"DANDRUFF?" asks 14 year old Ivan mockingly. "Use XXXX regularly and you will always be confident of shining hair." The Moscow teenager knows all the adverts on television off by heart. "I used to hate that time of the month," he mimics, "until I discovered xxxx."
"Ivan," shouts his grandfather, "that's enough. Turn the TV off and get on with your homework."
The generation war in the Troshin household is being fought over the flood of western advertising that has hit Russian television since the start of market reform. The young lad thinks the ads are very funny hut his grandfather is outraged. Coconut chocolate, taste of paradise, pah," he fumes. "Just one of those bars costs a tenth of my monthly pension."
The adverts are indeed a shock for anyone who remembers Soviet times. Then there was only one product - the Communist Party - and all the banners extolled its virtues in bright red. "The party's the reliable foundation of world peace," read one snappy slogan near one office on Leninsky Prospekt. It has now been replaced by a picture of a giant cup of coffee.
Soviet mentality has not completely disappeared. "Is your bread fresh?" I asked a shopkeeper recently. "No love, it's two days old. I don't recommend it," she said with the honesty of someone who has worked all her life for the state and has no incentive to catch a customer.
The youths behind the counter at McDonalds are more in step with the new times. "Next please. What would you like? Here's your order. Thank you. Have a nice day," they parrot and flash you an obligatory smile.
Most of the goods being sold in Russia are imported from the west as domestic production has slumped almost to extinction.
Foreign supermarkets, run by pioneers from Finland, Germany and Ireland, first gave a few rich Russians a taste for cornflakes, baked beans, yogurt and instant curry sauce. But now society at large has access to western goods brought in by shuttle traders and sold n little street kiosks.
The most adventurous western firms are now targeting the vast Russian market, and their goods are labelled in the Russian language.
Yet Russians often get a bad impression of goods from the west and hanker after things they could buy in Soviet times, not all of which were shoddy or inedible.
The problem is that, in many cases, the worst of the west is coming to Russia. The shuttle traders bring in the cheapest items, although they sell them at a huge mark up. In addition Russians, used to natural produce, complain that western food is over packaged and contains too many preservatives.
And now there is a backlash. Russians have forgotten how, only five years ago, the shelves of their shops were empty and they have started to protest against "commercial imperialism" from the west.
Vociferous on this matter is Eddie Limonov, a curious character who in Soviet times was a dissident poet. Then he emigrated to New York and wrote a book about his sexual adventures in the Big Apple. And now he is a minor fascist politician.
"Buy Russian, keep the foreigners out," is his slogan.
For patriots, the options are at present very limited. They can drink Baltika beer from St Petersburg and juice from the successful Wim Bill Dann Company, which gave itself a Dutch sounding name when everything western was in fashion but which now stresses that it is Russian.
Patriotic consumers can also eat at the Russian Bistro chain, a fast food outlet with pies and potato salads which the Mayor of Moscow, Yuri Luzhkov, is promoting as an alternative to McDonalds.
In an attempt to encourage the locals, Russian television offers late night advertising slots free of charge on a programme called Znak Kachestvo (sign of quality) but so far there has been only a sad parade of unemployed people advertising themselves.
Certainly nothing to excite young Ivan. "After meals, bacteria can build up on your teeth," he chirps. "Western dentists recommend XXXX chewing gum." "Ivan", yells his grandfather, "I've told you already, turn that telly off."