Politics

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A brutal morning

March 3, 2026 by 0 Comments

This morning was just horrendous for me. I had what I used to think of as a “sinus headache” but I’m pretty sure was actually a migraine. I don’t get these too often, and the severe pain normally subsides within two hours when I do. But this morning I suffered at least four hours of excruciating pain. Light and sound became unbearable – I blocked them out as best I could, and had no choice but to shut Kitty away in the living room. For some time I writhed around on my bed, then decided I was better off pacing around and bumping into the door jambs while trying to let as little light into my eyes as possible. I was fortunate not to have any lessons until later in the day. Otherwise I don’t know how I would have coped. I had a simple late lunch of banana sandwiches and yoghurt (rich food would have made me sick), then managed to walk to the supermarket. Even though the pain had eased and survived my lessons, I was (and still am) on a major go-slow. This episode reminded me of my father; when I was a boy, he got migraines of terrifying intensity, duration and frequency. One work day in five was pretty much wrecked by them. Like I do now, he had no boss, so he could get by. (In his twenties, before I was born, he did have a boss. I’m sure his migraines were very bad then too. Heaven knows how he managed.) Though he still gets headaches, they aren’t anything like as severe as they used to be.

When I spoke to Dad yesterday, he wondered why Trump has been able to make a mockery of America’s famous “checks and balances”. It must just be his popularity, Dad said. Well no, Trump isn’t that popular. He never has been. He’s got an extremely vociferous base, that’s certainly true, but that’s not the same thing as popularity. For each of his fans, there’s more than one person who hates his guts. Really Trump’s success in breaking those norms is down to him wanting to be a dictator and having zero respect for the job of president. None of his predecessors – not even George W. Bush who was hopeless – were anything like that. And then there’s social media. I can’t imagine a Trump presidency would have been vaguely possible without it.

I didn’t play squash with Mark yesterday after all. He messaged me first thing to tell me he’d had too much Guinness the night before, so I had to call up the sports centre and cancel. There’s something typically British about getting rip-roaring drunk in your mid-fifties. (Personally I think any Guinness is too much Guinness.) Though I have a beer fairly often, it’s usually just the one, and three would be my absolute limit. The hangover isn’t worth it, and any social event that involves a lot of drinking isn’t one I’m likely to enjoy anyway.

After getting through Walter Mitty I’ve started a new book: The Colony by Annika Norlin, published last year. It’s based in Sweden and translated from Swedish into English. The author is a pop star (I didn’t know that when I bought the book) and to my surprise she was born in 1977; I guessed she was several years younger. I’m thoroughly enjoying it so far. Anything that involves chucking iPhones into lakes gets my vote.

Scrabble. In the latest round of the league I’ve had seven wins and four losses, with two games still outstanding and in the balance. If I win both of those, I’ll very likely get promoted. Even one win could be enough depending on other results. Being in this position is a surprise; two days ago my sights were set on avoiding relegation, but then an opponent missed an out play, enabling me to win by twelve, when I’d given that game up for dead.

I start at 9:30 tomorrow morning. I’m pleased it’s not too early. I need some sleep.

Family - Life :) - Music - Politics - Scrabble

A happy tradition in a scary world

March 1, 2026 by 0 Comments

It’s the last day of February and the last day of winter, and we’ve had beautiful sunshine all day. I’ve just been up to see Elena (the lady who lives above me) and give her a mărțișor, which is a kind of small good-luck charm on a șnur – a red-and-white string. Romanians traditionally give mărțișoare to women to mark the beginning of spring. It’s one of my favourite traditional Romanian traditions, mainly because it costs very little: you can buy these trinkets – some of which are handmade – for just a few lei apiece. The one I gave to Elena was in the form of a black cat.

Unusually for a Saturday, I only had one lesson today, first thing this morning. After my lesson on food with Noah in Dumbrăvița, I decided to drive to Jimbolia. On the way there I listened to Bogdan Puriș’s music programme. He played songs by Bruce Hornsby, including the new Indigo Park as well as The Way It Is which, according to Puriș, came out in 1986. That date checks out because when I was a kid the BBC used the song as background music when they showed the football tables on a Saturday. Then my phone made that six-beep alert when something seismic has just happened and when I got to Jimbolia I found out that Trump and Israel had just bombed Iran. I’m as far from an expert on Middle East geopolitics as you can get, but to me this is absolutely terrifying. And for the love of God, Britain must not get involved in it. I didn’t do a lot in Jimbolia. I was just trying to take advantage of the warmer, brighter weather. I wandered around for a bit and then sat near the railway station and read a couple of stories from The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. I suggested to Elena that we go out for a drive sometime.

I spoke to Mum last night; she’d just had the operation done on her second eye. It seems to have gone well, though we don’t really know yet. Before that I spoke to Dad. We discussed his own mother’s unsteadiness in later years, such as in 2000 when they were living in Cairns and she and I came to visit, and suddenly she couldn’t go up and down escalators. Heck, Mum is only a year and a bit younger than she was. When put in those terms, Mum is doing very well. Dad too. (His own father died at almost exactly the age Dad is now, after a decade of living with Alzheimer’s.)

On Thursday night there was a UK by-election – in a part of Manchester – which the Greens won surprisingly comfortably. Reform came second while Labour, who had won the seat by a huge margin in 2024, were consigned to third place. The woman who won the seat for the Greens is – well, was – a plumber. Her victory speech, while strangely lacking in actual green stuff, was mighty impressive. “If you work hard, you deserve a nice life. And if you aren’t able to work, you still deserve a nice life.” Uncomplicated but effective. This result, plus everything else, might force the very disappointing Keir Starmer out of his position as prime minister.

Scrabble. Two wins and two losses so far from my completed league games. This time around there will be 13 games in total instead of the usual 14. A few days ago on ISC (the other site I play on), I was unfortunate enough to concede a 185-point triple-triple (SHERWANI, a word I didn’t know), and despite playing three bingos I lost 527-460. My opponent also found three bingos. That’s the highest total score in any game I’ve played.

Tomorrow I’m playing squash with Mark.

Family - Language teaching - Music - Politics

Taking pride

November 6, 2025 by 0 Comments

I spoke to my brother last night, just after I’d had a session with a 35-year-old guy who had never heard of Nelson Mandela. This happens quite often in lessons: a huge cultural figure or event that I assumed was universally known (such as 9/11) doesn’t figure at all in my student’s consciousness. Sometimes the reverse happens, too. My brother didn’t say a lot. It sounded like it was just the usual tiring business of looking after two small children. When I mentioned a potential Danube Delta trip with Mum and Dad next spring, he gave me a stark warning: Don’t do it. You’ll almost certainly fall out with Mum on a trip like that. Ugh, he’s probably right, but I’d like to give my parents the chance to see more of the world. And I’d quite like to visit the delta too. He even joked that the damage from the fall-out could be irreparable to the point where she writes me out of the will. (I haven’t watched Joanna Lumley’s Danube series yet, but it’s had some negative reviews, largely because huge swathes of territory – including Serbia – were inexplicably left out.)

Then this morning, after going to the local produce market, I spoke to Mum and Dad. It seems my brother had left quite a bit out when I spoke to him. My sister-in-law isn’t coping that well with the two kids. She relies quite heavily on her own parents, who often visit. She might well be suffering from depression. If so, at least she goes back to work soon. That so often helps.

Back in April I was extremely fortunate to find one of the immigration officers on a good day. This young official allowed me to bypass the inscrutable online system and get my ten-year residence permit processed manually. In May I had the new permit in my hands. Dorothy hasn’t been so lucky. She’s been forced to navigate the online process, which takes months and is truly awful. One problem is that her passport wasn’t stamped when she flew back from the UK in September. I might well end up taking her over the border into Serbia in the car, just so that she can have her passport stamped. It isn’t that far.

Last week during my chat with Dad when Mum had gone off to golf, I asked him what Mum really thought of me. She’s very proud of my brother, and why shouldn’t she be? I’m very proud of my brother. But what exactly does she think of me? No family, no big house, no illustrious career, no first-class degree. A cat and that’s about it. And that’s after all the promise I showed as a kid. Does she think I’m a failure? I was quite moved by what Dad then said, which is that Mum in fact thinks very highly of me and is extremely proud of how I took the bull by the horns and made a drastic – positive – change to my life. He said she often mentions me to her church friends in glowing terms. He said she’s very proud of both of us. That was lovely to hear.

Some excellent US election results overnight. Hopefully it’s the start of something. The soon-to-be New York mayor Zohran Mamdani’s line was pretty effective: “So, Donald Trump, since I know you’re watching, I have four words for you: Turn the volume up!”

Talking of elections, Dad mentioned that yesterday he wanted to use the loo in (I think) Mitre 10, when someone told him: “Don’t go in there. Someone’s just crapped in the sink.” Lovely. Guess what, I said, the bloke who crapped in the sink also gets to vote in elections.

After getting that gamelan LP, I’ve been thinking how great it would be to visit Indonesia again, if perhaps not Bali. I wonder if it would be possible on the way to or from New Zealand, assuming I make a trip out there next year.

Taylor Swift’s Fate of Ophelia came on the radio on Monday. I hadn’t heard it before. I’m very far from a Swiftie, but this was particularly good.

This was from yesterday’s final session. I didn’t even notice until this morning that he was somewhat confused as to the past tense of the verb to like. You can see the bottom half of Kitty here too:

Dreams - Language teaching - Music - Politics

14/10/15

October 14, 2025 by 0 Comments

It’s ten years since I started this blog. If I hadn’t decided to radically change my life at that point, I might not even have made it this far.

Last night I had another strange dream. Mum had to see a lawyer – a rich and powerful woman – in connection with one of the flats in St Ives. The only snag: this lawyer didn’t speak a word of English, only Irish. Her son Sam did the job of interpreting. After the meeting Mum described the lawyer as “the most horrible woman I’ve ever met”.

Dreams are so often a summary of the previous day. I’d had a late online session with a new guy who knew very little English so the whole lesson was conducted in Romanian. In an earlier session we discussed phrasal verbs and I gave an example of someone collecting their son from school. Sam was his name, of course. I explained that you can pick Sam up or you can pick up Sam, but when you use a pronoun instead of the name, things change. You can pick him up but you can’t pick up him.

I’m slowly getting over this cold, but I’m still low on energy. Outside my lessons but inside my life, not a lot is happening. I meant to say that the Moldovan parliamentary elections took place at the end of September. Maia Sandu’s pro-EU party won handily. That was a relief. In other news, Jane Goodall, the eminent primatologist and a thoroughly good person, died two weeks ago at the age of 91. Her love for primates was sparked a young age when she was given a stuffed toy chimpanzee.

Dad recently sent me this video of a Tiny Desk concert featuring the band Big Thief. It dates back to the early days of this blog, when Obama was still president. It’s excellent. My favourite Big Thief song (that I’ve heard so far) is Double Infinity, although Grandmother gives it a good run for its money.

Books - Cat - Family - Language learning - Other sports - Politics

The too-hard basket

July 20, 2025 by 0 Comments

I just took Kitty out for a drive. She spent one hour in a large cardboard box, 70 by 50 by 30 cm, with holes cut out of it (obviously) and an absorbent blanket at the bottom. (Lately I’ve put her food in the box to get her used to it.) She clearly didn’t love the experience, but she wasn’t traumatised by it either, so I’ll try it again in a few days. When I was little, our cat would be let loose in the Allegro or the Mazda on our five-hour-plus trips to and from Wales. With Kitty, that would be beyond dangerous.

Three weeks since I left my brother’s place, I’ve still got the cold I picked up from (probably) my nephew. He picks up a bug from nursery, infects his mum and dad and anyone else he comes into contact within, then three days later he’s as happy as Larry while everyone else is suffering for weeks. Mum and Dad have still got it too. Mum didn’t look great at all when I saw her on WhatsApp yesterday. They leave in only five days. I hope their trip back goes smoothly, or as smoothly as something like that ever can. At least this time they’ll break up their journey with a stopover in Singapore. I never want them to go direct again. Despite none of us being 100%, we had a really nice chat which made me feel good. Mum had been to meet up a few of the teachers from her school in St Ives, for the first time in about a decade. She was struck by how hard they had found the Covid period. We were pretty lucky in NZ, weren’t we? No Matt Hancock, who really should be behind bars. I was lucky too. Romania was at times riddled with virus, but my personal circumstances allowed me to dodge the worst of it.

The night before last I slept terribly. Yesterday I just had one lesson – maths in Dumbrăvița in the morning – and when I came back I lay on the sofa, washed out, where I finished Ella Minnow Pea (a fun read) and watched round three of the Open golf. My yearly golf watching. I like the Open visually: the dunes, the crags, the ever-changing skies, the squalls that come out of nowhere. I enjoy seeing top golfers battle near-horizontal rain and brutal rough. I particularly enjoy it when there’s a packed leaderboard on the final day and half a dozen potential winners as they turn for home, and a previously unheralded player keeps it together through all the mayhem to win – to make history – with a score of maybe three under par. This year’s tournament is taking place at Royal Portrush in Northern Ireland. Barring the heavy shower I saw on day two which added to the drama, the conditions have mostly been benign. Scottie Scheffler – number one in the world and a brilliant player – has taken a four-shot lead going into the last round, which might be a procession. A shame if so. World number ones haven’t won many Opens in recent times. Tiger Woods was the last to do it, I think. Rory McIlroy is six shots off the lead. He’s from Northern Ireland and a huge star in the game, so it’s no surprise that the crowd went nuts throughout his round of 66 yesterday.

Since the bit I wrote last time about council tax, I’ve been thinking about how hard it is to get these kinds of things right. Coming up with a fair and workable system is oh so complicated. Countries like New Zealand benefit here from being small, with relatively few working parts. What you don’t do though is hold your hands up and say it’s too hard. That’s exactly what the UK government is doing. We know this is unfair and absurd, but we’ll keep it the same (which in reality means making it worse: it will only become more unfair and absurd over time) because it’s too politically hard to change anything. And that’s just one aspect of tax policy. It’s the same thing with immigration, healthcare, housing, energy, infrastructure, the lot. Education isn’t too bad in the UK and they’ve made some progress on the environment. But everything else is going backwards because of a lack of political will to do anything. It’s the same all over the western world. The only people who do have the balls to change anything are those who aren’t interested in a fairer world and just want to make their mark. So they make things more shit. As I keep saying, how did we get here? When I was over in the UK recently, I watched an episode of Newsnight. They had ex-policitians (with opposing views) on the programme to discuss Labour’s climbdown on benefits. Adults, talking about a serious topic in a civil manner. This would no longer happen in America, I kept thinking. For the UK at least, there is still hope.

Next week’s challenge: for seven days, everything I read or listen to must be in Romanian where at all possible. I will also write something in Romanian every day. My Romanian has stalled and I can’t not do anything about it because it’s too hard.

Books - Films - Politics - Travel: Europe

As I go away, Mad Max is upon us

June 24, 2025 by 0 Comments

I’ll be off very early in the morning – I’ll call a taxi to the airport at four. From Luton I’ll take a coach to Cambridge, then a local bus to St Ives which will only cost £2. I should get to Mum and Dad’s flat around midday. As well as St Ives, I’ve got my brother and his family to look forward down in Poole, then a day trip to Birmingham. After the debacle of last August, I decided I couldn’t face another night at Luton airport, so I’m flying from Stansted to Budapest instead. My long-distance bus to Timișoara is due to get in at 1:30 in the morning. Not ideal, but anything beats a sleepless night at Luton.

I’d hoped to avoid family discussion of politics because it’s always so negative. (I yearn for the days when politics just “did its thing” in the background and we didn’t have the toxicity of social media.) But after the Iran strikes, it’ll be hard to dodge entirely. Dad and I had discussed the prospect just hours before it happened. No, Trump wouldn’t do that. He’s too cowardly and joining a war is altogether too much like hard work for him. But then he damn well did it, using bombs called MOP which could hardly sound more innocuous. His motivation is pretty thin and probably doesn’t run much deeper than, no-one’s given me a goddamn Nobel peace prize yet so fuck it, I’m gonna bomb the shit out of Iran. He just craves the attention, the fame, never being out of the news for one moment. The actual threat posed by Iran (or lack of one – who really knows) doesn’t come into it. I’d be shocked if any good comes out of this. What I do know is that international law is basically dead, the UN might as well be dead, American law is meaningless for someone like Trump, and democracy is teetering on the edge everywhere. I recently watched the 1979 Aussie cult film Mad Max for the first time to see what all the fuss was about; we really are rapidly descending into a Mad Max world. It’s all so scary. I just dearly hope that at least the UK and Keir Starmer stay well out of the war in the Middle East. Memories of the Iraq war are still fresh, even after 22 years.

Last night I saw a film with Dorothy at Studio cinema, one of the old theatres that has recently been reopened. We saw Kontinental ’25, a Romanian film set in Cluj very recently as the title suggests. The smart city, the city of the future, the city with a certain animosity between Romanians and Hungarians, they couldn’t have chosen a better place in the country for this sort of film. It was a damn good film, hilarious in parts, dark in others, and very thought-provoking. Unusually, the camera would often focus on somewhere in the city, perhaps an apartment block, for ten seconds or more. This was quite striking. Afterwards we went to Berăria 700 where we both had bulz. They’ve now opened three of Timișoara’s old cinemas, with two more on the way. One of those two is Dacia – see below for what it looked like last Friday.

I finished Wessex Tales on Saturday. It’s all set close to where my brother lives. The biggest town, Casterbridge, is in fact Dorchester where my niece was born. The name Dorchester sounds quite posh, doesn’t it? (My nephew was born in Poole.) I used to think Wessex itself was a made-up name. Come to think of it, I thought the name Transylvania was made up, too. Many people think Timbuktu and Kalamazoo are invented, but they’re real as well. (Timbuktu is in Mali; Kalamazoo is in Michigan.)

I’ve shown Elena what to do with Kitty. My biggest concern is remembering not to enter auto-pilot and lock my front door at the bottom. Locking it at the bottom would lead to an enormous mess that doesn’t bear thinking about.

This week, 15-year-old Romanians have their evaluare națională, a pair of pressure-packed exams (in Romanian and maths) that will determine where they spend their final years of school.

I hadn’t been to the communist-block-heavy Dacia area for ages. Shots like this featured heavily in that film last night. There are three “jocuri de noroc” (basically pokie machine) places in this picture.

China shop. Maybe you’ll find a bull in there.

Dacia market

Lugoj yesterday. The guy on the left was the steadier player and I imagine he won in the end.

A popular spot for swimming

Family - Politics - Romania - Travel: Romania

Stress test: my parents’ stay

May 26, 2025 by 0 Comments

The weather has been cooler and wetter than normal for this time of year. The pungent whiff of lime trees all over the city has therefore been delayed. If it could stay like this all through the summer I’d be most happy, but it most certainly won’t.

Nicușor Dan will be sworn in as president later today. When I spoke to Matei’s parents on Saturday, they talked of their plans to leave the country in the event of a Simion victory. Like many others with good jobs in the main cities, they weren’t joking. A win for Simion would have meant another brain drain out of Romania. On Thursday, however, I had a lesson with a 14-year-old boy who said the election results were fake because just look at how many followers Simion has on TikTok! He said he expected “chaos” in Romania now and lamented the fact that Romania couldn’t have a “real man” as president. Ugh. If he is at all typical of his generation, Romania’s long-term future is bleak.

I’ve been exhausted ever since Mum and Dad left early on Thursday morning. I’ve had some very busy days of lessons, plus on Friday I had a meeting about the books. Plural now, because the publishers have decided to wrap both books into one “project” that still needs to be approved by an organisation called the AFCN (Administrația Fondului Cultural Național) which provides funding for cultural projects like books. The older lady went through all of this in great detail while I struggled to stay awake, even though I knew it was important. I was just that tired. (Also, in the morning, Dorothy got me to deliver a table from her friend’s house to hers. The table was an inch too wide to fit in my car, so it needed to be taken apart. Her friend didn’t have enough screwdrivers and spanners – I’d have brought some if I’d known – so she had to borrow some off her neighbour who luckily was in. I could have done without all that.) After nine hours of lessons on Saturday, I spent most of yesterday getting bits and pieces together for the AFCN, including CVs for both me and my father, a “justification” for the project, excerpts and so on. I still haven’t got the title finalised for the large book.

So I set the alarm for 3:50 on Thursday morning which, as it turned out, was far earlier than I needed to. I let Mum cuddle Kitty one last time (how much she liked the cat was a revelation after all the negativity when I got her), then took Mum and Dad to the airport where they checked in, and that was that. Their flight and trip from Luton to St Ives were painless. When they got to the flat, Mum sent me a lovely email to say how much she appreciated my help in Romania and also how helpful the staff at the airport bus station were. On Friday my brother came to the flat, then on Saturday he drove Mum and Dad down to Poole. They’ve now seen their granddaughter for the first time. Mum was busy playing with her grandson in the background and everything looked very jolly.

She wasn’t quite like that with me. Just like when I visited New Zealand in 2023, she would switch from being lovely to being someone I didn’t want to be within a mile of, at the drop of a hat. With all the talk of her digestive problems, which still need to be properly looked at, her stress levels are a much bigger issue. That’s why that trip we did was badly planned on my part – all that booking accommodation and driving was just begging for her to turn shitty. I mean, I even don’t like to move that often. And she now lacks that sense of adventure that she once had.

Last Tuesday I had lessons until 7:30. We went to the beer factory afterwards – a pretty late dinner by our standards. That didn’t help. Mum wasn’t in a great mood – maybe she was nervous for the trip to the UK – and she loses interest in food if it’s not at her normal time. Unlike the other time we ate there, the tables were free of paper menus and instead had QR codes to scan. I’m not at all a fan of QR code menus, but Mum really couldn’t face the idea of ordering dinner in that way. I suggested we eat outside; maybe there’d be paper menus there. Indeed I could see some, but when I asked the waiter for one, he told us – in aggressive fashion – to scan the damn QR code. The paper menus aren’t in English, he said. Look, I can read Romanian. I then got a bit animated, I suppose. Then Mum decided she couldn’t handle me waving my arms like that and stormed out. Great. Dad and I ordered a beer each. Dad told me how hard it is to live with Mum and how he’ll often go to his studio even if he has nothing to paint, just for the peace and quiet. He said he’s resigned to living the rest of his life under constant stress; his remaining years will not be happy ones. It’s all so very sad. A man who would normally float calmly through life, almost like my favourite snooker player Mark Williams, having to live like that. And it’s sad for Mum too – as well as being my mother, she’s fundamentally a very good person who wants the best for people. To see her under so much stress when she’s one of life’s great winners, someone who has everything she could possibly want, is so upsetting. Fifteen minutes later Mum came back, still very angry. We ordered food. Mum’s mood lifted just a little – there were two people who must have been identical twins on the table opposite that looked just like someone she knew in Geraldine. We got home, I put some music on, and we went to bed.

I had no lessons on Wednesday morning, so I took Mum and Dad to Ciacova, a place south of here that I’d only previously been to on a Sunday. In midweek it was much more interesting. Ciacova was a bustling little town, complete with its huge cobbled square, old men on bikes that were almost as old, meeting up for a coffee or (even at that time of day) a beer. As my parents said, it would have made a good film set; it could have been 1950s France. And the surrounding architecture is quite something. They really enjoyed Ciacova and (earlier) Buziaș; going to those places was stress-free – they were good decisions on my part. I know now that the trick is to keep stress to an absolute minimum.

Dad isn’t immune to stress either. So much of it is caused by modern tech. Both my parents struggle with that. I do to, if I’m honest, or rather I make a concerted effort to pick and choose the tech that I can handle. The very idea of a smart watch that can receive messages makes me break out into a cold sweat, so I’ll never get one. Neither will I get one of those “hey Google” thingies that sit on your desk. Dad would also benefit from deleting the damn Daily Mail app from his tablet. So often I’d see him engrossed in it. Come on Dad, you’re better than that. It gets him worked up about LGBTQ stuff which I see as mostly an irrelevance. It’s not even the political position of the paper that bothers me (though it is firmly on the right, while I’ve always thought of Dad as being squarely in the middle); it’s the bile and hatred that it – and the people who comment on it – spit out. Reading it will make you bitter and angry.

I plan to spend nine days in the UK from 24th June – I’ll meet up with the whole family over there – though I haven’t yet decided what to do with Kitty. Later in the summer I’m planning to visit Poland. Stay in the same place for five nights. Don’t move. Life is easier that way.

I’ve got more to say, but this has already been a long one. I’ll put up some photos next time.

Family - Politics - Romania - Tennis

Dan the man (what a relief)

May 19, 2025 by 0 Comments

Frankly I’m shocked. Romanians used their collective brainpower to not elect George Simion, a thug, a bully, an ex-football hooligan, an isolationist (which you can’t sensibly be in Romania), a Trump fan and a Russian sympathiser. Instead they gave a five-year presidential term to Nicușor Dan, mayor of Bucharest, who is pro-Europe and pro-brain. Dan got 53.6%. At the beginning the result was in doubt. At 9pm a pair of exit polls showed Dan in the 54-55% range, but the diaspora (who made up about 14% of the overall vote and for some bizarre reason favoured Simion) weren’t included in those estimates. The polls only had to be off by three points or so and Simion could have won. Both Dan and Simion claimed victory initially, but Dan and his supporters were clearly in a chirpier mood while Simion was dripping with aggression – there was a man in a red MAGA hat alongside him which told you all you needed to know. (Simion had called his opponent “autistic” and had refused to debate with him.) The results came through impressively quickly and by 10:30 there was no realistic path to victory for Simion. With the diaspora factored in, the exit polls were pretty much bang on. (By the way, of the 301 New Zealand-based Romanians who voted, only 37 cast their votes for Simion.)

It was interesting watching the coverage with Mum and Dad. I was able to translate the speeches and commentary. The election is hugely consequential for Romania and for Europe, even if it’s had limited press around the world. It really looked like Romania would be the latest domino to fall. After all, Simion won the first round by a huge margin; Dan only just made it into the final round. Yesterday I was encouraged by high turnout in obvious Dan-friendly areas like Cluj and lower numbers where Simion would be strongest – turnout figures were reported throughout the day – but didn’t dare to believe. I’d been there before with Brexit, Trump and heaven knows what else. But it was clear that there was a heavy mobilisation of people in the second round against Simion. Two million more people turned out compared to the first round – turnout was almost 65% which in Romania is very high. Dan will now set about forming a government made up of pro-European parties.

In some ways I get the appeal of someone like Simion. Capitalism and globalisation are no longer working. Societies are breaking down. The invasion of tech is becoming more sinister and taking away people’s jobs. The environment is deteriorating as I type. Something needs to change. But certainly not in the simplistic, belligerent way Simion wanted. For the moment we’ve dodged a bullet. I should be able to live and work in Romania in peace, to see more of the country, to at least try and improve my command of the language. I still have a future here, and that’s a blessed relief.

Mum and Dad have gone for a walk into town. That’s a blessed relief too after Mum’s endless cleaning and tidying and rearranging. Earlier this morning Dad helped me move a disintegrating chaise longue into the car; I then took it to the tip. That was a good job done.

Yesterday I took Mum and Dad to Scârț where we met Dorothy. After our coffee we looked at all the weird and wonderful Ceaușescu-era artifacts downstairs. I was on edge all day yesterday; mostly I was dreading the results of the election. When we got back I had a two-hour maths lesson. After that we watched the men’s tennis final from Rome (on clay courts next to the Tiber River) between Carlos Alcaraz and Jannik Sinner. I hadn’t thought of watching tennis for some time, but Mum still follows it. Sinner had two set points in a long opening set, but Alcaraz won it on a tie-break before racing through the second 6-1. Dad was surprised they didn’t play best of five sets. They once did play five sets in these big finals; Rome had two absolute classics in 2005 and 2006.

Family - Life :) - Politics

Romania, where power is cheap

May 8, 2025 by 0 Comments

If I’ve got it right, Mum and Dad have just arrived in Munich. Or at least their flight has. It was a 13-hour leg from Singapore. Yesterday I was tracking their progress across Australia on FlightRadar24 – one of the best sites out there. They were just west of a village called Camooweal (fun name; Australian outback placenames so often are) which was just west of the mining town of Mount Isa where Greg Norman and Pat Rafter come from, but of course nothing is just west of anything out there. Anyway, in a few hours I should actually see my parents. What state they’ll be in is anyone’s guess. I spent some of yesterday cooking for them. I’ve always wanted to make an enormous pizza covering the whole baking tray and bursting out the sides, and yesterday I did it using Mum’s recipe (Mum has always made very good pizzas). I also made a mix to go with pasta, using the 18-inch sausage I got from the market. So they shouldn’t go hungry. Another thing I did was to start the process of brewing elderflower cordial like I did last year, using 20 or so heads from Dorothy’s plants.

At 3:28 yesterday afternoon, just before I was about to start an online lesson with a young boy, my doorbell rang. God, who is it? It was a youngish man in a uniform. I opened the door. He was from PPC, the power company. “Look, I’ve literally got two minutes.” He told me that prices are going to shoot up because of something the government are doing, then he said a lot of other very fast Romanian that I struggled to keep up with, and he told me I had to sign a contract right there, right then, to get “120% cheaper” electricity. Jeez, 120% cheaper. They do all this mind-numbing abstract shit in maths classes here, you see, rather than anything vaguely practical like percentages. “But that’s impossible.” No, believe me. “No, it really is impossible. You’d be paying me to give me electricity. Anyway I have to work now so I can’t sign anything.” I had lessons until 8:30. The other residents – most of whom are retired – got a visit too. Just after 8:30 I went up to see Elena, the lady above me. I didn’t take Kitty like I normally do. She said I really did need to sign, otherwise my bills would indeed shoot up. Is there any way I could still sign? I’ll try and see someone at the PPC office on Friday, but this is one life admin thing I could do without.

Skype was killed earlier this week. I’d used it since way back, before it was taken over by Microsoft, and I already miss it. Skype had become a verb; Teams (its replacement) doesn’t work so well as a verb, even if it sounds vaguely like times which some kids do use as a verb in elementary maths – “I timesed it by seven and then minused four”. The good news is that they’ve transferred the Skype dial pad over to Teams, so I’m able to use Teams as a phone. Yesterday I had to call my web host (based in America) and that was the only way to do it. That was because plutoman.com is coming up for an automatic renewal but they had my old bank card on the system.

It was good to see Dorothy again before my parents come. As I tried to negotiate the deep potholes coming into her village, she said the tarmac on the road was put there ten years and two presidential elections ago. Vote for me and we’ll tarmac your road. Pork-barrel politics, I think they call that. But it was a crude, rushed job.

I was pleased to see Australia move away from anything vaguely Trumpian in their election. Albanese was re-elected by a surprising margin. It was similar in a way to what happened in Canada. But here in Romania we’re doing the exact opposite. Ten days until the second round.

My parents should arrive in Timișoara around 1:30 this afternoon.
Update: They’re just about to fly over Lake Balaton. Some weird codeshare thingy meant it took me a while to locate their flight from Munich. I’ll make my way to the airport pretty soon. It’s a wet day here; I doubt that’ll bother Mum and Dad too much.

Life :) - Other sports - Politics

The big break from life is over

May 7, 2025 by 0 Comments

Well, the snooker’s over. Seventeen days of blissful escape, and now I’m back down to earth with a bump, or rather a beep – I’m getting regular phone alerts to tell me the latest terrifying developments in Romanian politics.

Mark Williams’ run to the final had been mad, uplifting, at times exhilarating, and I’d have loved him to have won his fourth world title, but alas it didn’t happen. Zhao Xintong, who became China’s first world champion (surely the first of many), could pot anything from anywhere, as he had all tournament. Williams wasn’t a patch on the player who had beaten Judd Trump in such gutsy fashion. He looked weather-beaten after four close matches, the balls didn’t exactly run his way either (he would pot great long reds but could never get on a colour), and he ended the first session 7-1 down. He shaded the second session 5-4 to give him a faint glimmer. Maybe, just maybe, the dream is still alive. I didn’t see the third session, apart from one frame in which Zhao fluked both the green and the blue. It didn’t go well. Williams only just took the match into the final evening session; he (quite preposterously) needed all ten frames while Zhao wanted just the one. Then came a glorious cameo, four frames of Williams brilliance. His break of 73 in the fourth frame – jam-packed with very difficult shots – was superb. With the pressure off, he was having fun out there. Then Zhao won the following frame to complete the victory that he richly deserved. Coming from the qualifiers, he’d had to win nine straight matches. He’s 28, but looks much younger. An immense talent, he displayed an almost Williams-like attitude to playing the game. He seemed a thoroughly nice guy too.

George Simion got 41% in the first round of the election. Nicușor Dan, mayor of Bucharest, squeaked into the second round on 21%, just ahead of Crin Antonescu. Dan, who is also an accomplished mathematician, would have been my pick, but I can’t see how he wins the run-off. The government has also collapsed. The parties who could have united to oppose Simion and his mob are instead fighting each other. The leu has dropped to less than a fifth of a euro. Most people I’ve spoken to in the last couple of days – people who have brains – think this is all very bad news. Romania has made very real progress in the time I’ve been here, but now runs the risk of throwing that all away – and more – in the blink of an eye. So sad, and in the long term who knows what it will mean for me.

This morning I took Dorothy to Buzad. No car issues. She gave me some elderflower and herbs from her garden to take back, while I gave her some pizza that I’d made. On the way, there were an impressive number of storks up lamp-posts, and not all nesting.

Mum and Dad’s arrival is just a day and a half away. They’re flying from Christchurch to Singapore, then to Munich, and finally a short hop to Timișoara. I can’t wait. I wonder what they’ll think of Kitty.