by I’m now into year eight of my time in Romania. Who would have thought? Since I last wrote, I’ve felt tired and overwhelmed. I’ve coped OK with work, which I’ve had plenty of, but otherwise it’s all been a mess. Literally, in the case of this flat. The living room is a pigsty, to use Mum’s usual term for the bedroom I shared with my brother until I was 13. The central heating saga drags on and on, and I’ve now gone two weeks without hot water. We’re still getting unseasonably warm weather, but the temperature will soon plummet. On Tuesday I simply lost it as my six lessons were punctured by messages and phone calls about gas meters and plug points and contacting this or that person.
Then yesterday something miraculous happened. The Barclays money turned up in my Romanian account – the one I set up last month that’s denominated in pounds. I checked it at around 3pm; it had gone in at 11 that morning. It was all so highly unlikely – Barclays hadn’t even told me that they’d made the payment – but there it was. I’ll now have to decide whether to accept their derisory £200 “compensation” offer or try for more. Fight for something like I feel I deserve (at least one more zero), or just get on with my life. It isn’t an easy decision.
Dad landed in the UK two days ago. Mum emailed me last night to say that he’d seen his sister. She’s in a bad way – if not quite as bad as we thought last week – and won’t be having chemo. I might still decide to go over there before Dad goes back to New Zealand in early November.
The horrific terrorist attack by Hamas and Israel’s subsequent retaliation have unsurprisingly dominated the news. I’ve been watching YouTube videos, trying to understand the complex history of the region. The more I see, the notion that there are good guys in the conflict becomes more ridiculous.
New Zealand’s election is a day and a bit away. From the opinion polls and the general sentiment I got when I was over there, I expect National to win, although there are a few wrinkles involving this weird party run by a guy with more than a few wrinkles himself. They just can’t get rid of him. In the short term, a change of government is probably for the best, but in the medium term I can’t see it making much difference. I can’t see National doing much to alleviate the housing crisis, for instance. They might even worsen it. After a period of calm on the election front, I can look forward to several in succession. In Romania, the presidential, parliamentary and local elections are out of sync, but next year the stars will align and we’ll be treated to all three. Then of course next November will be the biggie – the one that puts the future of democracy fully on the line.
Last weekend I only had one tennis session. Just as well – I was so tired. After my lessons on Saturday, I spent most of the two-hour session playing with three members of the same family who were all at a good level. During the points I managed surprisingly well, but in between them I had to drag myself around the court. On Sunday I met Mark in Dumbrăvița, and then Dorothy at Scârț, a bar which has a museum of communism downstairs. I really just wanted to be alone, not just on that day but for several more. No instant messages. No risk of having to communicate. Then I had a Skype chat with my cousin in New York state. He said that Joe Biden is doing a better job than most people realise, and that was my feeling too. We talked about our parents – his father had slowed down noticeably when I saw him recently.
I’m now off to the other side of town for a lesson with that very shallow 16-year-old I mentioned last time. Should be fun.
