by It’s 23 degrees right now: very warm for early November. I’ve just got back from Buziaș, one of my favourite towns in the vicinity. There were a lot of families milling around, taking advantage of the weather and crunchy golden-brown blanket of fallen leaves. With the ornate covered walkway too, it was quite a lovely setting. I realise I went there exactly 52 weeks ago, just before the US election, when there was still hope that it wouldn’t go, well, how I expected it to. Although Buziaș is great, the initial section of the road that takes you there – a deeply depressing stroad – is anything but.
Before Buziaș I spoke to my parents. Dad had crashed his plane that morning – it was a total write-off. On Wednesday night I managed to get Dad on his own as Mum had gone off on a golf trip. (During my summer, when their 9am is my midnight, that opportunity basically never arises.) First, it’s great that Mum is back playing golf again. Her stomach problems – which still aren’t resolved – had pretty much forced her to stay away from the course. During our long chat, Dad and I inevitably talked about Mum. I asked him for strategies to avoid falling out with her the next time I see her. It’s a real concern. One thing I thought of is humour. Mum has a pretty good sense of humour, and in the past when Dad (or I) has cracked a simple joke, that’s helped to take the sting out of things. Mum has fallen out (again) with her brother over Trump. My uncle is a fan of his. He has little to occupy himself and his unhealthy diet of sport and Fox News combats his boredom. I would have fallen out with him too.
Mum and Dad have finished watching Joanna Lumley’s Danube, a series on TV. They thoroughly enjoyed it, unsurprisingly because Joanna Lumley is great. I could have seen it here too on BBC, but I didn’t know about it; I’ll see if I can find it online. The last couple of episodes were in Romania; the Danube skirts around the country, then forms a delta – a veritable wonderland – before going out into the Black Sea. Having watched the series, my parents are keen to do a boat trip through the delta (if and) when they come here next year. That would be fantastic but would require considerable planning because it’s a long way from me and it’s vital that stress is kept to a minimum. I did a lesson on the delta some time ago.
Last weekend I met Dorothy at Scârț where they had a market of sorts. I picked up a record – produced in 1974 – full of Balinese gamelan music. The record was made in Italy, has a price in Deutsche marks on the front, and has ended up in Romania. It’s been around a bit, in other words. It’s great to listen to; it brings back memories of my childhood trips to Bali, especially the first trip. All the wonderful smells come flooding back too. Visiting in ’74 though, that would have really been something.
My university friend – it was his birthday yesterday – is currently in Morocco, joining his girlfriend’s parents there. It’s his first time out of Europe. His photos are brilliant. Lately I’ve complained of the saminess of modern travel; there’s nothing samey about those pictures, that’s for sure.
My microwave, which was in the flat when I moved in, had packed in (I’d got used to doing my porridge in the pan), so on Friday I got a new one from down the road. It seems wasteful, doesn’t it? Shouldn’t these things be repaired? These days it’s hardly worth the effort. I found one with two simple dials and nothing digital, which is what I wanted. In fact there were two like that; I got the larger, more powerful one because the price difference between the two was small. (It cost me 410 lei, or roughly £70 or NZ$160.) The woman at the checkout insisted that I purchase an extended warranty but I stubbornly refused. I know those things are a waste of money. When I got it home I opened the box, as you do, then removed the polystyrene packaging, as you do, then oh shit, the glass turntable which was hidden inside one of the chunks of polystyrene crashed to the floor into a thousand pieces. Kitty, you stay away. Fortunately the glass plate from the old microwave slotted in perfectly. (Good job I got the bigger one then.) I probably should have been more careful, but don’t they play-test these things? Loosely packing a glass plate inside polystyrene seems beyond nuts.
I played four games of Scrabble on Thursday night and another four yesterday. Both times I won two and lost two. Gamelan is valid, and a useful high-probability word. It’s good to know because it doesn’t follow the expected patterns of a word containing those letters. Naturally I’d want to put ng or age or man together when anagramming those seven letters, but gamelan doesn’t do anything like that.
In news very local to where I grew up, there was a stabbing last night on a train near Huntingdon station, a train I’ve been on dozens of times. Eleven people were injured, two of whom are currently in a life-threatening condition. Two men have now been arrested. It’s eerie to see the pictures of the familiar station with police cordons.
A busy day in store tomorrow. I’ve got the Romanian lesson starting at 8am, then a trip to the supermarket, then I’ll try and contact the woman with publishing contacts from years ago (no harm in trying), then I’ve got five English lessons finishing at 9:30.
