Oleksiy

couldn't help wondering if his journey from a burnt-out merry-go-round in Pripyat to the communal playground on a leafy private housing estate in suburban South London wasn't rooted in some kind of tokenism. He was missing his friends and secretly hoped that the spoiled little brats who now kept him company would hurt themselves on his broken and rusted parts.

I am tickled to find, whilst researching this story, that the last on the list of the top 100 names for Ukranian male student pen pals is Ded Pul. 
I have not made that up!