In a world after some irreversible catastrophe, only one Oleg Kikimora remains: a thinker shaped like a bun, wrinkled as a dried fig, who lives in a deadly bog and arranges his existence under the dictatorship of aggressive flora and…

To keep boredom at bay, Oleg Kikimora sets up his own radio station, SPGS, and with his broadcasts shatters the silence of a nature reserve in hiding, lit only by smoky skies and the occasional saluting meteorite. The radio's programme consists of conversations with subscribers, for instance an aged telephone answering machine laying claim to pension contributions, political analysis, and the bog's main news: a report on the death of its oldest moth, a notice about a community of traitor mosquitoes, and a vote of no confidence in ideologically unreliable invertebrates.

Kikimora's hoarse voice tells us that his long-held dream is to become the famous rapper Husky from Ulan-Ude, and that he will try to fulfil it, breathing a jet of marsh gas over the tracks of DJ Sudba.

Unfortunately, the broadcast of this strange radio wave with a single listener, which has reached us through a rift in the space-time continuum, is abruptly cut off. The last day of Radio SPGS in Moscow is 17 December, in Saint Petersburg 24 December.

I am glad that, as the series of shows drew to its close, I got to look at the charming Oleg Kikimora from the little balcony of Mutabor, to the cries of the local inhabitants calling out from the radioactive bog slime through the croaking of frogs: “Husky! Husky!”

Still, no one knows how it will all end. All the more so since Husky does, after all, blow a kiss and begs forgiveness a thousand times. Even if it is a dog's kiss, let us keep it as a memento, in an envelope with the receipts from Zhilishchnik for refuse collection, together with the wired radio point.

My respect to both the performer and the director of this spectacle, Dasha Pribishchuk.