Scrabble

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Deep freeze

January 11, 2026 by 0 Comments

It’s been bitterly cold. On Friday morning it was minus 16 degrees. As I write this at 9:30 on Sunday morning, it’s −9; the top temperature today is forecast to be −5. Yesterday, when we soared to the dizzy heights of zero, I had to drive to my two maths lessons in Dumbrăvița. The main roads had been ploughed of snow, so they weren’t too bad, but the side roads bordered on treacherous. It was also foggy on my journey out there. (I got all-weather tyres put on my car. A lot of people make a twice-yearly switch between summer and winter tyres, but it’s a real palaver that can take up an entire weekend.) I was very glad to get home. It’s all very reminiscent of my first winter here, nine years ago, when the river froze and there were icicles hanging from the building I’d just moved into. Kids under about 13 have no recollection of a proper winter, but winters like this – and even more extreme – used to be an annual occurrence here. The snow has got the young ones all excited, and we’ve got more coming in the next few days. Apart from driving which required serious concentration yesterday, I have no problem coping with these rather nippy conditions. There’s always something you can do to keep warm. Summer is a totally different ball game though.

On my trip to Dumbrăvița yesterday they played Crowded House’s Weather With You on the radio. A nice touch, assuming it was deliberate. The song immediately before that was Der Kommissar by Falco, which came out at the end of 1981. I still remember when their bigger hit Rock Me Amadeus came out in ’85. The night before I had a dream where I was hiking somewhere in Romania and met a younger British woman. For some reason she showed me an ID photo with her face on it. Her surname was Smith. She then told me she’d changed her surname to Poxam. I attempted to spell it, putting an h after the x, but she said it was H-less. Then she asked me if I’d like to come and see her in the UK, at which point I woke up. I wonder where I got that name from. Poxham is a plausible name for a British village. There is a Poxham out there, and in fact it’s a picturesque hamlet in Austria. The closest name I’ve ever had anything to do with is Moxham Avenue, the main street in the Wellington suburb of Hataitai. I once put in an offer on a flat in a Disney-style block there, but it wasn’t accepted.

Lately I’ve been tuning out of politics and international news. That’s just as well; what’s coming out of America would drive me to insanity if I paid close attention to it. However, the shooting – cold-blooded murder – by an ICE officer of an innocent mother driving her car in Minneapolis was too awful to ignore. America right now seems a lost cause. I sometimes laugh when I hear people intellectualising the president, using adjectives like transactional, when really it’s far, far simpler. He’s a piece of shit who cares for nothing but his own power and ego and has no respect for human life. He enjoys hurting other people. Most of the people around him are pieces of shit too. And 77 million people voted for that, with their eyes wide open. None of what is happening is a surprise.

Scrabble. The latest round of league matches is over, and just like last time I won eight and lost six. That vastly surpassed my early expectations – I had a pretty rough start. So that should mean I’ll stay in the same division for the fourth round in succession. Yesterday I played six games on ISC. I lost the first of them, then won four straight before being hammered 508-306 in my last game. In that game I drew terribly to the point where it was probably unwinnable no matter what I did, but I was still disappointed with my decision making. More generally, my word knowledge keeps letting me down. I’m still totally ignorant of a lot of very useful fours and fives, and even if I do know them, I’m likely to miss them because I haven’t played enough for my brain to properly “zone in”. Missing – or simply not knowing – these words has all kinds of knock-on effects. It makes it harder to sort out a bad rack, leading to lower scores (and fewer bingos) down the line. The tournament in Cluj is six weeks away, on 21st and 22nd February. I don’t know if I could realistically make that. It’s a four-hour drive so I’d have to go up the day before and miss some work. I was hoping there would be a sleeper train but there doesn’t seem to be. So far I’ve watched the first three episodes of The Queen’s Gambit which Mark recommended to me. I didn’t like the ending of the third episode – Beth’s stepmother really needed to tell Beth to “pull her head in” – but hey. So far it’s clear that however scary a Scrabble tournament would be, at least it wouldn’t be as bad as chess.

The last time I spoke to my brother, things weren’t easy for him. He said he’d like to take the kids camping at some point, but there’s no way his wife would ever go. She prefers cruises or Center Parcs (the name makes me shudder), neither of which are my brother’s cup of tea, and they wouldn’t be mine either. We had great camping trips as kids, and I’m sure my nephew would love camping. With my brother’s line of work, it would be right up his street too. And what’s more, they live in a great part of the country for it. Practically right on the coast, with the New Forest on their doorstep, and a quick hop over to France if they ever felt like camping over there. I hope my sister-in-law can be convinced.

Cat - Family - Language teaching - New Zealand - Other sports - Photos - Scrabble

The Year of the Cat

January 1, 2026 by 0 Comments

It’s properly cold now. We’ve had flurries of snow both yesterday and today. When I went off to my lesson with an eleven-year-old boy – my 862nd and final lesson of the year if my records are correct – it was minus six. I drove, when normally I’d cycle. I took a detour after the session, and stopped for sandwiches at Bobda, a place I went to four years ago to the day, that time on my bike. It had just gone 1pm – midnight in New Zealand – so I called Mum on WhatsApp, thinking she may have already gone to bed in which case she just wouldn’t answer, but no, my parents were still up and about. They’d just seen the Sky Tower fireworks on TV. Sometimes they’d go down to Caroline Bay, but not this time.

This extraordinary Catholic church in Bobda hasn’t been divinum or nobiscum for quite some time

I got Kitty at the start of the year. She hasn’t totally wrecked my life as my parents predicted. She’s certainly much more comfortable here than in those first couple of months – the biting-and-scratching-and-cowering phase. But last night I thought, there’s still something off about you, Kitty, isn’t there? Your body is so damn tense all the time. Why can’t you just relax? Sometimes she’ll sit on my lap or I’ll hold her in my arms, but never for more than a minute or two. As I said, her body isn’t relaxed and she wants to wriggle away all the time. That makes it hard to build up much of a rapport with her, which is a shame. I’m trying to play with her more and may even get a harness so she can go outside. I hope that she calms down a bit as she gets older. Here’s Al Stewart’s Year of the Cat.

Kitty on Christmas Day

There are still seven hours of 2025 left where I am. I don’t think I can face going into town for the New Year celebrations where it’ll be rammed as Brits say, and any sort of party is out of the question. Spending less time with people over the festive season has been wonderful, and I don’t want that to stop for another few days at least. As for 2026, it feels like a very hard to predict year. There are so many imponderables both on a worldwide level and for my family. The business with their flat in St Ives, their health (which is often hard to ascertain), whether they’ll make it to Europe, so much is up in the air. On Christmas Day I mentioned to Mum that I’ll need to get round to booking some flights. She asked where to. When I said New Zealand, she seemed surprised. It was almost as case of “Why would you want to do that?” Wouldn’t it be really cool if she said, “That would be absolutely lovely.”

I finished the latest Scrabble league with a record of eight wins and six losses. That means I’ll be back in the same division for the third time running. I was pleased with how I played overall. The lady from Palmerston North was one of two weaker players in the division; they will both be relegated. The next round starts tomorrow. I thought if I’m ever going to play a real-life Scrabble tournament (against the clock and with challenges) I should at the very least try an online version, so yesterday I tried my hand at one that was run by someone in Sri Lanka, scheduled for eight games each. It turned out to be a shitshow. It was due to start at 11:30 am my time (3pm for the organiser; India and Sri Lanka are on a half-hour time zone, just like the central third of Australia and a few other places). But most of the entrants didn’t even show up. Blame the ridiculous registration process for that; one click and you were committed, with no way of backing out. The organiser delayed the start for half an hour in a vain hope that more people might present themselves, but they never did. Eventually I played a game. A good game it was too. My opponent drew fantastically and I lost by 50-odd – no shame in that – even though I successfully challenged off his play of DOUG which as I suspected is just a bloke’s name. In the second game my opponent played ANECDOTA. I’d never seen that word before so I challenged, but it was valid. A little while later he said he had an emergency. Could I cancel the game? OK then. Five minutes later the game restarted from the beginning. Emergency over, he said. What the heck is this?! He wasn’t a good player, he was quite possibly cheating, and he definitely seemed to be a complete dick. Thankfully I was able to beat him. In game three I played someone better than me but was fortunate in my draws and ran up a big lead; despite my best efforts to blow it, I hung on to win. Then the organiser mercifully called a halt to proceedings. If real-life competitive Scrabble is anything like that, you can count me out.

Yesterday I watched some of the darts. I hadn’t watched any of this year’s tournament prior to that. One of the matches featured Krzyzstof Ratajski of Poland. I guess Polish Scrabble might be quite interesting. Another match involved a debutant called Justin Hood who remarkably hit all of his first eleven attempts at a double. His twelfth was match dart which he missed, but he completed a 4-0 whitewash over the much higher ranked Josh Rock all the same.

Family - Life :) - Music - Scrabble

The game is rigged (and a health update)

December 24, 2025 by 0 Comments

Firstly, Dad sent me a video entitled How to Get Rich. It’s a must-watch. The game of accumulating wealth is increasingly rigged against young people (and even not-so-young people) unless they happen to have rich parents. And upsettingly (and “coincidentally”), people’s self-worth became synonymous with wealth in the eighties, just when the rigging clicked into overdrive. My solution to the rigged game was to walk off the pitch entirely, and I say that as as someone who does have well-off parents, if not exactly rich ones. Honestly I gave up chasing wealth in my late twenties, well before I even thought about living anywhere near Romania.

I spoke to Dad on Sunday night (Monday morning over there). Mum happened to be at the supermarket. Dad looked terrible. He felt dizzy and spoke of an attack of some sort, less than an hour before we spoke and just before Mum went out. His symptoms sounded akin to a mini stroke. While we were talking, Mum came home looking as happy as Larry. She asked me why I looked so worried. Dad later emailed me to say that he and Mum had managed to go for a walk, which was good to hear, and other than that he’d spent the rest of the day working on a painting in the studio. Mum, for her part, hasn’t been great either.

I’ve been on a go-slow today. I just felt so tired. Yesterday I only had a single two-hour lesson and then had a Christmas dinner of sorts in Dumbrăvița with Mark and his wife. Our last one – they’re moving back to the UK, probably in June. Mark, who (unlike his wife) enjoys cooking, made a risotto, while I brought over both my leftover cottage pie and a salată de boeuf I’d made earlier in the day. We had some interesting conversation, a lot of it (inevitably) about teaching because we all do so much of it. Mark’s wife at one point commented that eating out in Romania has got so much more expensive, saying she’d recently been out for sushi with one of the other teachers; it cost the equivalent of £80 each. What?! I said that I’d never spent eighty quid on a meal out in my life, which was certainly no lie. Unexpectedly, the three of us ended up playing Texas Hold ’em poker. Mark busted out early, then his wife won heads-up against me. Really I just wanted to get home by that point.

Scrabble. I’m back playing the Romanian guy again. He says he wants me to play real-life Scrabble. There’s a tournament in Cluj (which is where he lives) in February. Just weeks away. Playing serious Scrabble over the board would be a pretty nerve-wracking experience for me. Top players don’t just put down words, they also do admin stuff like tile-tracking so they can later figure out the endgame, which is something I’ve never done because when you play online that’s all done for you. Plus I might just be too busy for something like that. I’ll have to think about it. Overall I haven’t done badly in the league this time around. I had two surprise narrow victories (by ten and five points) which have certainly helped me.

I never mentioned the Bondi Beach shooting that happened last week, killing at least 15 people including a ten-year-old girl. I stayed at Bondi Beach in 2000, a few weeks before the Olympics, while my parents were living in Cairns. I think of Australia as being a safe haven of sorts, but it’s just as vulnerable to terror attacks as anywhere else; there have been a number in the last decade or so.

I heard that Chris Rea has died. He’s most famous for Driving Home for Christmas which is an excellent Christmas song, though I really like his Road to Hell and especially Auberge.

We’re losing pop and rock stars at a rate of knots now. It’s hard to believe that nearly ten years have passed since David Bowie died. Lately my go-to song has been his Sound and Vision.

Tomorrow will be my cleaning-up day.

Cat - Family - Language teaching - Music - Photos - Scrabble

Loads of lessons — time for a break

December 15, 2025 by 0 Comments

I took Kitty to the vet on Friday for her latest round of flea treatments and a general warrant of fitness. As I suspected after changing her food, she’d put on a smidgen of weight: according to their scales (which have 50-gram precision) she was exactly three kilos. She’ll always be a little kitty.

Last week was a very busy one with 35 hours of lessons. That’s a lot of contact time. A lot of talking. When you add in all the preparation, it was a pretty draining week. I’m now staring at my diary for tomorrow; after my early-morning lesson with the Romanian teacher I’ve got six sessions, finishing at 9:30 pm. I’m seriously looking forward to the Christmas break, in particular the days between Christmas and New Year when not a lot happens. This morning I bought an artificial Christmas tree from the supermarket. In some ways I’d have preferred a real one – I like their smell – but I had a look at them at the market and decided they weren’t really cost-effective for a single person. I’m glad I got to the mall this morning at nine, before it became impossibly busy for me. (Only the supermarket is open at that time; the other shops don’t open till ten.) I wondered what the heck was going on with the decorations you could buy in beige and other pastel shades. “Billy, I’ll put the oatmeal candy cane on this side just above the pale lilac Santa hat, and you can put the taupe reindeer over there. There’s a good boy.” Is it because it looks better on Instagram?

Mum and Dad went to Moeraki last week. They called me from outside the fish and chip shop in Hampden, which is the only place they can get a signal. They enjoyed themselves down there, as they usually do. Mum slept a lot. They plan to spend a few days there straight after Christmas.

My first round of the Scrabble league finished last Tuesday. To my surprise, I narrowly avoided relegation with a record of six wins and eight losses. That might not sound great, but I was delighted with the result. It all came down to my final game – with four of the five relegation spots already taken, it was a straight shoot-out, with the winner avoiding the drop. The correspondence format, where you often have to wait hours between moves, made for some nerve-wracking moments. I’d built up a handy lead in that last game but, partly thanks to my total lack of experience in these sorts of situations, did my best to blow it. My last two tiles were Q and J, and I could only play one of them. I decided to play the Q, but that allowed my opponent to play MEOW which a J play would have blocked. (I really should have seen that word.) He then played one tile at a time to maximise his score while I was stuck with the J. I just had enough of a buffer though, and I won in the end by 19. It’s possible they’ll rejig the divisions and I’ll be relegated anyway, and if that happens I’ll be pretty peeved – eking out those six wins took a real effort. The next round starts this Thursday.

On Friday I met up with Dorothy and another friend in town for coffee. And three-way Romanian Scrabble. The café has an upstairs bit, so we took the Scrabble up there. Our friend hadn’t played before, so despite playing in her native language, she wasn’t tuned into triple word scores and the like. In the end I won, finishing just seven points ahead of Dorothy. At one point I had a bunch of vowels and I queried whether AIOLI was valid in Romanian. Our friend asked the waitress about the validity of AIOLI. Unsurprisingly, this was met by a Huh?

A song I’ve been playing a lot in the last few days is John Lennon’s Watching the Wheels, one of his last songs before he was murdered.

It really does feel like time for a break.

Family - Language teaching - Music - Photos - Romania - Scrabble

December in Timișoara and being out of my league

December 8, 2025 by 0 Comments

A lot of stuff happens in Romania in December. The first of the month is the national day with all the parades of military and emergency vehicles. I wasn’t able to see the parade this time, but in the early evening I saw the bit where they march through the city carrying torches and stop every few minutes to sing the national anthem. A few days later there’s St Nicholas’ Day where all the kids get goody bags which always include a stick. Then on the 16th and for a few days afterwards there are commemorations of those who died in the 1989 revolution – that gets particular attention in Timișoara because it all kicked off here. Not long after that it’s Christmas, which is huge, though thankfully still not quite at the level of the UK. After a few blissful days it’s New Year’s Eve which is massive. As the clock ticks towards midnight, it’s practically impossible to move in town for people, as I found out nine years ago. (That was only my second night in my old flat.) Through it all and into January there’s the Christmas market which was very exciting to be among that first time with all the lights and smells. Though it seems far less exciting now – it all just feels normal – it’s actually got bigger.

On Saturday I met Mark in town, in the thick of Christmas market action. There were jazz Christmas songs booming from the stage. Things had all been rejigged to accommodate the extra stuff. We decided to get away from the chaos and go to Piața Unirii where the Museum of Banat was looking quite spectacular with all its Christmas lights. We tried a new restaurant. Predictably, it wasn’t worth it. It rarely is. One young waiter seemed to understand neither Romanian nor English. We sat there for over two hours and all I had was a burger and chips and two beers. Mark also had a dessert – some sort of pancake topped with a meringue which was supposedly some Banat speciality, though I’d never seen it before. I didn’t order a dessert and hoped Mark wouldn’t either because I knew it would mean sitting there for almost another hour.

I went to Ciacova yesterday – one of my favourite small towns around here – but the weather was pretty atrocious and I quickly came home. Other than that there’s not much news. Mum and Dad are currently in Moeraki. I’m glad about that because they manage to relax down there in a way they can’t at home.

Last week I had a session with a 25-year-old woman who said that making a lot of money is important to her. I told her that I gave up on that some time ago, and in fact I earned more at her age than I do now, 20 years later. She wants to move on from her job, not just in the pursuit of wealth but because she currently does shift work and the schedule is horrendous.

I had a difficult moment last week with a 17-year-old girl who in her last session with me made it clear that she didn’t believe in evolution. I find that hard, because to me evolution isn’t something you believe in any more than the result of two plus two is something you believe in. Anyway, on Wednesday night at close to eleven when I was halfway into bed, she sent me a message needing urgent help with an online test. At that time of night. Ugh. Reluctantly I agreed to help her. It was a 15-minute reading comprehension test that was part of the application process for an exchange programme in America. The problem is, her English level is well below what they require. She read the text and the possible answers to me but I struggled to understand what she was saying. If I’d had the text in front of me it would have been easy. In the end we ran out of time. I felt bad for her, but what could I do?

I recently joined an online Scrabble league. They split the participants up into eight divisions of 15 players each. I was put in the sixth division. It has a correspondence format in which you have to play the other 14 players in your division in 14 days. You get ten hours per move. Exceed that and you dip into a three-day time bank. If that runs out too, you lose the game. So there isn’t much time pressure. There is however significant pressure from my opponents who are mostly better than me, even in my lower division. You click on their profiles and they’ve played national and world championships, often with great success. So it’s a real uphill struggle for me. I’m currently on three wins and six losses, with five games still outstanding. Because this league is pretty new, they have an aggressive promotion and relegation system – five up, five down – so that people sort themselves quickly into the right divisions. It’s possible I can still sneak into tenth place and avoid the drop, but I may well end up being relegated. Though my play is sound strategically (I think), my word knowledge is my biggest handicap. As luck would have it, a Romanian player – one of the top-ranked English-language players in the country and a participant of two world championships – is in my division. We chatted in Romanian during our game. At one point he played cAEOmAS. Yes, using both blanks, as if he needed that advantage on top of all his others. I have no idea what that word means or how to pronounce it. I ended up getting stuck with the Q and he beat me by “just” 46. One of my other losses was by five points. My last play was MAN, and then my opponent went out with yet another word I didn’t know. I then remembered that NAM was also a word, and I could have played that instead. That would have given me four extra points, so fortunately it didn’t cost me the game.

On Saturday, the Beatles’ I’ll Follow the Sun came on the radio. Such a beautiful song, and all in a minute and 48 seconds. When I hear something like that (this song is from 1964), I always wonder how older people possibly manage in the modern world.

I’m trying to decide whether I can be bothered to get a Christmas tree. Here are some pictures of Timișoara in December:

The torch parade on 1st December

The Banat museum on Saturday night

Between the two market squares

Family - Music - Scrabble

Keeping the temperature down

December 1, 2025 by 0 Comments

Tomorrow it’ll officially be winter – my tenth in Romania. Winter has a nice cosy feel about it here, all the more so now that I have a cat. Yesterday it tipped it down all day – in my pre-car days I’d have got soaking wet getting to my lessons. We’ve had several days lately with highs of 3 or 4 degrees.

I had an hour-long chat to Mum and Dad this morning. It was all very civil, as if last Sunday’s awful call with Mum had never happened. In the meantime a number of emails bounced around between Dad and me. He talked of Mum’s thin skin, among other things. He said that I can be quite strong in my opinions, particularly when Mum is involved. I don’t think of myself as being opinionated or combative, and I don’t like getting into arguments – if I did, I’d probably lose students quickly – but I appreciate that he said that. In future I will do my best not to react, and to count to ten, even if I think she’s said something totally out of line. (The exception is when she asks me to lie to my brother about her or Dad’s health. I draw the line there. But even then I’ll try to react as calmly as possible. Easier said than done.) That was our fifth verbal bust-up since my parents came here in May, which is far too many. Dad said that over the years he’s learnt not to raise the temperature, as he put it. I totally get that – so often with Mum it’s already baking before you start – but wouldn’t it be nice if you could have a deep, meaningful discussion where you agree and disagree like grown adults? That literally never happens.

Some very good news on the Mum front. She’s been to see the doctor. Properly. The doctor was amazed at Mum’s lack of medical records. They didn’t even know if she’d had children. She was practically a blank slate. On Wednesday she’ll get a full blood test done. This morning she showed me her new vitamin D tablets that she’ll only take once a month. I didn’t know that was possible, but each tablet is 25 times the strength of the ones I take daily. I think Dad’s latest episode was a warning shot across the bow for Mum. They’ve both reached a kind of breaking point. If the apartment sale goes through (and because it’s England, you can never be 100% sure), I really hope that will take the edge off things.

My work week was busy enough, but it wasn’t quite at the level I feared. There were a few cancellations including one really annoying last-minute one. Tomorrow is Romania’s national day – a public holiday – but I’ve got four English lessons anyway, plus the Romanian one.

In the summer I bought a Romanian Scrabble set, and after my lessons yesterday I finally managed to play a game with Dorothy. I won by quite a lot, 392-215, but that was mostly because I drew a lot of high-value tiles which enabled me to score well. I also think my recent games of English Scrabble helped me to see moves over the board. Dorothy got both blanks which are normally a big help, but they came out late and the board was pretty blocked by then. It’s quite a different game in Romanian. The letter values and distributions are different: B is worth five points, G six, C only one. K, Q, W and Y aren’t there at all. There’s no equivalent of a super-powerful S tile: most words can take either an A, E or I on the end, and in some cases all three. Before I even came to Romania, I tried making Romanian words using an English set, ignoring the points, but yesterday’s experience was very different to that. Perhaps the hardest thing was the colour scheme for the premium squares which really messed with my head.

I also managed ten games of Scrabble in English this weekend, winning seven. I’ve just joined a league with a correspondence format – you need to play 14 games simultaneously in 14 days, so you get plenty of freedom as to when you play. It’s split into divisions; the top divisions have some very strong players, so I expect (hope!) I’ll be put in the bottom division. The league starts this Thursday, I think.

Lately I’ve been playing the same song over and over. It’s called Marz, by John Grant. I really liked the ethereal nature of the song and was intrigued by the lyrics. It’s all about a sweet shop called Marz that the singer frequented as a kid, so it touches on childhood nostalgia and that sense of wonder that you have at a young age. Marz is a great name for a sweet shop. I mean, Mars itself is the name of one of the world’s most successful chocolate bars, but then if you really want to attract kids, stick a Z in there. Z means fun and excitement. K has the same effect. Skool looks a lot more kool than school.

The Hong Kong apartment block fire has been all over the news in the last few days. It’s like seven Grenfells in one, with deaths in the hundreds. Utterly horrific. I was shocked to see bamboo scaffolding still being used. I’ve just had a look at other terrible fires that linger in my memory, such as one in a Honduras prison in 2012 (361 deaths) and one in a Bangladesh clothing factory in the same year (117 deaths). The following year a staggering 1134 people died in Bangladesh when a building housing several clothing factories collapsed. I’ve tried to avoid “made in Bangladesh” ever since.

On Friday I had a chat with Elena, the lady who lives above me. Yesterday was her 82nd birthday. She’s still in Canada and will be back her on 10th January.

Family - Films - Other sports - Scrabble

Is this really happening again?

November 24, 2025 by 0 Comments

I managed to completely fall out with Mum last night, for the dozenth time this year. It ended up with her shouting “YOU HATE ME! YOU HATE ME!” (it was definitely all-caps) and leaving me no choice but to end the call. Is this really happening again? After that I slept abysmally.

This all came about because Dad hasn’t been well. Last week he noticed his pulse was fast and irregular, and he’ll be seeing the doctor in the coming days. He told me this on Saturday night, just after I’d got back from the cinema. It was Sunday morning for them, so Mum was at church. Mum had told Dad not to tell me, but he told me anyway. This is obviously a big worry; quite possibly it’s come about from all the stress with the apartment sale in St Ives. I called Mum last night just before I went to bed. The first thing she said was, “Dad’s not well but don’t tell your brother.” I replied, “I will tell him. He needs to know. Why do you have to keep hiding these things?” She said he’s got a lot on his plate with the kids so it’s better he remains ignorant. And it all escalated from there. Mum isn’t exactly 100% herself. She’s practically blind right now, though she’s still driving, and on Saturday Dad told me her bowel issue is far from resolved; she sometimes has to change her clothes after what you might indelicately call a shart.

It’s impossible to disagree with Mum. You just can’t do so while maintaining a polite conversation. The moment you show any kind of dissent, a shouting match ensues. The only way to avoid this is to meekly agree. Mum knows best. And that’s exactly what Dad does. He agrees, just to make life easier in the short term, even if the agreement involves something like buying a house that he knows is unsuitable. In fact I can’t remember the last time I had an in-depth conversation with Mum about anything.

Probably Mum’s second-biggest driver of stress lately, just behind the apartment sale, has been the church roster. Seriously, the church roster. It consumes hours of her time. Days even. She says she has to put it into a PDF and it’s disappeared from the screen and so on and so forth and if I don’t get it out on time I’ll be shunned by all members of the congregation or something ridiculous. Maybe she even thinks she’ll be banished to the burning flames of hell. So last week she bought herself a new laptop, which at the moment she doesn’t know how to use, just to do the church roster. That’s a small clue as to Mum’s level of rationality.

I seriously have to think about what to do next year. I’d love to make a trip to New Zealand, but spending that length of time with Mum might be too risky. It nearly went horribly wrong last time around.

Yesterday was my niece’s christening. It was a double christening; my niece’s cousin (a six-month-old girl) was also baptised. Mum, Dad and I were able to hook up to the service on Teams. The minister who made it all happen was the same one who did my brother’s wedding and my nephew’s christening; he certainly has the capacity to entertain. My nephew spent practically the whole hour-plus event running.

The movie I saw was All the President’s Men, a 1976 film all about how the Watergate saga was covered by the Washington Post. It starred Robert Redford, who died recently, and Dustin Hoffman. I saw it with Dorothy at Cinema Timiș on a cold, wet Saturday evening. (Dorothy also saw it when it came out.) The star of the show was really Ben Bradlee, the newspaper’s chief editor. It made me realise that democracy, in the US and elsewhere, is indeed slowly dying. A modern Watergate would be met with a collective shrug. Of course Trump did instigate something worse than Watergate, and the only consequences for him have been to sue the BBC for a billion dollars.

Birmingham City’s new stadium was revealed last week after much anticipation. It’s going to have chimneys – twelve of them – and be visible for many miles. They plan to have it ready for the 2030-31 season. It’ll be part of a multi-billion-pound “sports quarter”. Something like this, if they have a top-class footballing side to go with it, really could revitalise a flagging city. Aston Villa have been easily the city’s best club over the years, and they have a fancy-sounding name. They don’t carry the name of the city though – the city of industry with all those chimneys – and that counts for something. Maybe Birmingham will be known as the Chimney Boys or something. (I’m not very good at this.)

The latest report from the UK Covid inquiry is out. Quoting verbatim, the chair of the inquiry said that while government was presented with unenviable choices under extreme pressure, “all four governments failed to appreciate the scale of the threat or the urgency of response it demanded in the early part of 2020.” Yes, absolutely. It was shockingly slow, and thousands died unnecessarily as a result. A common point of view is that it was going to be bad no matter what, and no government could have done anything about it. I disagree entirely with that.

I played six games of Scrabble yesterday, losing five. Not my best day, but I also drew poorly. That happens. Sharted is valid, and off the top of my head it has six anagrams: hardest, hardset, hatreds, threads, dearths and trashed.

A big week of lessons in store. I’ve got 36½ hours scheduled. They may not all happen – I usually get at least a couple of cancellations – but I don’t expect to have much free time.

Cat - Family - Language teaching - Scrabble

Sometimes your principles need to go out the window

November 19, 2025 by 0 Comments

At 8:30 this morning I met Dorothy at the immigration office. She’d being trying to renew her residence permit, just like I did back in April, but struggling with the online process that (like me) she found impenetrable. This time, to her great relief, the man at the desk allowed her to bypass the inscrutable portal and get her permit processed manually. They probably took pity on her because of her age. (I was lucky that the place was pretty much deserted when I went.) She was there for ages behind a sort of curtain. I couldn’t figure out what was taking so long. The problem was in fact her fingerprints. After many decades of gardening, they had worn flat. Whatever she did, they couldn’t get a reading. Finally they let her through regardless. Afterwards we wandered around trying to find somewhere nearby to have a coffee. My cappuccino was, as always, nowhere near warm enough, but we had a very good chat.

While I was out, Dad had tried to call me on Teams. I didn’t hear a thing; it just flashed up with a message. By the time I got back it was a bit too late, and honestly I was afraid of how the conversation might unfold. Yesterday our aunt emailed my brother and I to inform us that Mum and Dad’s prospective buyers – their current tenants – who had already agreed to buy the place for £250,000, had lowered their offer by £5,000. The English “system” is crazy. You sign, you agree, that’s final, if you then back out you lose your 10% deposit. That’s what sensible countries do. It’s even what Scotland does, as far as I know. But not England. The tenants mentioned something about wear and tear and renovation costs. My aunt said our parents should meet the tenants halfway and come down to £247,500. I entirely agreed with her – that’s exactly what I would do in their shoes. My brother though said that the tenants are in a weak position, the talk of renovation costs is ridiculous, and our parents should stick to their guns on principle. As I see it, Mum and Dad have basically just won Lotto here and to risk losing the sale for the sake of 2% or even 1% of the asking price would be terrible. Any future sale, if there is one, would likely have horrendous chains attached (that could break at any moment) and could involve untold time and stress. I’m meeting Mark for dinner tonight – I have an extremely rare early finish of 7pm – and maybe I’ll call Mum and Dad when I get back and find out what they’ve decided to do.

I’ve got an easier day today and boy do I need it. My recent schedule has been exhausting. On top of the teaching there are lesson plans and debriefs so I don’t simply forget what I’ve done. The scheduling itself is a headache as it’s a struggle to fit everyone in. Online lessons can be particularly tiring because of all that screen time. The biggest problem is not having two free days at the weekend (or even free evenings) to recharge my batteries. I’m not complaining – after nine years this is still the best thing ever – but at times in the last two weeks I’ve felt absolutely shattered.

Yesterday I had my second lesson with the Dubai woman. The latest Dubai woman, I should say – there are so many. She lives in Braytim, a new development in the south of Timișoara. I don’t know where the “Bray” part of the name comes from. Y isn’t even part of the Romanian alphabet. I had a look at a couple of flats in that area and was put off immediately because it all seemed so soulless. I’d have gone stir-crazy there with all the unremitting newness. Plus the flats were all in that open-space format which is hopeless for teaching. I also wouldn’t have Kitty if I lived in a place like that. She’s lovely, but she’s so active that I do need to restrict her access at night. Last Friday I had a two-hour lesson at home with two boys who were blown away by Kitty’s agility.

On Monday my 37-year-old student in Slatina said something I found extremely sad. We were discussing photos. Do you take many photos? Are there lots of photos of you? She said, “I hate people taking photos of me because I’m ugly.” That’s very sad, I said. “It’s not sad, it’s just the truth.” Yikes. I almost cried.

Last week the world Scrabble championship took place in Ghana. It only happens every two years. Over 120 players each played 32 games; the top two then met in a best-of-seven final on Sunday. I caught snippets of it at best until the final games on Saturday and then the final itself. Adam Logan of Canada had already clinched a place in the final with games to spare, while New Zealand’s Nigel Richards, the undisputed best player of all time, won his last three games to sneak into second place and make the final. The final was streamed on YouTube. In a game largely dominated by nerdy young men, it was good to these two old geezers in the final. Every game was drama-packed, not least game four in which Nigel incredibly misplaced two tiles, forgoing 100-odd points, but won the game anyway. Top mathematician Adam took the lead, Nigel came back, but Adam – who completed a stunning fightback in the third game and had slightly better luck, particularly in game six – toughed out a 4-2 win. You could see at the end what it meant. I was fascinated by the fact that neither player had a phone. Scores are normally submitted via phones, but when perhaps the only two phoneless players met in the final, this obviously wasn’t an option. Both players are reclusive, as far as I can make out, and they hardly said a word throughout their battle. The sad thing for me is that Richards – clearly the best player ever in a very popular board game – gets virtually zero recognition in his native country. Maybe if he had to unscramble tiles with his head up other blokes’ arses as in a rugby scrum, he’d get more attention. (That’s unfair I know. NZ has moved on a lot from the rugby-racing-and-beer days. Also, Nigel moved to Malaysia in 2000.) During the stream they put up a poll. If you’re watching this, how old are you? Under 20, 20–29, 30–39, 40 or over. What an ageist poll! I’m firmly in the geriatric category here. But then, look who made the final two.

Family - Life :) - Music - Romania - Scrabble - The UK

Delta plans?

November 3, 2025 by 0 Comments

It’s 23 degrees right now: very warm for early November. I’ve just got back from Buziaș, one of my favourite towns in the vicinity. There were a lot of families milling around, taking advantage of the weather and crunchy golden-brown blanket of fallen leaves. With the ornate covered walkway too, it was quite a lovely setting. I realise I went there exactly 52 weeks ago, just before the US election, when there was still hope that it wouldn’t go, well, how I expected it to. Although Buziaș is great, the initial section of the road that takes you there – a deeply depressing stroad – is anything but.

Before Buziaș I spoke to my parents. Dad had crashed his plane that morning – it was a total write-off. On Wednesday night I managed to get Dad on his own as Mum had gone off on a golf trip. (During my summer, when their 9am is my midnight, that opportunity basically never arises.) First, it’s great that Mum is back playing golf again. Her stomach problems – which still aren’t resolved – had pretty much forced her to stay away from the course. During our long chat, Dad and I inevitably talked about Mum. I asked him for strategies to avoid falling out with her the next time I see her. It’s a real concern. One thing I thought of is humour. Mum has a pretty good sense of humour, and in the past when Dad (or I) has cracked a simple joke, that’s helped to take the sting out of things. Mum has fallen out (again) with her brother over Trump. My uncle is a fan of his. He has little to occupy himself and his unhealthy diet of sport and Fox News combats his boredom. I would have fallen out with him too.

Mum and Dad have finished watching Joanna Lumley’s Danube, a series on TV. They thoroughly enjoyed it, unsurprisingly because Joanna Lumley is great. I could have seen it here too on BBC, but I didn’t know about it; I’ll see if I can find it online. The last couple of episodes were in Romania; the Danube skirts around the country, then forms a delta – a veritable wonderland – before going out into the Black Sea. Having watched the series, my parents are keen to do a boat trip through the delta (if and) when they come here next year. That would be fantastic but would require considerable planning because it’s a long way from me and it’s vital that stress is kept to a minimum. I did a lesson on the delta some time ago.

Last weekend I met Dorothy at Scârț where they had a market of sorts. I picked up a record – produced in 1974 – full of Balinese gamelan music. The record was made in Italy, has a price in Deutsche marks on the front, and has ended up in Romania. It’s been around a bit, in other words. It’s great to listen to; it brings back memories of my childhood trips to Bali, especially the first trip. All the wonderful smells come flooding back too. Visiting in ’74 though, that would have really been something.

My university friend – it was his birthday yesterday – is currently in Morocco, joining his girlfriend’s parents there. It’s his first time out of Europe. His photos are brilliant. Lately I’ve complained of the saminess of modern travel; there’s nothing samey about those pictures, that’s for sure.

My microwave, which was in the flat when I moved in, had packed in (I’d got used to doing my porridge in the pan), so on Friday I got a new one from down the road. It seems wasteful, doesn’t it? Shouldn’t these things be repaired? These days it’s hardly worth the effort. I found one with two simple dials and nothing digital, which is what I wanted. In fact there were two like that; I got the larger, more powerful one because the price difference between the two was small. (It cost me 410 lei, or roughly £70 or NZ$160.) The woman at the checkout insisted that I purchase an extended warranty but I stubbornly refused. I know those things are a waste of money. When I got it home I opened the box, as you do, then removed the polystyrene packaging, as you do, then oh shit, the glass turntable which was hidden inside one of the chunks of polystyrene crashed to the floor into a thousand pieces. Kitty, you stay away. Fortunately the glass plate from the old microwave slotted in perfectly. (Good job I got the bigger one then.) I probably should have been more careful, but don’t they play-test these things? Loosely packing a glass plate inside polystyrene seems beyond nuts.

I played four games of Scrabble on Thursday night and another four yesterday. Both times I won two and lost two. Gamelan is valid, and a useful high-probability word. It’s good to know because it doesn’t follow the expected patterns of a word containing those letters. Naturally I’d want to put ng or age or man together when anagramming those seven letters, but gamelan doesn’t do anything like that.

In news very local to where I grew up, there was a stabbing last night on a train near Huntingdon station, a train I’ve been on dozens of times. Eleven people were injured, two of whom are currently in a life-threatening condition. Two men have now been arrested. It’s eerie to see the pictures of the familiar station with police cordons.

A busy day in store tomorrow. I’ve got the Romanian lesson starting at 8am, then a trip to the supermarket, then I’ll try and contact the woman with publishing contacts from years ago (no harm in trying), then I’ve got five English lessons finishing at 9:30.

Family - Maths teaching - New Zealand - Scrabble - Writing a book

AI: soon there’ll be nothing left

October 30, 2025 by 0 Comments

This will be a quick post. There just isn’t a lot of news. At this time of year, work tends to dominate. This morning I met up with Dorothy and another friend for coffee. Among other things we discussed the books. What happens how, if anything? Someone Dorothy knows said that AI might render books like mine obsolete. If that’s the case, maybe all books with an educational purpose are becoming obsolete. Or possibly even all books, full stop. And films and music and visual arts and the list goes on. Teachers too. Why am I even writing this now? It’s not like anyone ever read it even prior to ChatGPT. (Even before the AI boom, I endeavoured to make my teaching as manual as possible, with handwritten cards and pieces of paper glued together. People seem to like that. They appreciate the effort that goes into making it all. Obviously online sessions are a different story.)

Dad currently has an exhibition running in Geraldine. He sent me a wonderful photo of him and Mum in the gallery, with a number of his paintings in the background. Mum in particular looks great. I’ll have to print it out and put it in a frame along with the others in the living room. Last time I heard, nothing had sold. It’s partly sign of the times, and partly that the woman who runs the gallery has jacked up the prices to beyond what anyone apart from wealthy farmers can afford. And maybe that paintings are being made obsolete by AI.

Mum was telling me about the horrendous weather they’ve been having up and down the length of New Zealand. From what Mum said, the damage it’s done has been close to Jamaica levels. Here we’ve been doing much better; we sat outside for coffee this morning and were baked in sunshine. When I spoke to Mum this morning, she was about to watch New Zealand play Australia at netball.

I’m in a break between two maths lessons. The first was with that 17-year-old girl who has now got a pretty good handle on her maths. I fear though that in 10 or 15 years’ time she’ll be such an awful boss that many members of staff will quit as a result. That’s if jobs as we know them haven’t completely been replaced by AI by then.

Scrabble. I’m currently on a winning streak of ten games. I’m trying to keep abreast of the three-letter words while simultaneously learning sevens and eights as well as a few fives that contain high-value letters. Not an easy task for me.