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Catching up

September 25, 2025 by 0 Comments

I’m struggling a bit this morning with a cold. It’s possible I even have Covid. (Remember that?) There’s a lot of it flying around.

I’m in the middle of a catching-up-with-people period. On Sunday I had a Teams call with my cousin in New York state. His wife briefly came on the line too. We talked about our parents. His father (whose 84th birthday it is tomorrow) recently lost his driver’s licence after badly flunking a memory test. I’ll have a chat with him and my aunt tomorrow. On Sunday I plan to catch up with my Wellington-based cousin who seems to have recovered from her jaw cancer. I was very pessimistic about that, but I was just speculating; she didn’t tell anybody, not even her immediate family, what was happening, so I feared the worst. Last night I spoke to the lady who lives above me (she’s in Canada and will be until January) on WhatsApp. Then yesterday morning I got a very quick call from my parents who are in Moeraki. They said they’d been sleeping a lot, which is fantastic. Something about that place allows them to relax.

And that’s not all. Yesterday I went to the local produce market (which runs twice a week, on Wednesdays and Saturdays) and bumped into Domnul Sfâra who I used to play tennis with. He’s now 90; he told me about all his birthday celebrations with friends. Though frail and diminutive, he’s still as sharp as a tack. I mentioned that I passed the halfway point to his impressive milestone earlier in the year.

I’ve had some interesting lessons this week. On Monday I had my fourth lesson with a 16-year-old boy. What different worlds we inhabit. The idea of visiting a local produce market wouldn’t even cross his mind. In fact I showed him some pictures of people eating in different places (this was part of a Cambridge speaking test) and he said he’d never had a picnic in his life and never intends to do so, opting for restaurants instead. I figured he’d been to more restaurants than I have, despite me being nearly three times older. (At that age even the word restaurant sounded so damn fancy to me.) We then talked about social media. I think he was surprised when I said that social media (an indispensible part of life for him – no, let’s rephrase that, it is his life) was the worst invention in the last 80 years. Or maybe he just thought, here we go, another old man yelling at clouds. He was also amused when I said I manage to avoid it pretty much entirely and have never even been on Instagram. But I’m utterly convinced of its toxicity. I’d love to nuke it out of existence. He said that any news he gets (which isn’t much) is via social media. How do you know it’s true? I just assume it is true, and even if it isn’t, I don’t care. And besides, what goes on in the world doesn’t affect me and I’m too young to vote anyway. That’s why you’re too young to vote. There’s been a push in some countries to lower the voting age to 16. (In Austria, for example, it is now 16.) Sometimes I think it should go up rather than down. Maybe it should work like driver’s licences and you get tested at both ends of the age range.

Kitty is now asleep on the sofa, on top of an open file which I’ll have to pick up before my next lesson starts. I often get envious of her life’s simplicity. She’s become a real positive in my life – a calming influence – as well as just part of the furniture. She’s a boon to my face-to-face lessons at home with kids; the majority of them like her being around. It’s all a contrast to the early days of Kitty when she was fearful of me, prone to biting at any moment, hyperactive, and a general pain in the arse.

Scrabble. I played two games last night. In the first I began with a blank but complete junk alongside it. I exchanged all but the blank and drew six vowels, giving me no sensible options other than to exchange again. Meanwhile my opponent hit bingos on his opening two turns, putting me 158-0 down. In the end I was able to score well, losing a high-scoring battle 505-441. Despite the loss I was happy with how I played. Then came the second game which was ridiculous. I obliterated my personal best score with a 650-253 win, slapping down five bingos. My play certainly wasn’t perfect in that game – at my level of experience, it’s never going to be – but hitting a mammoth total like that was encouraging all the same, even if it was the definition of a massive outlier.

Update: I’ve just taken a test for Covid and the flu. I’m negative for both. I still haven’t knowingly had Covid. Summer is properly over now; a run of unseasonably high temperatures (30 or above) came to a welcome end today.

Cat - Life :) - Scrabble

Not too smart right now

September 10, 2025 by 0 Comments

I put on the TV this morning. A normal day in Romania. Another fire in an apartment block – this time nobody injured. A report stating that 30% of adult Romanians have no bank account. Then they dropped in on a factory that processes 20 tonnes of pickled cabbages a day. (Cabbage season has just started.) But nothing feels normal to me. Since Saturday night I’ve been stuck in the crawler lane. I’ve been sleeping poorly and constantly fatigued.

Yesterday was a case in point. My Romanian lesson started at eight and I knew I’d be buggered for that. I set my alarm for seven. As soon as it went off I killed it, intending to get up. I hadn’t slept well. Next thing I knew it was almost eight. No time for breakfast or even a cup of tea. The lesson, which overran a bit, was really a waste of time. Luckily I had no lessons until later. After a belated breakfast I knew I needed to pick up my bike which I’d taken in to be repaired last Thursday. The bike shop was five kilometres away. Walk or drive? I decided to walk, thinking the exercise could do me good, and there were a few things I wanted to pick up from the mall on the way back. The walk to the bike shop took me just over an hour. It took me past, among other things, the shaorma kiosk I frequented when I lived in town. Back then, a shaorma cost 11 lei. Now it’s 28. Yes, I’m putting my prices up for lessons again – I have no real choice. The repair – a new chain and a whole new set of gears – set me back 240 lei (£40 or NZ$95).

Then the mall. A bad idea when I’m so tired and I can’t face noise or bright lights. What I felt wasn’t far off what I experienced in a supermarket in 2001 when I’d just started taking medication for panic attacks. It struck me that most of what you find in a large mall like that is pure unadulterated shite. And these days a lot of it has an added sinister edge to it. A crypto ATM, for instance, with flashing surrounds. I’ve never even liked the Americanism ATM. The Samsung shop, if it was even a shop and not just a display, was even more frightening. SmartThings. AllOneWord. Start your SmartThings journey. In English, of course. The display included a smart washing machine and a smart fridge and a smart TV showing Aardman-like claymation figures watching their smart TV. Presumably there are people out there who want this stuff. There must be; I recently had a lesson in Dumbrăvița with an eight-year-old girl in their smart kitchen and she explained her mother’s smart electric cooker to not-very-smart me. Her mum was in the middle of baking something smart. I think I’d rather have one of those ubiquitous seventies gas cookers you saw all the time in New Zealand, the ones with the digital-dial clock. Similar cookers were made on a vast scale in Romania, all in a single factory in Cugir, 200 km east of Timișoara, not far from Deva. That factory also produced arms.

I walked past all of that crap – all I wanted was some bits and pieces from the Auchan supermarket. I found the tablecloth I needed, eventually. Next stop electric toothbrush heads. These aren’t cheap and I couldn’t find the price anywhere. They used to have barcode scanners dotted around the place but now people have become too affluent to even care… Look, this is too hard. Getting everything on my list will take me hours. I came out with only the tablecloth. At least its price will mean I’ll have change for the coffee machine once I negotiate the smart bloody self-checkout. A woman had to help me with the initial screen. The shops around the coffee machine were in a quieter area and not sinister at all. A dry cleaners’. A shop selling detergent. A place that does printing and medals and trophies. Then I went home.

This really isn’t great. What’s causing it I don’t know. It’s still pretty damn warm; today we’re forecast to reach 32. I hope I’ll be better when the temperature drops, but who knows, I might be low in magnesium or something. I’ll ask my doctor the next time I see him. At the moment I’d struggle enormously to hold down a normal job. (I have had spells like this while in a normal job. That was horrible.)

On Sunday I met Dorothy in town. We had a simple lunch, eventually – it took an age to get served. Nothing new there. But I was very happy to be eating inside especially on such a sunny day – I couldn’t face the brightness.

Some sad news from Dorothy. Her five-month-old kitten has died. She had a virus that she couldn’t recover from and on Friday she was put down. I hope that day she spent with Kitty (14th August) didn’t permanently traumatise her. You just never know. As for Kitty, she’s still going strong. You really notice your fatigue when you have such a bundle of energy around the place as Kitty.

I managed three games of Scrabble yesterday, winning two. In one of them I scored 527 – my highest since I got back into it.

Cat - Family - Travel: Europe

Czech and Poland trip — Part 2 of 3

August 28, 2025 by 0 Comments

I got back on Sunday evening. The next morning I picked Kitty up from the pet hotel after one of the workers had introduced me to a monstrous moggy weighing eight kilos. Kitty didn’t especially want to leave, but as I write this she looks pretty comfortable in her favourite spot atop the tall cupboard in the living room.

As planned I paid Gdańsk a visit last Thursday. I was only there for three hours. Everywhere I looked the architecture was stunning. The first building I clapped eyes on was the rather nice railway station, and things only improved from there. Gdańsk is pretty damn touristy, however, and that’s why I didn’t spend much time there and certainly didn’t book any accommodation there. I’ve developed an allergy to tourism-based theme parks. The river is spectacular and they make excellent use of it, unlike what you see – or don’t see – on Romania’s waterways. Pleasure boats are almost nonexistent here. After I sent Dad a bunch of photos of Gdańsk, he filled me in on its history. It was a shipbuilding city – Lech Wałęsa, Poland’s first president after communism, worked at the shipyard. I’ve been reading up on Wałęsa who is still alive today (he’ll be 82 next month). The changes he brought about sound overwhelmingly positive. (I was ten years old when he took over, so I wasn’t paying attention.) In Romania, many of those who gained power after 1989 were part of the old guard anyway, but in Poland there was more of a clean break. That’s probably why Poland made a swift recovery from communism while Romania’s has been much more gradual. Poland was one of the countries I thought of moving to, but a lower level of development is actually what drew me to Romania instead. It would make life that bit more interesting. For instance, yesterday I saw an old lady – probably a gypsy – sitting on a grassy area in the middle of a city centre car park, knitting. On Tuesday as I was walking home, I saw a family (again, probably gypsies) in some makeshift vehicle, dragging some sort of cargo behind them. Bits kept falling out and falling off. I’m guessing I wouldn’t see these things in a similar-sized Polish city.

Getting out of Gdańsk to go back to Bydgoszcz was a chore. My GPS sent me round in circles; it couldn’t handle the road works. I thought I might never properly escape the city. I became pretty damn au fait with the eighties hits radio station. Because I was stuck in traffic I could Shazam one of two of the Polish songs, such as this one by Urszula which came out in ’84. I even started to pick up the odd word of Polish, like czwartek, which means Thursday. I began to doubt it would still be czwartek when I got back. When I finally did so, I grabbed a spicy pork dish from across the road.

My last day in Bydgoszcz was a relaxing one. I wandered to the other side of the river where there was even more impressive architecture and a great park. For lunch tried a Polish speciality from a kiosk – a half-baguette (cut lengthways) with some mushroomy topping and ketchup. It had a tricky name that I can’t remember; to be honest it didn’t do much for me. When I got back to the apartment I read Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea and attempted to learn some Scrabble words.

On Saturday it was time to head back home. I’d managed to book into a place in Žilina in Slovakia by phone without any need for card. It was a 604 km trip to get there, taking me via a corner of the Czech Republic. There’s not much to say about Žilina, a large town whose centre is dominated by communist-era buildings. In town I had a tasty pizza with anchovies and a Czech beer called Bernard to go with it. My accommodation was fine. Breakfast was included, so the next morning I had bacon and eggs, though not as I know it. The strips of bacon were fried into the three eggs. Nothing wrong with that, just not what I’m used to. Then I was back on my way. A whopping 731 km to get home. The traffic was great; it only took me nine hours including various stops including one at Tesco (yes, Hungary has Tesco) just outside Kecskemét.

Mum and Dad have had all kinds of issues with their places in St Ives in the last few days, including a leak into the flat below theirs which seems to have nothing to do with them at all. They’ve been very stressed by all this. When I saw them yesterday, the atmosphere was beyond miserable. It’s horrible to see. Mum loses all sense of proportion when these things happen, which (because they’ve complicated their lives to this extent) they do with regularity. If I ever suggest that she takes a step back and sees that it really isn’t that bad, she’ll refuse to even talk to me. Bloody great, isn’t it?

I’ll put up the photos in my next post.

Cat - Travel: Europe

Off to a land unspoiled by vowels

August 15, 2025 by 0 Comments

I’m off to Poland just 36 hours from now. I’m spending five nights in Bydgoszcz (say “bid”, then “gosh”, then add a “ch” at the end, and you’ll get pretty close to pronouncing this intimidating name). Because it’s close to 1300 km which is much too far to go in a single drive, I’m breaking up the journey by spending two nights in the Czech city of Olomouc (say “o-lo-moats” in three syllables). Bydgoszcz, which is in the northern half of Poland, has great architecture and isn’t touristy at all from what I can gather. Avoiding expensive touristy cities (theme parks, if you like) is an absolute must for me. Because I’ll have four full days in Bydgoszcz, I’ll have plenty of time to look around and maybe even make a day trip to Gdańsk on the coast, which does get a bit of tourism. I should accomplish two main goals: one, simply to get away (and visit two new countries which is a bonus), and two, to escape the heat. On the way back I’ll have a one-night stop – probably in Olomouc again.

Kitty has added an extra wrinkle to planning this sort of trip. What do I do with her? As an experiment, I dropped her off at Dorothy’s on Tuesday morning, just for the day. Dorothy got a kitten in June. Maybe the two felines would get on fine, even though mine was twice the size of hers, in which case a longer stay could work. No such luck. Her kitten was scared of Kitty (don’t blame her) to the point where she hid for four hours. Dorothy couldn’t find her. They had to be separated, and even that didn’t entirely work because their scents lingered… So I’ve booked Kitty in for nine nights at a so-called pet hotel in Timișoara, at a cost of 540 lei (£90 or NZ$210). In the longer term I’ll have to think about what to do. Kitty’s lovely and everything, but if I want to be spending a month in New Zealand and stuff, I’m sad to say she might not be worth the hassle and expense.

I got a surprise letter in the post from the Romanian equivalent of the IRD, saying that I hadn’t declared my foreign income for 2019. What the hell? That’s six years ago. Did you mean my NZ rental income (which I’d already paid tax on) or what? I went to the office yesterday but the queue was a mile long. This morning I got there much earlier and they told me it was to do with the £51 of interest I’d apparently received on my Barclays account that year. When I get back from Poland I’ll have to make another trip there – it sounds like I’ll have to do something on a self-service kiosk. Some of the stuff you get in Romania is laughable.

On Monday morning after my Romanian lesson I got a call from Mum and Dad. Sunday was a stinker (we topped out at 38) and it didn’t drop below 22 that night, so I slept terribly. Talking to them was a struggle. I can’t wait to escape that.

Cat - Family - Life :) - Music - Writing a book

We need more Mikas

August 6, 2025 by 0 Comments

On Saturday I made another trip to Jimbolia. My parents called me while I was there. I tried to give them a video tour of the town but they were struggling to stay awake. Jet lag has hit them both hard this time around, though I think they’re just about over it now. After Mum’s ongoing irregularity, she’s all of a sudden very regular indeed. A more pressing problem for her is her eyesight. Dad says it’s got worse since I saw her in the UK, which must mean she’s practically as blind as a bat now. And she’s still driving a car. Yeesh. It doesn’t bear thinking about. As for me, it’s taken me a heck of a long time to get over the bug I probably picked up from my nephew. My doctor gave me some soluble pills last week and they seem to have worked.

On Saturday night I went to a free concert in Parcul Civic. I say free, but there were ample opportunities to buy overpriced food and drink if you wanted. I only turned up for the end of the concert to see Mika, the British–Lebanese artist who had a biggish hit with Grace Kelly in 2007. He’s had a couple of other hits since then that I didn’t even realise were him. I really enjoyed his versatility, his enthusiasm, his humour. He’s a bit mad, which helped. He could even speak a few words of Romanian. I was impressed. I mean, întoarceți-vă (turn around) isn’t the easiest phrase to articulate. He lived part of his childhood in Paris, so he probably grew up bilingual (at least), which would make learning other languages easier. I came away thinking, he’s a good guy, isn’t he. The world needs more Mikas.

Not much other news. The ex-owner of this place left behind an expensive-looking speaker system (and much more: a Gucci watch, a load of books including Grey’s Anatomy and a bunch of novels I’ve since read, and family photos). I’ve only just got round to getting the speakers working. I’m now able to play music through them from my laptop. I’m impressed with the sound quality. (Right now I’m playing Kiwi band The Phoenix Foundation.)

Later today a plumber should be coming over to look at the pong in the bathroom. It’s been a problem since I got the bath leak fixed last year. Dad, who’s more clued up on these matters than me (who isn’t?), couldn’t tell where the stench was coming from any more than I could. I really hope the plumber (not the same one as last year, obviously) won’t have to dismantle the tiles around the bath (again) to get at it.

I’ll try and persuade Dorothy (who now has a kitten) to have Kitty for a trial 24-hour period. If it works, great. I should be good to go to Poland or wherever for a few days and I can offer to take her cat in exchange. If not, well at least I tried.

Only two lessons today. With a bit more free time, I’m getting back to the book about my tennis partner. I had to reread the first five chapters – I couldn’t even remember what I’d written, it’s been so long.

Getting a view of Mika through the foliage

A couple of Kitty pics

Cat - Family - Language teaching

Mum and Dad back in NZ, plus the benefits of benign weather

July 30, 2025 by 0 Comments

It’s a busyish day for the time of year: three lessons down, two to go. At the start of the first lesson, Kitty was energised by the intercom bell as usual. My student’s father came up to my door, apologising for being late. Could I extend the lesson beyond our scheduled time? Doorstep chats don’t work very well with an energised Kitty, and sure enough she ran out the door and up the stairs. No harm done – I picked her up easily – but it was a dramatic start to my work day all the same.

Mum and Dad arrived in Christchurch on Tuesday morning, their time, having been away for the best part of three months. They said their flight from Singapore was the worst they’d ever experienced in terms of turbulence. These storms have been occurring at higher altitudes for some reason and planes are unable to fly above them. The day they left Singapore, they had an 11am checkout from their hotel. They both slept in until then, which was only 4am in the UK, entirely by accident. It didn’t seem to be a problem, and they could even use the hotel pool until they were ready to leave for their early-evening flight. My parents are fans of the city state. It’s clean – the draconian litter laws help there – and, for them, predictable: they’ve stayed there several times before. I’m on the fence about the place; criticism of the governing party (which has been in power for just about ever) doesn’t go down too well. I’ve been there twice: once when I was nearly seven (the colossal plazas and space-age-seeming tech were fascinating for a small boy) and again in 2008.

Temperatures in Timișoara approached 40 towards the end of the last week. Pure hell, in other words. My sleep was broken at best. Doing anything became a real challenge. Then on Saturday night a storm ripped through. The temperature nosedived by 15 degrees in a couple of hours. A number of concertgoers were injured in the storm and ended up in hospital. Since then, our highs have remained in the mid-20s and there’s often been a nice breeze. What a welcome change. It’s helped me think more clearly and get some odd (but important) life admin jobs done.

Last weekend, when I was still reeling from the hot weather, I attempted to solve some sample problems from linguistics olympiads. Yes, the linguistics olympiad is a real thing in which high school students compete both individually and in teams. (I like that they do both.) This year’s edition has just taken place in Taiwan, while next year’s will be in Romania. There were 15 or so problems, ranging from very doable to (for me) impossible. They’re really just logic puzzles. If word A in some obscure language means X in English, and word B means Y, what does word C have to mean? No prior knowledge of the language is required, which is why they choose obscure languages (so speakers of that language don’t gain an unfair advantage), but knowledge of how languages work in general, and the features they can have, is a must. There was one problem involving seven fishermen each describing their catch in the language of their remote island, with accompanying pictures (out of order) of what each man had caught. You had to match them, with the added wrinkle that one of the men was lying. I was all at sea (!) there. The language clearly had features that I’d never seen before, and I couldn’t make head nor tail of it in terms of how the size and number of fish were expressed.

I hope people didn’t go down to Caroline Bay to see the tsunami generated by the earthquake off Kamchatka (which I only know from the game Risk). In 1960, tens of thousands did just that following the massive Chile earthquake. The tsunami, which they called a tidal wave back then, never came.

I still need to decide if I’m going anywhere and what to do with Kitty if I am.

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.

Cat - Family - Language teaching - Life :)

Taxing times

July 18, 2025 by 0 Comments

Kitty keeps changing her happy place. Right now she has two. One is my bed. The other is the well of the printer that I got fixed recently. Yes, it’s got a Kitty-sized pit. This weekend I’ll take her for a test drive – an hour in a box to see how she copes. My guess is not very well, but you never know.

It’s hosing it down right now. Much rather that than 35-plus. So I’ll be probably driving to my upcoming lesson. It’s nice to have that option I suppose, although I did manage perfectly well for over seven years without it. This morning I had a two-hour lesson with the girl who once wrote that she was bored. Two hours. An aeon. I resorted to giving her a 100-question test that took up most of the session. She got 77%, a commendable effort considering she was visibly tired by the end of it. (I rarely give tests, but when I do, they’re nearly always harder than what the kids get at school. Often these kids are used to perfect or near-perfect scores, so I can have a job convincing them that they haven’t failed calamitously.)

On Monday I had my weekly Romanian lesson. I’m not sure how much it’s really helping. My Romanian has stalled, at best. This time I asked the teacher about a sign I’d seen at a market stall: Avem mațe. Hmm, mațe means intestines, doesn’t it? The sort you make sausage skins out of. We have intestines. Nice. I guessed that because the stall sells mainly booze and tobacco, it must mean something else. Cigarette papers or something. But no, my teacher assured me that it really does mean intestines for making sausage skins, and those visiting would know the stallholder personally. Stuff like this, or the clatter of the backgammon pieces if I visit the market on a Saturday, makes me feel more alive.

It’s hard to see, but Avem mațe is in the red circle. Avem tutun means “We have tobacco”. I wonder where the name Bampoa comes from.

It’s melon time. Marius Oltean, the melon man from Dăbuleni, even has a TikTok account.

My brother and I have been in contact with our aunt. Partly we’ve talked about her and our uncle’s recent house move, but the hot topic has been our parents. That’s great because we all agree on our parents’ urgent need to downsize and simplify the heck out of their lives. It’s also great because Mum respects our aunt a lot. I’ve been telling our aunt to badger Mum about the seeing the doctor when my parents get back ten days from now. There’s also the matter of Mum’s cataracts when she’ll need to get removed. Right now she’s as blind as a bat. You can point out a bird on a branch a few feet away and she won’t see it. Though both our parents are remarkably fit physically for their age still, a lot of things have come to a head quite suddenly, and my brother and I will have get far more involved.

Mum said something recently which made it clear that our attitudes to money are poles apart. She was talking about the verges – berms, as Kiwis might call them – in and around St Ives which the council had left unmown. Example 574 of how Britain has gone to the dogs. Fine. But then she specified. It was the verges beside the most expensive houses that bothered her. Their owners pay massive rates (or council tax) bills, she said, so they should be the ones that the council prioritises. The verges near the cheaper houses can basically go hang. Her idea might be a really common one for all I know, but it’s not one that’s ever crossed my mind. Owners pay rates based on the value of their property, then all that money gets pooled together and spent on libraries and playgrounds and rubbish collection and mowing (or not mowing) verges. Across the board throughout the area in which the council operates, irrespective of the proximity of a particular service to high-value properties. Isn’t that how it works, or am I being hopelessly naive? I wonder if Mum thinks that access to treatment for, I dunno, stage 3 cancer, should be based on one’s earnings to that point.

Council tax (i.e. rates) in the UK is weird. And unfair. Even though I’ve never owned a UK property, I know about council tax in some detail because my student, that one who’s getting a divorce, tried to get his bill lowered. It went to court, he didn’t win, and it set him back £10,000 in court costs. Not great for their marriage, I imagine. The weirdness and unfairness are twofold. One, the big one, is that council tax in England is based on the value of your property in 1991. Unless some government decides to change the law, that 1991 date is set in stone. In perpetuity. For anything built after that date, they estimate what it hypothetically would have been worth then. As for extensions and so on, don’t ask. Of course prices haven’t gone up uniformly throughout the country since ’91. They’ve skyrocketed in London and the south-east but have risen more slowly in the north. So if you’ve got a house worth £700k in some fashionable suburb in London, you’ll be paying a lot less tax than someone with a £700k house in a less swanky part of Yorkshire, because of its much lower ’91 value. Absurd, isn’t it? The second problem is that council tax has eight bands, A to H, with A being the lowest. Once you’re in H, you can’t go any higher, so someone owning a house worth many millions in London doesn’t pay any more than that owner in Yorkshire. (Some very expensive houses aren’t even in H anyway.) There really should be bands stretching into the middle of the alphabet at the very least. Oh, and for rental properties, it’s the tenants that have to pay council tax, not the landlords. The whole system needs a huge overhaul. Maybe it shouldn’t even be based on property value at all. They should probably hammer AirBnBs and second properties left vacant. Someone far cleverer than me could dream up a fair and workable system. What they have now clearly isn’t it. (New Zealand’s, with its rateable values updated every three years, is certainly better.) By the way, this all came about after the ill-conceived poll tax (a uniform tax per adult, brought in at the end of Thatcher’s time) which resulted in riots. Anything is better than that, which I could tell was appalling even though I was ten years old.

I hadn’t meant to write so much about bloody council tax! Mum and Dad often talk about the UK going to the dogs. Dad is worse than Mum in that regard. It’s not great, but I wouldn’t say it’s quite as bad as they make out. (Dad would feel better about his homeland if he stopped reading the Daily Mail.) Part of it is just a general negativity about the present. We’re all guilty of that, especially as we get older. I know I am. This week I saw a news presenter (a bit older than me) interviewing an aviation expert about last month’s Air India crash. He said, it seems there are more crashes now than there were in the past. I was practically shouting at the screen, even before the expert replied. Flying is far safer now than say 40 years ago.

Cat - Life :)

Trip report to come…

July 5, 2025 by 0 Comments

I got back last night at 2am, very tired and with a chesty cough that I’ve probably picked up from Mum. Luckily that’s all I’ve picked up from her. (She isn’t great at the moment.) The temperatures today have been horrendous – we hit 39 this afternoon. I don’t have the energy for much, though I will venture outside now that a breeze has sprung up. Lots to write about, but I can’t face doing that now. Dad thought I might come home to find a skeleton on the mat, but no, Kitty had been well looked after. She seemed to miss me, judging by all the meowing. I gave Elena two boxes of biscuits. Next Thursday I’ll take her to the airport for her very early flight.

Books - Cat - Family - Life :) - Music

Rubbing along and a simpler UK plan

June 21, 2025 by 0 Comments

Tomorrow is the longest day. Then it’s all downhill from there. Right now it’s a beautiful evening – I’ve just been down to the river. Only three full days till I go away. I’ve chosen a good time for it: a pair of ghastly 37s have popped up on the long-range forecast.

I’m grateful to Elena, the lady above me, for agreeing to feed Kitty. For a while I was cursing my lack of friends. After nearly six months, Kitty has become part of the scenery. Our start was somewhat rocky. She’d bite or scratch me, or cower in the naughty corner. She just wasn’t comfortable here. Combine that unease with her pent-up energy and she’d drive me to despair. Now she’ll sit beside me or on my lap, sometimes nuzzling up to me. She sleeps a lot more now than in the early days. As my grandmother would have said, we rub along pretty well together. I just wish she had a proper name. For some reason the Genevieve film came into my head this week – wouldn’t that be a nice name? – but she got saddled with Kitty, a non-name really, and that was that.

My UK itinerary has changed once again. My brother thought that going to London wouldn’t give us enough time to properly see him – he’s probably right there – so Mum (who is masterminding this) has deleted London from the schedule. Thinking about it, I’m glad. Meeting up in London but getting lost, phones not working, staying in shitty accommodation (they might not even have had fucking slippers), going to a show that may or may not have been any good, it was all a recipe for stress and falling out. Not worth it. It now looks like I’ll spend two nights in St Ives, then we’ll go down to Poole next Thursday. We’ll spend four nights there before returning to St Ives. A week on Tuesday I’ll catch an early train from Cambridge to Birmingham and spend the day there, which should be fun.

What other news? Well, the roof on the block opposite me has been replaced, and now looks pretty smart. We might get ours done too if all the owners can agree. The Praid salt mine, similar to the one I went to in Turda last summer, flooded last month, with disastrous effects both economically and ecologically. When I met Dorothy last Monday, I saw she had five copies of The Picture of Dorian Gray on her bookshelf. She happily lent me one to read while I’m away. (I’ve almost finished Wessex Tales.) And my colour printer is back in working order.

To give you some idea of how crazy simple things can be in Romania, I tried to get a copy of my front door key to give to Elena. Three useless keys and five trips to the key cutter later, plus waiting around for her to show up, I still haven’t got a spare key that works. Eventually she gave me my money back. (Luckily my front door has two locks, and I do have a spare key for the other lock which normally I don’t use.)

This week I took delivery of Tracy Chapman’s first (1988) album on vinyl. It’s one of my favourite albums, so that was cool.