Month: December 2020

Family - Language teaching - Life :) - Photos - Poker

A few pics (and a spot of poker)

December 30, 2020 plutomanby 0 Comments

It’s currently a ridiculous 12 degrees on the penultimate day of a crazy year, and the fourth anniversary of the day I moved into this flat. I remember that day well. All I had was a suitcase, a backpack, and a view. It was like a dream. I could have ended up anywhere but I’m slap-bang in the middle of this beautiful city. That’s mad. And then the next day the square was absolutely heaving. New Year is (under normal circumstances) a big deal here.

I’ve had a big last quarter of 2020 on the work front. A third of my hours this year have come since 1st October. To put that another way, my daily volume over the last three months has been 50% higher, on average, than in the first nine months. Yesterday I had five sessions (8½ hours) and felt I could have done better. I’d run out of things to do; I was winging it. Since I moved exclusively online, where there are fewer tools at my disposal, winging it has been a more prominent feature. One of my sessions was with the ex-professional poker player; he pointed me towards a database you can use to scout out fish in PokerStars hold ’em games.

Yes, poker. On Monday night I made $24 from a badugi tournament. I came fifth out of more than 100 players, surviving for 3¾ hours. It’s funny getting back into that again. The adrenalin rush of hitting a big hand or calling a big bluff. People made more moves than I remember a decade ago, or maybe they did then too and I just didn’t notice. I’m a better watcher of the game than back in the old days. My demise, or almost, came when I was dealt the 41st best hand in the game (which is better than it sounds), but my opponent made the 39th. That left me almost chipless, and two hands later I was out. After a couple of other cashes (and some non-cashes, of course), my bankroll is $97, which gives me just enough of a buffer to play the cash games. My goal isn’t really to make money (though that would be nice), but to enjoy the game and play a whole lot less robotically than I feel I used to.

When I called my parents last night, Dad had gone to Temuka to get his blood checked, so I was able to have a good chat with Mum. As long as we avoid all talk of Dad’s health, we get on extremely well. It will be a long time before I hug her again.

Here are some pictures of Timișoara (where else?):

Central Park, 20/11/20
This is Serbian. “Who is the fastest in the city?”
Some old maps of Timișoara Fortress
Gearing up for the “Romania without masks” protest.
Christmas dinner
Books - Coronavirus - Family - Life :) - The UK

A strange festive season

December 26, 2020 plutomanby 0 Comments

On Wednesday night, I met one of my students. She paid me for my lessons, then showered me with gifts. It was dark, but there was clearly a book (in Romanian, inevitably), some sarmale, and a cozonac. Damn. You’ve wrecked my Christmas Eve cooking plans. (I’m serious. I’m not great at planning, and when I do make a plan, it throws me for a loop when someone makes me suddenly abandon it.) I can still make some salată de boeuf, I suppose. But when I got home, I opened the glass container to find some salată de boeuf. She must have read my mind. Or this blog. I’ll have a go at all that Romanian cuisine some other time.

On Christmas Eve, not a lot happened. I had a lesson with the woman in Brașov. She’d forgotten that we’d scheduled a meeting for Christmas Eve, and when I called her at 8am she was still in bed. We eventually had the lesson at ten. No grammar or anything taxing. Just chat about Christmas and Covid-related stuff. She said she was glad Romania is always behind other European countries, because it means the vaccine will be safer when it gets here. Then I got the business about allergic reactions. Then the stuff about the MMR vaccine causing autism, which is utterly, dangerously, false. In the evening I heard that the Brexit deal had gone through. With days until the deadline, there were only two real options. This was the second worst option. I was sad to learn that Britain will no longer be part of the Erasmus programme, which I took advantage of in 2000-01. None of the students left out in the cold were old enough to vote in the referendum. (Die-hard Brexiteers will applaud this, of course. Erasmus is for the elite, or some such shit. It even sounds Latin, doesn’t it? Mr Erasmus was in fact a philosopher and monk from Rotterdam. Since the programme began in the late eighties, over three million students have taken the opportunity to study abroad in Rotterdam. Or anywhere.)

Not that much happened on Christmas Day either, really. It was a wet day. (One of my ex-students sent me a video clip of her Christmas morning in Austria. It was snowing there.) Mum and Dad called me from Hampden – they’d had their Christmas dinner in Moeraki. I ate some of all that Romanian food I’d been given (I felt far more grateful than I did on Wednesday night), drank some Romanian drink (the red wine was called Sânge de Taur, “Bull’s Blood”), and read my book. I’ve almost finished Kate Atkinson’s extremely clever Life After Life, which didn’t do much for me at the start (this is too clever) but quickly grew on me. Once I’ve finished that, I’ll start on my present, Inocenții by Ioana Pârvulescu. That will keep me going. My brother called me; he and his wife had done a normal Christmas dinner for the two of them, with all the turkey and pigs in blankets. He’d have been quite happy not to bother, I think, but she takes Christmas pretty seriously. My brother told me that St Ives had been flooded. Not the south side where we lived that often got flooded before the embankment was built in 2006, but north of the river where most people live. It’s been a very crappy Christmas for them. I dread to think what Christmas will do to the Covid situation in the UK. I don’t think 25th December dominates anywhere in world like it does there. Then I spoke to my aunt, who immediately asked me if I was bored. She’s obsessed with boredom. No, and so what if I am. There are far worse things in life than being bored. Thanks to Brexit, from the middle of next year my pre-pay phone plan will no longer include calls to the UK.

Dad’s cousin, whom I called my uncle when I was growing up, died on Tuesday (the 22nd). I don’t know if there will even be a funeral, let alone where or when or how. He’s one of a number of male family members to have died of cancer a few months either side of their 70th birthday. Dad, now six months past his 70th, has been through the wars but keeps hanging in there.

I was going to meet my student couple later today at their rather nice-looking house Sânandrei, but she’s just texted me to say she’s ill. It would have been my first real time spent with other humans for ages, and last night I was contemplating what to wear. My blue shoes? Hopefully we can still catch up.

Coronavirus - Family - Poker

A tragic year

December 21, 2020 plutomanby 0 Comments

This morning I woke up to an email from Dad. His cousin, who is 69 and was diagnosed with a brain tumour five months ago, is now in a coma. Dad had wondered why his cousin wasn’t replying to his emails. Maybe he just didn’t want to. Now we know he wasn’t able to. Dad’s cousin is the son of my grandmother’s younger sister, who died of cancer herself in her fifties. A potter by trade, he married quite young and they had a daughter. As kids we visited them in Wales quite often. We found him scary. He was six foot five and didn’t like children. His wife always seemed lovely though. Eventually they split up, and he found a Korean woman half his age. They had a son who must be about seven now. It’s all so awful.

Mum was telling me about a friend of hers from the UK who visited my parents in Geraldine a few years back. Her husband died in January, and then in July she lost her daughter who was 45 or so. This has been a horrific year for so many people. It can’t end soon enough.

On Friday night (my time, so Saturday morning in NZ) I got the usual bullshit from Mum. Dad had a bad headache and wanted to crawl into a hole, but they’d arranged to go out that evening, so obviously it was a pretend headache that wouldn’t have existed if they hadn’t planned anything. Stop that shit now, would you?

Late this afternoon I saw an anti-mask protest about to kick off in Piața Operei. What’s going on all over Europe and America is enormously frustrating to watch. I thought we might see these vaccines in the middle of 2021 if we’re lucky. But we have at least three vaccines ready to roll now, in one of humanity’s greatest feats. We can just about reach out and touch the end of this nightmare. All we have to do is get through this winter. But no, we’ve decided to spaff this whole thing up the wall. In the UK, they’re dealing with a new, more transmissible strain of the virus, and I just had an alert on my phone (four beeps) to say that air travel from Romania to the UK and vice versa has been banned.

I played some online poker this afternoon, including a micro-stakes triple draw tournament which I bombed out of after 80 minutes. Not before some interesting hands, though. It was weird getting my eye back in again. Annoyingly, PokerStars has a habit of crashing my laptop, so I don’t know how much more I’ll play until I can sort that out. I’ve had a few chats about poker with my ex-professional student. What comes over loud and clear from him is that live poker is a very stressful way to try and make a living.

Update: I’ve just watched Matt Hancock, the Secretary of Health in the UK, being interviewed about the new strain of the virus. He looked shit scared, honestly.

Language teaching - Life :)

Hope I can spin and stay

December 17, 2020 plutomanby 0 Comments

I went to the immigration office this morning after my lesson, but I didn’t get very far. There were five people in a queue, inches apart from each other. They wore masks, and the entrance door was open so ventilation was good, but I might have been there for hours. Time is so often the real killer. So I turned round and went home. I wanted to ask what exactly I need to do to ensure I can stay in Romania after the end of the Brexit transition period, but as I was basically expecting a don’t know, I decided it wasn’t worth it. I’ve had no luck emailing them or phoning them.

The Covid numbers are coming down here, but aggravatingly slowly, and they could easily shoot back up again after Christmas. If everyone was like me, staying out of everyone else’s way as much as practically possible, we’d now have a handful of cases every day, not a handful of thousands. It’s frustrating. But the fact that most people aren’t at all like me, for better or worse, is something I came to terms with ages ago.

They’re making the UK (or should I say England) Covid rules up as they go on, and I’m glad I’m here and not there. My student in Barcelona told me that things are stricter in Spain; you can’t move freely between say Barcelona and Madrid. But you can still happily get on a plane! Her boyfriend’s family are from Peru, and he’s flying there for Christmas. First to Amsterdam, then 12½ hours to Lima. You need a mask and a plastic visor and a negative Covid test and this and that, but just ugh.

During last night’s lesson there was a march to the cathedral steps for the anniversary of the Revolution that kicked off in Timișoara on 16th December 1989. “Libertate!” “Mai bine mort decât comunist!” I gave my student (who’s 38 and at least remembers the fall of communism even if he was too young to understand the whats and whys) a bit of a running commentary. Talking to Romanians about communism never ceases to be fascinating. Then we went through his translation of a difficult article from Romanian into English, before doing some work on prepositions, which are a minefield in both languages. For instance, I just got an alert in Romanian to say that Emmanuel Macron had tested positive for coronavirus. But the Romanian said “cu coronavirus” which usually corresponds to with in English.

I finally bit the bullet and deposited $40 on PokerStars. What’s it like these days, I wondered, ten years after I played regularly. I had to open a new account under their Romanian licence. The name “plutoman” was already taken, and adding numbers to the end looked kind of meh, but luckily they allow special characters, so taking a leaf out of Marc Bolan’s book I stuck an umlaut on the o: “plutöman”. (Not to mention Motörhead, Mötley Crüe, and a whöle bünch of others.)

Things have changed for sure. They’ve tried to Roulettify things a bit, to attract new players. The new big thing is the Spin & Go, a quick-as-a-flash three-person hold ’em tournament with a random prize for the winner. Most of the time the winner will only get back double the buy-in, but occasionally it’ll be bigger, and very very occasionally it’ll be in the thousands, even for a buy-in of a dollar or less. When you make your first deposit, they drip-feed you some free low-value Spin & Go tickets over a period of a few days. When you fire up one of these things, wheels spin like on a fruit machine (or the pokies, to go all Aussie or Kiwi) to tell you what the prize will be, then you start playing. It’s best to play maniacally. Anything half-decent and go all in. I spun the wheel four times yesterday. Once I got lucky and the prize (for a 50-cent stake) was $5. Despite playing atrociously on one hand when we were heads-up, I lucked out and claimed the five bucks. In another game I shoved with A-10 on the very first hand, both the other players went all in too, and I won, but the prize was only a $1 ticket. The other two times I bombed out. I can see how the little wins you get, and the sheer speed that everything happens, would make this format like crack for some people, but I’ll stay away once I run out of tickets.

No more health news from Dad. He’s had his 18-month check-up but hasn’t had the result yet. I hope he can get the blood in his urine (which is painless, and probably caused by his prostate) checked out ASAP.

It’s a lovely winter’s day here.

Family - Life :) - Other sports - Tennis

The latest worry

December 14, 2020 plutomanby 0 Comments

I spoke to my parents on FaceTime this morning and I was just about to hang up when their landline phone rang. Mum took the call. This sounds medical. What’s going on? Apparently Dad had blood in his urine when they were down in Queenstown, and the phone call was about an appointment to get that checked out. This week he also has his scheduled 18-month post-cancer-operation check-up. Mum told me not to worry. What the hell? Of course I’m going to worry. And if they’d got that call a minute later I would never have known.

Yesterday my aunt called me. We chatted for half an hour – that’s probably some kind of record. She started off, as usual, saying she was bored and depressed. The depressed part I sympathise with; you have some say over the bored bit though. She said her antidepressant wasn’t doing the trick, so I gave her the name of mine, though it might not be suitable for her (if she could get a doctor to prescribe it anyway). We had a friendly chat, about hairstyles among other things. She was all there and half-way back but her world has become oh so small. I’m sure things would be very different if my uncle was still alive.

This afternoon I played tennis for the last time until the spring. Tennis has been of real benefit to me. Plenty of exercise and a fair bit of Romanian too. Today I finally figured out what a da din mână means. (Mână is Romanian for hand.) The phrase means to just rally, without playing a game. The first time I heard it was when one of the women wanted to go for a pee behind the bushes, and the rest of us rallied while she was busy. Does it mean to pee, I wondered. There are lots of Romanian expressions involving mână. One of the most common is sărut mâna, literally “kiss hand”, which is used when you say goodbye to a (usually older) woman. The t is silent.

Since the US election I’ve been following the news less. Most of the time it just isn’t worth it. Three incompetent prime ministers (in their own ways) have helped push Britain to the brink of a nonsensical tear-down-everything exit from the EU while the pandemic rages on. (Hopefully I’ll be safe here.) And Donald Trump is fast-tracking executions before he leaves office, while 3000 Americans are dying every day from Covid. He really is a piece of shit, isn’t he?

I remember the 2003 rugby World Cup final very well. I watched it at my grandmother’s place; it was a few days before getting on the plane to New Zealand where I would start my new life. How sweet it was to see England lift the cup. Against Australia. In Australia. In the 100th minute. (When I arrived in NZ, they were still dissecting the All Blacks’ semi-final exit.) But I was reading that Steve Thompson, who was in the cup-winning side, can’t remember winning it. He even forgets his wife’s name sometimes. Gee whiz. He’s barely older than me. He’s one of several ex-elite rugby players to suffer from dementia.

We’re racing towards Christmas. It’ll be my third in five years spent alone, and I’m fine with that. No stress. I’ll attempt to make some Romanian food. Sarmale. A ciorbă. Maybe even a cozonac if I get really ambitious. I’ve got some vișinată, which is lovely, and even some țuică if desperation sets in. (Google these things if you like.)

I had 33½ hours of lessons last week.

Family - Language teaching - Life :) - Politics - Romania

Why didn’t he tell me?

December 9, 2020 plutomanby 0 Comments

The busker outside has just been playing La Fereastra Ta (“At Your Window”), an early-eighties hit by Cluj band Semnal M. I remember hearing it when I listened to Romanian radio online in the months before coming here, and trying to make sense of the lyrics. In my letterbox I’ve just had a note telling me I have to pick up a small package from the post office. I was hoping it would be the books Mum ordered for me, but I think that because it’s “small” it’ll be the CD I ordered off Ebay: Mwng from Welsh band Super Furry Animals. The whole album is in Welsh. I’ll pick it up tomorrow. (I also bought one or two items of clothing on Ebay, but they seem to have vanished into thin air.) Talking of music, the Kinks song Apeman came on the radio a few days ago. A great song which expresses how I feel about 21st-century life, even though it came out fifty years ago. Leave modern life behind and massively simplify everything. In some ways, that’s what I’ve done. A funny thing though – they bleeped out the first word of “fogging up my eyes”. It does sound suspiciously like “fucking”, but in reality it isn’t, and at any rate I’ve heard expletive-laden songs in English on the radio here which have been left uncensored.

Romania’s parliamentary elections have produced a split decision. The PSD (clear winners last time) are the biggest party again, but with a far smaller vote share this time, and it looks like they’ll be locked out of a coalition. The forward-thinking USR-plus (who were in third place, and may form part of government along with PNL who finished second) came top in Timișoara. There’s also a new party on the scene called AUR (which means “gold”); they’re anti-lockdown, anti-mask, and anti even thinking Covid is real. AUR got 9%, nearly twice the threshold for entering parliament, in a shock result. My student last night said they only did so well because of their shiny name. Turnout was abysmal, even considering the pandemic: only about a third showed up. And we’re currently rudderless. Ludovic Orban, the latest prime minister in a long line of them since I washed up in Romania, has quit. We still have a president, though.

After my two tricky lessons last night, finishing at 10:15, it was a great pleasure to talk to the woman who lives near Barcelona this morning. The woman I saw last night at seven is always so vacant. The lights are on but nobody’s home. What am I doing wrong? Help me! When I gave up on grammar exercises and asked her about her Christmas plans, she mercifully turned her dimmer switch up a notch or two. Then it was the poker guy with a big-stack ego. He’s so bloody good and knowledgeable about everything and loves saying so. I had 90 nauseating minutes of that. (Apart from those two students, everybody else I have is great, so I can’t complain.) The woman in Spain told me she didn’t like weddings. Join the club, I said. (Except my brother’s.) I bet loads of people don’t like weddings but don’t dare admit it.

I’ve been scouring statistics about verb tenses. (That’s the present perfect continuous.) There are twelve tenses in English, and I’ve been teaching them, concentrating on what I think are the most important ones. In speaking, more than half our verbs are in the simple present. (Not the present continuous, which some Romanians use continuously. That’s far less common.) About 20% of what we say is in the past simple. When we write a story, we’re generally writing about the past, so the percentages tend to flip. In my last blog post, which included an account of a tennis match, roughly 60% of what I wrote was in the past simple. All the stats I saw online confirmed what I thought. Five tenses are important enough to warrant serious study, including the problematic present perfect. Another three are useful once you’re at a pretty decent level. As for the remaining four (like the past perfect continuous – “I had been waiting at the station all day”), you can get by perfectly fine without them.

I spoke to my brother last night. They were in the middle of laying their parquet flooring. Eleven hundred strips of wood, each requiring two screws. It looked like painstaking work. My sister-in-law should get a shot of Pfizer any minute. I recently had a strange dream about my brother, although he wasn’t actually there. No, he’d gone to the moon (!) and Mum was naturally worried about him. Why didn’t he tell me?!

Life :) - New Zealand - Tennis

Real estate, but it feels fake

December 7, 2020 plutomanby 0 Comments

I flew off the handle yesterday when Dad suggested I max myself out by buying a place in the UK. Spend that much?! I don’t want to go back there again. Real estate is a sore point for me, and it doesn’t help that my parents have four properties and might be buying a fifth. I’m perfectly fine with the idea of buying a home – I’d like to have my own place in Timișoara – but the property market itself leaves me stone cold. My own experiences don’t help here. When I bought my flat in Wellington, people asked me if I was excited. What sort of question is that? I’ve just spent a ton of money, most of which I don’t have, and to pay off all that debt I’m using the income from my job which I probably won’t have in a few months either. (As it turned out, I didn’t have it in a few weeks. My salary almost halved at that point. Then a few months later my apartment block was basically condemned. Plus I was suffering from depression. All very exciting, right? Like riding the crest of a high and beautiful bloody wave.) No, buying that place felt like an obligation and nothing more. Done, ticked the box, phew. I was happy to oblige because I thought it would be the best move for me financially, even if paying off the mortgage might soon become a challenge. Renting it out was a good move certainly – my rental income in the last four years has helped me take giant hunks out of my mortgage – and to escape with the sort of money that can buy me something is a better result that I dared to imagine, but it’s perhaps understandable that I’m hesitant about diving straight back in.

But it’s not just that. To give yourself the best chance of avoiding poverty in New Zealand (or Australia or the UK, for that matter), you need to get on the property ladder. That’s becoming a harder proposition all the time, mainly because both Labour and National governments have done nothing to change the insane tax legislation that makes property investment more attractive than other (productive!) forms. Immigration policy and lack of cheaper housing haven’t helped either. As time goes on, you’re forced to enter the market later (unless you have wealthy parents), mortgage yourself even further beyond your eyeballs, and the profits you make will shrink as you spend less time in the market. But you still have to do it. It’s reality, but a very shitty reality. It beats me why anyone would be excited about any of that.

When I went anywhere with my parents in New Zealand, they always took detours to look at houses. If we happened to be in a town centre, they’d be peering in through real estate agent windows. It drove me nuts. And they were pretty low on the scale compared to others. They didn’t attend open homes as a hobby, for instance. As for my aunt who would come round and gossip about what places in Geraldine had sold and for how much – seven sodding sixty for whatever place up on the Downs – I’d just about lose it. Yes, always up on the Downs.

What a tennis match I got involved in yesterday. Singles. I hadn’t done that for ages. My opponent was 58 and super-fit. Much fitter than me. He plays other sports like football and possibly handball and volleyball too. I started well, moving out to a 4-1 lead. He won the next two games but I then served for the set at 5-3 and had two set points at 40-15. They came and went, and it was soon 5-5. His unforced errors were a big help to me as I got my nose in front again, and then came the 12th game. A ridiculous game. Lobs that he was able to retrieve, somehow. A gut-buster of a rally on my third set point that I lost. I was gasping for air after that. He had five chances to force a tie-break. On my fourth set point we had another crazy rally, and eventually he hit wide. After escaping with the set I was buoyed and he had a slight let-down. I led 3-0 in the second set. But then he came roaring back. I was up 4-2, but he levelled at 4-4, after I’d had points to win both those games. I then led 5-4 and 0-30 on his serve, and had a match point. I couldn’t put him away. He held on and broke me easily in game 11. Then we ran out of time; we’d booked the court for 90 minutes. He was an extremely tricky customer. Controlled aggression throughout, and solid on both sides. I needed to take big risks to hit winners against him. I hit uncharacteristic unforced errors which dented my confidence, and meant I got bogged down. My biggest failing was an inability to take the ball earlier; I felt I was giving him too much time. But his fitness, at his age, was remarkable, and it made me think I need to do something. Buying a better bike would be a start.

St Andrew’s Day (30th November), Romania’s national day (1st December) and Moș Nicolae (St Nicholas Day, yesterday) have gone by without a whimper. No market stalls outside. No slănină or mămăligă or mulled wine. None of those inescapable smells. It’s all very weird. Soon I’ll be having my third Christmas alone in five years, so that won’t feel weird at all.

Language teaching - Life :) - Tennis

Keep the customer satisfied

December 6, 2020 plutomanby 0 Comments

It’s been quite a tiring week, with late finishes and constant shifting of gears. On Thursday night I finished at 11:30 – my student needed to prepare for his rather important presentation the next day, and I was happy to help him with the English for three hours, even if my eyes were glazing over at all the unfathomable jargon. In another lesson my student attempted a translation of a football match report (one of the local teams had lost 5-0) from Romanian to English. That’s a harder task that you might imagine. The woman in Spain wanted me to read part of the lovely journal that my friend had written when she and her husband came here in 2017, particularly the bit about the level of customer service – approximately zero – that she’d got at the tourist information centre. A married couple and I discussed cheating in exams, which is (no surprise, perhaps) brazen and rampant here. It goes without saying, almost. Phones, headsets, the works. People are amazed to hear that I never cheated in exams. Seriously, I never did it. Way too risky, way too stressful, and anyway most of that fancy tech didn’t exist back then. The same guy who said that his mate transmitted answers to him via Bluetooth in a university exam (the mind boggles) also said that he received a watch as a birthday present one time, but had to get rid of it because he hated the giver so much. I can’t imagine detesting someone to that extent. (My brother’s ex-fiancée bought me a shirt for Christmas eight years ago. She was a nasty piece of work. But I still have the shirt now.) And then once again I’ve been bombarded by steaming hot grade-A bullshit about the virus and the vaccines. Take the damn vaccine, people.

I had three 90-minute lessons yesterday (Saturday), including one with a very smart 17-year-old who is taking his advanced Cambridge exam (CAE) next weekend. I can sense the neurons connecting in his brain faster than mine could ever do. Or ever did. He loves talking very excitedly about gaming, and I never know how to respond. There’s a game that he’s really into with an X in its name that has characters called Turians and Salarians. (“Now there are Turians with armour!” I’m supposed to get really excited at this news.) A Turian to me sounds like a ponging spiky fruit, while a Salarian makes me think of an overworked Japanese man in danger of karoshi. He says he finds the game educational because it teaches him about ancient civilisations, and I can believe that. I’m so out of the loop though. Computer games aren’t just something to pass the time on a wet afternoon. They’re serious business, worthy of serious expense on serious-looking keyboards and memory-foam chairs. (I’ve just checked. The game is called Mass Effect. There’s no X in the name after all.)

Things have hotted up. A week ago we barely got above freezing during the day, but yesterday we hit a spring-like 16. In between my three lessons I managed to squeeze in some tennis. After we finished the last set, the woman I partnered said I’d played “like a lion”. That’s the first time anyone has likened me to a lion, on or off the tennis court. It was a bit of recency bias, I think, because I played well at the end of our final set. We led 3-2 in that set (against two men), but lost the next two games, including on my serve, to fall behind. But then I played solidly and aggressively (is that lion-like?) in the final three games as we won 6-4. I struggled earlier in the session because the wind was howling – it was like being back in Wellington – and my game relies heavily on placement. It was a sunny afternoon, with a four-engined plane carving its path through the blue sky. After finishing our game I saw a large fat-bodied spider scuttling across the court, a species I hadn’t seen before. Last Sunday I played four sets of two-against-one (American doubles, I think they call it) with a man and a woman. In the first and last of those, I played as the one, and the stakes really do increase when you’re out there on your own. I did fine, winning both those sets, though the surface was slippery and my footwear wasn’t up to the job.

Parliamentary elections are taking place today in Romania. It already looks like there will be a low turnout, which will probably help the PSD, who are almost universally despised among the people I talk to. (After the PSD won the elections four years ago and pardoned dozens of corrupt politicians and other officials, people took to the streets. It was extraordinary to see. I wrote about it on this blog.)

I’ll have to decide what to do with this money that I thought I would never get. That almost certainly means buying property, but I don’t feel interested enough in the whole subject to make an informed decision.