I’m a spacedog.

I come from the cold east, born a mongrel, and a small one at that (no Adonislike Borzoi was I),  but I had ambition, balls, and a keen nose for snuffling out sausages from places no other stray dog would go – and that got me places. The streets of Krasnoyarsk couldn’t hold this pup for long. By the age of three (months) I’d made it to Novosibirsk (westward and upward-ho would prove to be my directions in life) on my wits alone, where soon I was – what you cosmopolitan Westerners might call – ‘runnin tings’. That’s right, I made it pretty big in ‘Sibirsk, you wanted Levis, you came to Ugolyok (me). Form there, it could only be Moscow, so there I went, ready for anything.

What I got was unexpected. There I was, just stepped off the bus (or the Trans-Siberian, in my case), when along come a couple of blokes with a butterfly-catching net who, mistaking me for a mere toughie stray of no import, whisked me off to Cosmonaut training camp. After nine months of intensive training, trying-on different space-suits and sniffing hot young lab-assistants’ butts, me an’ my new buddy Veterok (R.I.P.) were popped atop Cosmos 110 and shot 62.2 miles into the sky – that’s right, to SPACE!

I am, indeed, THAT Ugolyok, the famed Russian spacedog. In 1966 I spend 22 days in space, and boy did that blow my little canine mind.

I’m retired now, of course (I’m 48!). No more space travel. I returned to a hero’s welcome, they named some Soviet stuff after me, I hold the record, I fucked a lot of bitches, etc. But after the whole space thing, it seemed empty, what next? Art, of course. Or, ‘the next best thing to space’ (– me). I now blog about art, specifically art in London, and you are now visiting my blog. I hope you enjoy it.

p.s. I occasionally let this art-geek John Parton write blog posts. He works in publishing, writes a lot, edits a mean book etc… Fell free to get in touch with me if you want him to contribute to stuff, I’ll take a kickback on any fee of course.

p.p.s. I’m still a goddamn Commie


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