Khreshchatyk turns into such a circus on weekends.
Yesterday, Santa Clauses dressed in green were rollerskating around with green flags, advertising Volodymyr Lytvyn's party. At some point, a whole orchestra of them marched along, playing something boisterous - but I've been scared of Santa Clauses ever since I saw Derek Jarman's The Garden back in 1994.
Today, the Communists have set up a campaign tent at the spot where Yanukovych guys had theirs a few weeks ago. They are playing all those songs about Lenin, the Party and the Komsomol, and about "my Motherland the Soviet Union." Mishah regrets our windows aren't close enough to the spot they're at - he would've emptied a garbage can full of Marta's dirty diapers on them. "Screw them," I reply and put on Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, loud enough not to hear the Communists and quiet enough not to wake Marta up.
Update: Mishah sits by the window and hears more of the Commie songs than of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. He recognizes them all and at some point says he remembers them all from childhood, how horrible. I don't, not at all - one of the advantages of being scatterbrained.