by Always the Sun is a mid-eighties hit from the Stranglers. Good song, but could really have done with an extra verse or two.
I had a look at another place on Monday. It was in a new, Mediterranean-looking block (finished in 2015) in the much older Mehala area. Between the annoying real-estate patter both before and after, and the initial intimidation of being one of five people in the place (there were two agents and the couple who currently live there), I got to see a damn good apartment. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a biggish living area, all fully furnished, and more mod cons than I could shake a stick at. Too good for me was my immediate thought. It was priced at €123,000 (NZ$205,000). There was one snag, however, which will stop me from considering it. The place got no sun. It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon. When I got back home, the sun was beginning to stream through my west-facing living room window. I look back at the places I’ve been in over the years, and sun, or lack of it, has mattered a lot. In 2003 I flatted in Peterborough – a dive, honestly – but I certainly got the sun. So I’ll keep looking.
The virus in Romania has spun out of any semblance of control. That’s what happens when you give up even trying and people won’t take the sodding vaccine. (Please, New Zealand, approach your “containment” strategy with extreme caution.) Many thousands of old, and not so old, Romanians will die before the year is out. It wouldn’t shock me if we are soon averaging 500 deaths per day. During the daytime at least, people are behaving as if everything is normal. Heads are buried deep into the sand. (Right now – 10:15 pm – it’s pretty quiet. If you’re unvaxed, you face an 8pm curfew.)
