aim to spend the minimum time possible so this process helps. ‘Two of milk, one Kryestyanskaya butter, one baton.’ That’s it.

It’s not that the language lacks nuances – it’s full of them. I could easily have said, ‘Budtye lyubyezno’ [would you be so kind] and people do say this or else ‘Budtye dobri’, which is close to it. On the telephone, the caller almost always says, ‘Sorry to disturb you but…’ That’s just stock standard.

They do use the subjunctive, which translates into ‘would you…?’ and they do smile and they do eat properly with the knife and fork at the table and take tea afterwards. Traditional manners are very important here. You don’t bring sex or toilet humour into polite company, you act with charm towards the girls [until you’ve achieved the desired result] and so on.

There is very much an etiquette at work here and books on etiquette sell in most bookshops. Books on ‘good toasts’ also sell. Bookshops abound and the average Russian is amazingly well read. The greatest insult is to call someone ‘byezkultourni’ [or uncultured] and the street sweeper knows Shakespeare, Byron and Coleridge by heart.

Put a Russian student into a British school [these days] and she’ll shine. Her academic day over here is quite simply gruelling – it not being uncommon to take two or three major test/exams in the one day, twice a week, every week. There are about eight lessons a day. Four hours homework goes without saying.

I said, ‘She’ll shine’ because the boys, generally speaking, apart from the driven ones, tend to like - how can I put it – to prolong the good life. This is why so many businessmen revisit their studies in middle age, when they finally, fully realize the necessity for it and thus there are two cultures – the driven achiever and – the other. And the Russian guy has an easy charm which is quite irresistible for the female of the species and as the company, they’re second to none.

But there’s another side to this too. They can be disconcertingly direct in their questioning – I call it interrogation. Someone you’ll just have met will ask, ‘Are you married? How many children do you have? What are their names?’

If I find this gauche, I try not to show it. ‘Gauche’ is the ultimate faux pas with the English, as I know from bitter experience but the Russian would call it friendly and direct and he doesn’t appreciate legerdemain, although he's not unfamiliar with it. Establish your position straight away, in full detail and then get on with the important business of discussing money.

Permeating through all this is a bluff warmheartedness and yet, sometimes, I’d as soon be perched on a rough wood bench in a country pub with a friend, saying little, two pints before us and the after tea session of the 4th test due to begin in a little under ten minutes.