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Poolless

October 30, 2026 by 0 Comments

So I went to the pool this morning for my final swim before it closed, and I could see that tubs of chlorine and soap were being loaded into a van. I went through the automatic doors as usual, but the QR reader wasn’t doing anything. We’re closed. Already? Yes, we closed at ten. I looked at my watch. Quarter to nine. But he must have meant ten o’clock last night. On Tuesday I asked the lady at reception when the last day would be, and she said Friday (today), but after ten years none of this surprises me. No signs with, I dunno, words like apologise or inconvenience. Basically no nothing. This is is how Romania operates. I got in three swims this week anyway, but now I have to think where to go next, if there is a next.

I’m feeling considerably better than I did last weekend when I couldn’t sleep and everything was overwhelming. Getting that bank stuff sorted was something; now both my accounts are back in business. My work week hasn’t been bad. It’s mostly been dominated by kids, who this week have had a short break between terms, if that’s what I should call them. A few years ago they rejigged the school year so that it’s in five chunks, and this is the gap between chunks one and two. I asked a nine-year-old girl if it’s been nice to have a break and she said no, her mum has given her so much to learn over the “break” that she’d have preferred to be at school. I could totally believe that. I’ve had two sessions this week with the girl (also nine) who isn’t really literate. Last night I went back to the absolute basics. The fat cat sat on the mat. I’ll see her again tomorrow. I also had my first session with another girl, this time just eight. What’s more, it was online. There’s no way this will work. But it did, because her English was staggeringly good. Teaching is still pretty satisfying, even if my hours this year will be end up being way down on previous years. Everything else though is a bit of a mess.

Last week I read something about the snooker player Mark Allen. He recently had ten weeks of treatment at a mental health facility and appeared in a TV interview. He was the guy who missed the easy black (easy for someone like him, I mean) that would have put him in the world final back in May. Someone commented to the effect of “It’s no wonder people are struggling. We’re living in a world we weren’t designed for.” Too true. And increasingly so. I look at my parents. Dad said he isn’t sleeping because of all the worry over the place in St Ives and more. Mum looked about 95 when I saw her on Monday. They should not be dealing with this at their age. And I’m really not managing either. I’m having to navigate the modern world almost entirely alone, which makes it even harder. I have fewer contacts here than I did five years ago. Mark has gone, sadly. Tennis has also gone. The tennis people decided to sever contact with me for some reason I never knew. One lady whom I’d always got on well with switched from the informal pronoun to formal in her messages – a highly unusual move – then stopped contacting me altogether.

I couldn’t make head or tail of the Israeli election results. In just four days America goes to the polls. These midterms feel enormous, even bigger than presidential elections used to be. (Well, 2000 was extremely consequential. We just didn’t know it at the time.) I find it absolutely ridiculous that Americans’ biggest concern (and the one thing that might pull them away from the abhorrent MAGA cult) is this that gas prices are $4.30 per gallon. Now of course gas prices affect the cost of living in a number of other indirect ways, and in some states like California where they have extra state taxes they’re paying over $6. But here in Romania, in a far poorer country, it works out to be right around the $8 mark.

Scrabble. I recovered from a bad start to finish the latest round of the league with (once again) seven wins and seven losses. I thought I was doomed to relegation, but have survived and wasn’t far off a promotion as things turned out.

I have to take Kitty to the vet very soon. Over the last week I’ve kept a food diary for her. It isn’t very full.
Update: She vomited on the way there, just like last week. Her weight hadn’t changed. The vet said she’s eating enough, but I should buy better quality food – I was given a list of options. If that doesn’t get her to put on the pounds (or grams), she’ll have some blood tests done.

I’m still planning on going to Serbia on Sunday.

That ram from a couple of weeks ago, after it had finally moved

An autumnal wedding in Buziaș

Four kitties outside a still unrenovated building near where I once spent a lot of my time

At the mall last Sunday there was an exhibition of photos of typical Romanian scenes, mostly with elderly people. I thought they were quite wonderful; they encapsulated what I love about Romania and what I’d be sad to leave behind if I go. Here are them all:

Family - Life :) - Politics

Dealing with scary Romanian bureaucracy

October 27, 2026 by 0 Comments

My parents called me early this morning. I couldn’t talk for more than a minute because I wanted to be at ANAF when it opened at 8:30. I’d slept badly. The first time (of many) I woke up, there was half the night left. The next time there was half of that left, and so on, until I was down to just minutes. I was frightened of what might await me. This morning it was bucketing down, so I had to choose either to drive, which would have meant finding somewhere to park in the middle of town and dealing with parking apps and who knows what else, or taking the bike and getting wet. I choose the latter. Getting soaked wouldn’t break my brain.

ANAF’s Google star rating is in the sewer. When you get there you can see why. But the people I dealt with were mostly pretty helpful on this occasion. It was less busy than usual; perhaps the bad weather had kept people away. I’d assumed I had to pay an income tax bill, but it was in fact a charge for public healthcare – they’d supposedly billed me in May, but I can’t remember getting anything from them then. To my relief it wasn’t double that figure of 2257 lei. I then visited the bank, agreed to pay, and they unblocked my account in short order. I then went back to ANAF to pay interest that had accrued since May. With various bank charges as well, I ended up coughing up 2416 lei in total. But at least I got it sorted. My Revolut account is still blocked though.

When I got back home I called Mum and Dad back. They’d been in Moeraki for four days. Mum looked shattered. They’d done work on the place down there – Dad mentioned the roof – in preparation for (at some point soon) putting it on the market. A shame – it’s a lovely spot and it’s done wonders for relieving Mum’s stress – but they’ve now realised that all these properties have become a huge burden. I am worried about Mum; it all seems to be taking a physical toll on her. We talked about how complicated life has become. None of us are really coping.

A bit later I took my bike to the shop to get a new front brake fitted as well as a new mudguard. I’d been meaning to get the brake done for a while, but it took this morning in the rain (it was actually rather dangerous) to do it. That meant a long walk back, partly through my old stomping ground when everything was still exciting. And different. And cheap.

Last night I spoke to my brother, but not for long. He was two hours into a five-hour power cut and didn’t want to drain his phone battery. A storm named Boelo (pronounced boo-lo) battered large parts of the UK and claimed two lives.

There were two big elections overnight. One was very close to home in Serbia (which I’m even thinking of visiting this coming weekend) and guess what, Aleksandar Vučić (pro-Putin, pro-Trump, and basically a dictator) was defeated by a student movement of all things, and pretty decisively too, despite violence and intimidation. That’s great news. The worry is that the student group is currently leaderless; I just hope it holds. The student coalition isn’t actually made up of students, but instead some very clever young people, most of whom have PhDs. It came about following the railway station collapse in Novi Sad two years ago. I visited that city shortly after. Then Lula beat Bolsonaro Junior in Brazil in a bit of a shock. Bolsonaro is pro-Trump and anti-environment, so that’s got to be good news too. A win for the Amazon. The Israeli election is tomorrow, then the US midterms next week. And then New Zealand have theirs on 7th November.

Five sessions tomorrow including with a new kid. I hope to fit in a swim as well.

Cat - Life :) - Politics - Scrabble

The latest nosedive

October 25, 2026 by 0 Comments

I was managing, just about, until I wasn’t. My flat had become a mess yet again. My office was, is, barely passable, but everything else now feels like a disaster zone. And how could one person ever have so much washing?

On Thursday I went swimming. I forced myself to do it. Everything was getting that little bit harder. It even took ages to locate the app on my phone which brings up the QR code that I need to scan to enter. Just where is it? And then which button is it? Brain fog, as I’ve had so many times before. On the way back from the pool it tipped it down and I got soaked to the skin on my bike. In some ways that felt good, because it was something physical – and immediate – to have to contend with, rather than everything going on in my head. That evening I went to the after-hours doctor to get my latest batch of pills. I decided to drive there, which was a mistake. For the last two and half years they’ve been located in the mall, or rather one of the vast edifices surrounding the mall, which means coping with a multi-storey car park if you drive there. How do I even get out of the car park to get to the doctor’s surgery? This lift will take me to somewhere else. It’s all far from obvious, especially when I’m like this. I couldn’t even see the doctor because a patient was rushed off to hospital in an ambulance. (Edit: I’ve just realised I wrote something nonsensical there and have corrected it. Brain fog again.) I’ll have to go back there later today, but I’ll take the bike this time.

On Friday morning, after my first lesson, I took Kitty to the vet. She’d lost weight again. She doesn’t eat meals as such; she’s developed a habit of scooping out dry food from the bowl with her paw, half of which ends up on the floor. The vet was concerned, as am I; she asked me to make a food diary and to come back next Friday. They might give her some blood tests. I suppose these are like what I had – I really don’t know how these work for cats.

Later on Friday I went swimming again. They have wristbands which you use to lock and unlock the lockers. You have to remember which locker you used. Brain fog can make that a challenge. When I got back to the changing room after my swim, I couldn’t remember at all which locker I’d put my stuff in. Then it dawned on me. Shit, I’d just left my bag on the bench, with my wallet, phone and keys inside. Thankfully everything was still there, but bloody hell. I coped with lessons that day, but just as I got out of that mental-health-disaster block in Dumbrăvița after the lesson with the boy on the eighth floor, I saw I’d got a text message from the bank. I’d had a propire. This was a new word for me. It meant that my account had been blocked, not by the bank itself, but by ANAF, the tax people. It seems I owe 2257 lei (£350 or NZ$830) that I haven’t paid. I’m happy to pay it, but how do I pay it (or any other bills) now that my account has been blocked? My Revolut account has been blocked too; when I went in there it came up with a red warning triangle and that same amount – 2257 lei. Will I have to pay twice? I literally have no idea how this works. I actually do have around 3000 lei in cash plus a small amount in foreign currency if need be, which is just as well. Last year I got debanked while I was in Poland. I’ll go to the ANAF office – a nightmarish place to navigate at the best of times – first thing tomorrow morning and ask what to do.

Yesterday I only had two lessons in Dumbrăvița. One was with that girl from Thailand. I went through her maths homework, much of which was impossible for her because she couldn’t read and understand the questions. I told her mother that she needs to speak to the teacher because this homework is doing her more harm than good. Outside their house is a weird dull yellow six-inch-high metal pole, or pipe, that I’ve always been careful to avoid driving over. It’s right in my natural path and its colour blends in with the grass. But yesterday I drove over it, completely forgetting it was there. Jeez, what was that? Oh yes. When I got to the park, where I had my lunch, I took a look at the car. It was fine. A beautiful day to be in the park too; it’s in the 10% of Dumbrăvița that I don’t actively despise. But heck, I really am teetering here. Then when I got back I felt like complete crap and realised I wasn’t coping at all. I’m starting to feel seriously isolated here. It’s been a bit of a problem ever since I moved into this flat in 2022.

On Thursday the damn Scrabble league started up again. All way too hard. I’m playing one of my games against someone who was literally the US national champion in 2014. He works at Google. I’ve thrown everything at him but it almost certainly won’t be enough.

I’ve discovered a new podcast – maybe it’s not even new – by the people who used to do Fivethirtyeight before they got rid of it. I used to really like Fivethirtyeight. It was my favourite website during (and in the period before) Trump’s first term. So that’s nice. Especially when the midterms are only nine days away.

For the last couple of weeks I’ve been thinking I might move back to New Zealand in 2028. Last night when I was lying in bed I thought, maybe 2027 would be better. When I spoke to Dad he said it’s a shame I don’t really have any connections in NZ anymore. That’s true, but I don’t have many in Romania either. In fact I had more five years ago than I had now. If I restricted myself only to places where I have connections, I wouldn’t live anywhere.

Update: I’m a tiny bit better now. I’ve managed to do a few bits and pieces around the flat and send the odd email or two. And organise lessons. And read a bit. And see the doctor. We had a pleasant chat. The man who was rushed off to hospital was fine. I’m really not looking forward to what might await me at ANAF in the morning.

Family - Films - Language teaching - Life :) - Other sports - Scrabble - Tennis

Statins

September 27, 2026 by 0 Comments

So I saw my doctor on Tuesday. He went through my blood test results. Everything was fine until he came to the dreaded cholesterol. “This isn’t your fault,” he said to me, in English, as if he really wanted to get the point across. It’s simple genetics, he said. He told me to eat less dairy (I do eat too much of the stuff, I know), no more than three eggs a week (I’ve been averaging close to one a day), and pork no more than once a week. But at the end of the day, he said, I could eat a perfect diet and my cholesterol would still be too high. So as I rather suspected, there was only one thing for it. Statins. These can have knock-on effects on your liver function, so I’ve also started taking something for my liver too. That’s likely to be my future: taking some drug, then another drug to counteract the effect of that drug, and so on, to the point where I’ll no longer know what’s what. I’ll get my cholesterol tested again in six months’ time, to see if the statins are doing what they should.

I’ve just been catching up with the family. I had a good chat with my cousin in Wellington – we hadn’t been in touch for a while – then called Mum and Dad. They had Mum’s younger brother (who lives in Palmerston North) staying. He was down for my older uncle’s 85th birthday party. It was the first proper family get-together for several years. Everyone seemed to have a really nice time. They’ve had an unusually late dumping of snow there; the skiers will be making the most of it.

I had another new student (or pupil I suppose) yesterday, a nine-year-old girl who goes to the British school. She was born in Thailand. Though she speaks good English, she’s two or three years behind with her reading and writing. She also finds it hard to follow instructions. She does know the alphabet which is a help, but on the evidence of yesterday I’ll have my work cut out.

I’ve watched two more old Wimbledon matches, both involving Pete Sampras. And both involving Pete Sampras losing, which he did very little of at Wimbledon. I was never a fan of his. He was extraordinarily effective, to the point of monotony. In fact, some of the big matches involving Sampras bordered on sleep-inducing, especially if his opponent was another big server like Goran Ivanisevic. Their final in 1994 was almost unwatchable. Sampras’s match with Federer in 2001 though was an absolute classic grass-court battle that was in the balance right until the end. It wasn’t a massive shock that Federer won – by this stage everyone knew that he was the real deal. It brought back happy memories for me, because Mum and I went to see the men’s semi-finals a few days later. The other match was from the following year: Sampras’s five-set loss to George Bastl, whom nobody had heard of. This was a shock. It was played on the old Court Two, which was traditionally a graveyard of the top seeds. Sampras sat in his chair for several minutes afterwards, perhaps realising that he’d never play at Wimbledon again. And he didn’t. But wouldn’t you know it, a couple of months later he went and won the US Open, beating Andre Agassi in the final. I think that was his last competitive match.

These days, the top end of English football is disgusting and I can’t bring myself to follow it. But Man City. Damn. Throw the book at them. No pointless fine (well, you can do that too if you want), but relegate the bastards several divisions and take their trophies off them. Harsh on their fans from decades back, when they were a real club rather than the fake Abu Dhabi-owned pile of plastic they’ve become, but that’s life.

Last night I watched an episode of Black Mirror entitled Demon 79. It was set in northern England in (as the title suggests) 1979. For the first half of the episode I thought, this is a bit silly but not quite bad enough to stop watching, especially as I got to listen to all that great music from ’79 and see all the old cars and so on. But then it really picked up and I couldn’t tell which way the ending would go. Well worth watching.

I realise I haven’t mentioned Scrabble for a while. I gave up the league play over a month ago. The league, and the damn chat that you couldn’t turn off, were dominated by strong regular tournament players. Even though I generally gave a good account of myself, there was little to encourage outsiders like me. I felt I didn’t belong. I might jump back in soon for one round and see how it goes. I’ve still been playing on ISC, the much older site. Last night I played six games, winning four. In one game I exchanged tiles on both my first two moves, and once again later in the game. Suffice to say I didn’t win that one. In my other loss, my final rack was RRAEIU plus a blank. There was an open L on the board. A bingo would have won me the game. Unusually for me, I had plenty of time on my clock. I was mostly looking at the -IER ending as that looked the most promising, but I just couldn’t see anything. It turned out I had five valid winning plays: RURALIsE, RURALIzE, RURALItE, REbURIAL and gLAURIER. So there was an -IER word after all, but I didn’t know it. I’m still battling with the short words. Learning the fours – there are 5662 of them – is a monumental task for me. I’m a lot better now than when I started my assault on the fours in early June, but despite my best efforts (I test myself every day) a lot of them are still a giant mush in my brain. The problem is that they are so similar to each other and also very similar to thousands of plausible non-words.

Books - Language teaching - Life :) - Tennis

A surprise visit

September 22, 2026 by 0 Comments

On Friday I got a surprise message from my university friend. He said his girlfriend’s parents, who stayed with me two years ago, were coming vaguely my way; they were in the middle of yet another epic trek across Europe. He had no more details than that. This threw me a bit. What if they want to stay with me? This place is an absolute pigsty. On Saturday evening I managed to get in touch with them. They said they wanted to meet up somewhere convenient in town the following lunchtime, specifically so they could eat papanași, that (usually) fried traditional Romanian doughnut-like dessert. Yesterday was a scorcher for the time of year; we must have got close to 30. After picking a few kilos of fully ripe plums in Mehala, I met them at Berăria 700, which I’ve now been to countless times. They were a little late; they didn’t realise that we were an hour ahead of Serbia where they’d just come from. Unlike last time when they travelled in a campervan, this time they were going by a single 1200 cc motorbike and camping. We mostly spoke English, though sometimes I switched to French, their native language. I wasn’t that bad considering how rusty I was (and also my experience of speaking a different Romance language gets in the way). They said how much they liked Timișoara and had been keen to visit again. Having visitors who compliment the city makes me less blasé about living here. We were at the restaurant a long time; the good weather meant it was fairly busy and service is rarely swift at the best of times. Eventually we parted company – they hadn’t actually planned where they were going next, apart from to Decathlon (the sports shop) to buy a new airbed.

Decathlon is where I’ve just been myself. To get swimming trunks. On Friday I got pulled up by (I guess) one of the staff who said I was wearing inadequate swimming attire. My boardshorts, which were all I had, apparently fell foul of some regulation or other. Whether it was hygiene (I could have worn the shorts elsewhere beforehand I suppose) or just aesthetics I have no idea. What I’ve just bought aren’t quite Speedos, though they head in that direction. I went four times again last week. After all of that I was pretty knackered.

My work volumes are still relatively low considering that the kids are now back at school. That’s mainly down to the difficulty in scheduling everyone. The schools are so unprepared that people don’t know what they’re doing when, and that has a knock-on effect on me. It looks like my hours will go up this week, and probably again next week, so I should be fine. The most pleasing thing is that I’m actively trying to increase my hours – a few weeks ago I felt so crappy that I wondered if I’d ever do a full week of teaching again. Tomorrow I’ve got a maths lesson with the A-star girl. These lessons now take place in the back office of a petrol station. Her parents own either that station or a whole chain, quite possibly the latter. We were supposed to meet last Thursday but she was off to see Céline Dion in Paris. As you do when you’ve got loads of money.

I recently finished Flesh, which I found extremely readable if short of amazing. The fact that the protagonist was Hungarian was a plus for me; it felt literally pretty close to home. I’ve just started First Among Equals. It’s my first attempt at reading a Jeffrey Archer novel. This one came out in 1984 and Dorothy lent it to me. Will I be able to get through this? That was my initial thought. It’s all about political ambition. I find certain aspects of politics interesting, certainly. The way elections work for one, but also the psychology of how people vote and the way political outcomes can shape our lives. But the inner workings of the political machine rather leaves me cold. I saw Dorothy today – she’s leaving for the UK very early on Wednesday morning – and she very kindly (!) lent me another political novel, this one written by Douglas Hurd in the seventies. I remember Hurd as a senior Conservative politician when I was a kid. He ran for the Tory leadership in 1990 after Margaret Thatcher resigned. Our local MP John Major beat out Hurd as well as Michael Heseltine to become prime minister. Both Hurd (96) and Heseltine (93) are still alive. I’m sure the Hurd book is very good, but can I really face more politics?

Last week I found myself watching a Wimbledon semi-final match from 1975. The last three sets of Arthur Ashe’s close five-set victory over Tony Roche were on YouTube. What a breath of fresh air it was to watch. They rattled off the points incredibly quickly, taking less time between rallies than I would. Though you could see the players tiring, particularly Roche, the tennis had little of the physicality – bordering on brutality – that you see in the modern game. Instead it was all about net play (which has become virtually suicidal in modern singles) and crafting points. The fourth set was decided on a tie-break, but this was played at 8-8 rather than 6-6. (They did that at Wimbledon from 1971 to 1978.) Roche played a superb tie-break to extend the match, but dropped his serve in the opening game of the fifth set. Still, Ashe played a tight game as he served out the match and could easily have let Roche back in. What impressed me the most was Ashe’s interview after the match. So few clichés. This is a highly intelligent man talking here. He talked about Jimmy Connors trying to sue him for $5 million. Ashe went on to beat Connors in the final and become champion. Sadly he suffered from various health problems. He had a heart attack and underwent major heart surgery. Some years later he contracted Aids. He died in 1993 aged just 49.

Talking of Aids, I mentioned to my brother the alarming cholesterol reading I’d got from my blood test. It could have been worse, he said. He knew someone who had a routine blood test and it came back with him being HIV positive. This was a married bloke with kids. Um, what?!? Just imagine. He found out six weeks later that there had been some stuff-up and something that was supposed to be reset before the test hadn’t been. Mistakes happen, but this sort of thing can cause people to take their own lives. My brother is right; it could have been a lot worse. Tomorrow I’ll see my doctor and will ask him what I should do.

Family - Language teaching - Life :)

Clogging up as I write…

September 14, 2026 by 0 Comments

On Thursday I got my blood test results back, and apparently I’ve got cholesterol out the wazoo. My LDL level in particular is scarily high. It should ideally be under 100. According to the piece of paper, levels above that are divided into gradations of badness – up to 130, then 160, then 190. Anything above that is deemed very high risk. My LDL is 202. My total cholesterol is 275. In New Zealand and the UK they use a different scale, and my reading is equivalent to 7.1. When I worked in life insurance, we got blood tests thrown in. Cholesterol was what got everyone’s attention. In 2005 my figure of 5.5 (I still remember it) was the second-highest in the office and raised some eyebrows. The only person with a higher reading was the guy I sat next to – he was roughly the age I am now – who farted all the time. My latest figure blows that number out of the water. So what do I do now? It’s tough, because I eat a pretty healthy diet. Plenty of fruit and vegetables. Extremely little of what they now call ultra-processed foods. Not a lot of sugar. I do however eat a fair bit of dairy, so should I cut that out entirely? Naturally I’ve been searching for information and watching YouTube videos, such as this one that explains that not all LDL is created equal and I really need a more comprehensive test which I may or may not be able to get in Romania. I also played around with a UK site where you plug in your personal data and your risk of heart disease pops out. It said that because I’m not overweight, I don’t smoke and my blood pressure is normal, my risk is only just above the national average.

I got the blood test if there was something causing all the fatigue, and instead I found something else. A big something else. I’ve actually been feeling better of late. There’s still the weird back pain, but things have been normal apart from that. Having enough energy to go swimming four times last week means I can’t be that bad. Because it’s a properly laned competition-style pool, I’m forced to do lengths, when it would be nice to just sort of paddle around. On Friday the guy in the lane next to me was probably going at twice my speed. He used the stopwatch on his smart watch and even keyed numbers into the calculator on his phone which he left at the side of the pool. I’m not much better than the dog I saw swimming in the Bega today as I sat by the river and read my book. It’s very pleasant all of a sudden to do that, now that the temperature has dropped. It feels great to want to be in the sun.

I still have the odd night of badly interrupted sleep. Thursday night was pretty dreadful. I made it to the pool the next morning, but things were a struggle. I was glad to have a long break between lessons. A big gap until 5:30. But then a message appeared on my phone. You’re coming at 4:30, right? Oh god, it’s the mother of that new boy I’d agreed to teach. I’d completely forgotten, probably because when I said yes I was feeling terrible. Damn damn damn. The lesson would take one hour, but I wouldn’t be able to get to my other lessons (with the brother and sister) on time. I contacted their mother and was apologetic. She said it would be OK to start a bit later. The new boy’s place was practically impossible to find. His mum had said number 5 of such-and-such street, and I’d envisaged a detached house. Instead there were endless modern tower blocks with either no numbers or multiple numbers and names. I didn’t have a clue. I called the mother. Where are you? How do I even explain? I’m next to a cream-and-red block and just opposite a brown-and-white one, on the corner of a bigger road and a smaller one. There’s also something called “The Ring”. In English. There’s no other information. “Imagine actually living here,” I then blurted out. I wasn’t joking. Even though I live in a block myself, living something like that would be a mental-health disaster for me. Luckily, because she lived on the eighth (top) floor, she spotted me even though I was nowhere near her block. She said the whole area – estate I suppose – was completed in 2018. So when I moved to Timișoara it didn’t exist, or maybe it was a building site. (I read recently that the first wave of communist blocks in Russia each took just twelve days to build.) It was clinically modern inside the flat, with the obligatory Nespresso machine. (My book has just mentioned Nespresso machines. I remember when I lived in Wellington, there was a Nespresso store on my drive home from work. One time we got stuck in traffic outside it. We could see all the coloured pods or capsules or whatever inside. My carpool mate and I agreed that it was vile.) The lesson was fine. The boy seemed really nice, as did his mother. He was a big football fan. I gave him an “About Me” sheet where he had to write about (or draw) the things he liked and give very basic information about himself. In the “age” box, he wrote 8:30. Half-past eight. It had a certain logic to it, I suppose.

Mum and Dad have just got back from Moeraki – it was their first trip down there since early May. I told them about my cholesterol. We also discussed my potential return to New Zealand. Last weekend my brother said I should consider going back to the UK instead. “It’s not all bad,” he said. I never said it was. I just don’t think I could handle the sheer volume of people anymore. With Google Maps you can home in on places pretty much at random, and a few days ago the little peg man happened to alight on Tobermory on the Isle of Mull. Looks idyllic. A kids’ TV programme was filmed there in the noughties, taking advantage of all the colourful buildings on the seafront. Hmmm, how much would a house be? I’d be pretty damn isolated somewhere like that, but if I ever did go back to the UK to live (extremely unlikely – I hardly know anyone there now) it would need to be well outside the M25.

Language teaching - Life :) - Other sports

No longer out of my depth

September 9, 2026 by 0 Comments

Things are back to normal, for now at least, apart from that weird back pain that feels as if something is stuck there. I was supposed to have my blood test on Friday but I got turned away because I’d eaten in the previous ten hours. So I got it done yesterday instead and I’m now awaiting the results.

I’ve now been swimming three times. As I thought, it’s a 50-metre pool, roped off into eight lanes. There’s no shallow end or deep end; it’s a competition pool which has a constant depth of 1.5 metres. So there’s no diving board. And, oddly, no lifeguard either. Getting set up in the first place was a bit of a hassle. I remember how this membership stuff used to work. You’d give your name and address to the lady at the desk who would then write your name on a card for you to present whenever you wanted to swim. Now it’s all apps and passwords and links and options. Always so many options. And I’m not convinced they’ve improved our lives in any way. I’m hoping that regular trips to the pool, and just being in the water, will be beneficial to me.

Schools went back yesterday, so my hours are increasing again and I’ve got kids’ parents who won’t leave me alone. There’s one annoying mother in particular. In a short while I’ll be having a lesson on a subject I haven’t taught up until now. My student in her late thirties wants to learn how to swear in English. Yesterday I had my first lesson with the maths A-star girl since she did her exam. She’s now doing International Baccalaureate.

On Sunday I watched a football match for the first time in well over a year, if you don’t count a few minutes of that awful World Cup final. Birmingham City were playing Wolverhampton Wanderers in the Championship – the second tier. It was a damn good game that finished in a 2-2 draw. All the goals came in the first half including a comedy own goal that gave Blues their second equaliser. Blues had really been outplayed by Wolves in the first half and were lucky to be level, but unexpectedly they dominated the second half. Blues now have one win and four draws from their opening five games.

Also on Sunday I had a great chat with my brother. I was slightly cheesed off with him the previous time we spoke, but when I think about it I was feeling terrible and didn’t especially want to talk to anybody.

Family - Life :)

Where I’m at right now

September 4, 2026 by 0 Comments

Things are still pretty crappy. Burning sensation in the right side of my back. Numbness in my limbs. And tiredness. So much fatigue. I find myself exhaling deeply when I do even moderate exercise. And then there’s the brain fog. Everything becomes a huge effort. It goes in cycles though, from close to normal all the way down to getting by at only the most basic level, and back again.

I saw the after-hours doctor earlier this evening and told him my symptoms. He did the usual checks and everything was fine. I asked him, so what about some blood tests? He agreed that I should have some, and I’ve got an appointment tomorrow morning. Good that I was able to get one so soon. I said to him that I have no idea how I’ll cope with full weeks of lessons again – schools go back on Monday – and he said that of course I’ll cope. Well, I haven’t bloody been coping up until now, have I? My teaching hours this year will end up being way down on each of the previous three.

Yesterday I went to the 50-metre swimming pool a ten-minute bike ride from here. I was feeling a bit better then. A session would cost me 60 lei, or alternatively I could buy a month’s membership for 200, which would allow me to go any weekday before 4pm (and I think at some specific times at weekends too). I wasn’t allowed to swim there and then though, because I didn’t have a hat. I remember swimming at school when I was about eight and we were made to wear hats – I hated wearing one. I did buy a hat yesterday as well as stationery and a thick roll of duct (or is it duck?) tape so I can deal with Kitty’s fur a bit more easily.

The sale of my parents’ flat in St Ives is just about there. They’re now grappling with a load of online forms for capital gains tax. They haven’t made much on the property so I imagine they’ll pay negligible CGT, but it adds a layer of life admin that they could do without.

Books - Family - Life :) - Scrabble

Not much respite (and he doesn’t give a damn)

August 31, 2026 by 0 Comments

So I got a brief respite – a day and a bit – from this thing, then yesterday it came back with a vengeance. Everything was suddenly back to being a gigantic struggle. Talking to my brother didn’t help, even if I got to see his kids. (My niece is well out of the baby stage now.) His level of self-confidence grated on me. Plus he couldn’t have given a damn about anything I do here – the only thing he cared about were Russian drone incursions. Since I moved over her, he never has given a damn. If he had, he might have made the effort to see me in all this time. (Yes, there was Covid, but that still leaves eight years of never even entertaining the idea of coming over.) It would be nice if one time he could at least ask me something simple like how my cat is. I have huge admiration for my brother, but often wonder what the hell he thinks of me.

On Saturday, while I was beached on that island of normality, I went to Parcul Rozelor to see a production of the musical My Fair Lady. It was free. How all the cast and period costumes and everything were financed I don’t know. EU money? Dorothy came too – she had something else on but it got cancelled. The performance started at 8pm and went on (and on) until 11:30, with two intervals. It didn’t drag, in spite of the length. It was a tough one to carry off in Romanian, as so much depended on accent and pronunciation. There isn’t exactly a Romanian equivalent of Cockney. I thought they did a good job there, but what do I really know? I didn’t realise how many very well-known songs come from the musical. Dorothy saw the film version when it came out in 1964. I must have seen it on TV over Christmas when I was a kid; I’d like to see it again if I can find it.

Yesterday I gave up on reading One Hundred Years of Solitude, about 40% of the way through. Right now, something that complex and unrooted in reality is beyond me. It started off great, but soon I no longer knew who was who or what was what. I’ve started reading Flesh by the Hungarian author David Szalay instead. I haven’t had much luck with books lately. Dad gave me Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell, saying it was brilliant. That novel is effectively six books sandwiched into one; they are very different from one another and (at best) loosely connected. You got the first halves of books 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5 in order, then all of book 6, then the second halves of 5, 4, 3, 2 and 1. By the time you get near the finish, it ends up being a test of memory. When you have significant brain fog, that’s a problem. It was a very clever book and I got the impression that the author damn well knew it. I got through it, but I wasn’t exactly in the mood for clever. Then before that I read Patrick Hennessey’s army officer book – very readable but his writing style did my head in.

I was thinking more about my latest trip. You forget things. Like the funeral procession I met on the way – everyone dressed in black. Or how good the shower was, in a room where things were otherwise falling apart. Or what Elena said when I got back about her trips to Russia, buying and selling goods. I was even thinking about the fire salamander that I saw (and the Dutch couple identified) on my earlier trip.

On Saturday, before seeing the musical, they showed a live Scrabble game on YouTube between Mark Nyman and (if I’ve got his name right) David Shenkin. It was the first round of a major tournament in Derbyshire in England. I remembered Nyman because he was in Dictionary Corner on Countdown back in the day. A young man then, he had bags under his eyes 30 years later. (He’s about to turn 60.) His opponent, incredibly, was 91. Just as amazingly, after the game swung this way and that, it finished in a draw.

I’ve got an online lesson very soon. I feel underprepared for it. Today, officially the last day of summer, we’re forecast to reach 36 degrees.

Update: My lesson was with a ten-year-old boy. He spent almost half the 90 minutes reading from one of Enid Blyton’s Famous Five books. I needed to follow his reading, so I found a PDF version online. However, he was reading from a bowdlerised version while the PDF was (I think) the original. It was funny to hear things like “a spanking” changed to “a good talking-to”.

Life :) - Maths teaching

The end of everything

August 24, 2026 by 0 Comments

I felt much better after going away, but this last week I’ve taken a giant leap backwards, to the point where today it’s felt like the end of everything. On Tuesday (or Wednesday, I can’t remember) I ate something that disagreed with me, then Thursday and Friday were so hot that I felt imprisoned in this damn room. I’ve been sleeping terribly. I’ve also had terrible dandruff. It’s been itching like mad. I suffer from seborrheic dermatitis which means it’s not just my scalp that gets it. This weekend I’ve had almost no energy and today I’ve wanted it all just to be over. I have however booked three nights (Tuesday to Friday) in Lupeni, in the Jiu Valley, to the south-east of here. It’s supposedly three-and-a-bit hours but I bet it’ll be more. One thing’s for sure, it’ll be cooler there. My neighbour Elena says she’ll check in on Kitty twice a day while I’m away. I didn’t feel I could leave Kitty at the pet hotel again.

So it’s all an enormous struggle. It’s been a hopelessly unproductive week. The most productive thing was probably on Friday when I got a new mufă for my phone. It cost me a fair bit: 265 lei or around NZ$100. A mufă is what I think we call a charging port in English.

I spoke to Mum and Dad this morning. After we talked about the All Blacks’ big win in Johannesburg (which was nice), we discussed my future in Romania. It does feel that I’m far closer to the end of my time here than the beginning. When I picked up some figs and other fruit from the market today I did think, I might not be doing this for much longer. A lot of it is the damn heat. Summers are a right mess for me. I’m seriously considering going back to New Zealand, but I’ll see how the next few months play out.

Dorothy said she’d like to meet up tomorrow but with three lessons and going away the next day and the time taken for me to do anything quadrupled when I’m like this, I don’t know if I can. There have been protests in town against the removal of Dominic Fritz as mayor. I went along on Wednesday – it does seem he’s been treated shockingly – but there wasn’t a huge crowd and you couldn’t hardly hear what the bloke with the megaphone was saying. A far cry from the demonstrations of ten winters ago.

During the week when it got very hot, I thought it would be nice to swim in a pool or a lake or something. Dotted along the Timiș there are things called beaches and I’ve always wondered exactly what they are. On Thursday I tried to go to one, about a half-hour drive from here. I found it despite the typically Romanian lack of signage, but the rusty gate was closed to vehicles. I parked near the gate and walked up to the entrance where there was a guy of my sort of age. He seemed nice, and told me to come back at the weekend. Which I did. Yesterday I tried again. The gate was open. I paid the bloke 15 lei. I wish I hadn’t bothered. You wouldn’t have dreamed of going in the river. Rat pee disease would have abounded, I’m sure. I lay on the grass under an umbrella-ish thing and read a chapter of my book. Or tried to. I couldn’t deal with the music. It was a killer. One dancified song morphed into the next. The rendition of Nik Kershaw’s The Riddle just about did for me. Every now and then it was interrupted to tell you, in English, that you were listening to Summer Vibes 2023. People kept arriving. None of them would have been born before the original version of The Riddle came out. One of the groups started a barbecue. The whole place was designed for younger people to be with other people. I stuck it out for an hour and a half, then gladly went home.

In some better news, my maths student – the one who came in Louis Vuitton and Hermès shoes – got an A-star in her IGCSE exam. I thought she’d either get an A or an A-star – it would be close – so that’s great. It massively helped that she could easily afford all those lessons with me, but she still worked extremely hard. I got a new English student last week. He’s 23 and what I’d call a high flyer.

This evening I made myself walk down to the Bega. It was a very pleasant temperature, but I felt absolutely awful.

Poor Smoc. It’s a rather well-produced poster, isn’t it? I suspect AI was involved. Motan is the Romanian word for a tom cat. Maybe in a few months there will be no more motan or mufă for me.