This Sort of Thing - April 2024 - The Gametophyte Stage

 

Introduction

This is the seventh month in which I’ve described my personal shenanigans by writing 100 words every day. April is one of my top four favourite months because everything around me seems to be invigorated and green though still a little wet, much the same as I am myself.

If you read beyond this point without nodding off, then I’m very grateful and if there was such a thing as a tee-shirt bearing the words ‘I stuck with this month’s This Sort of Thing right to the end’ I’d send you one but there isn’t, so I won’t.

My words…

 

1 April, Monday

Priyatelkata once explained that the French April Fool procedure is the same as Britain’s except the punchline is ‘Poisson d'Avril’. Forgetting she’d told me, she falls victim to the prank every year. Until 8:14 am she believed that popular beat combo Olivia, Newt and John had reformed.

Faffing with bathroom fitters and salesmen this warm day sapped all energy reserved for garden duties which we discovered must be complete by Sunday as next week we’ll be five days without bathing facilities. Hassan our neighbour said he hasn’t had a shower since the town’s Milky Sheep Festival and he hasn’t suffered.

 

2 April, Tuesday

Whilst working horticulturally with my supersonic strimming machine this afternoon, despite wearing all the recommended safety apparel, a small stone flew directly up my nose. A most strange and novel experience!

A business opportunity sprang to mind requiring capital investment of little more than a bag of gravel. At my funfair stall I would offer, for one lev per go, the opportunity to send the gravel airborne by placing the business end of my power tool in it and revving the throttle. Any contestant successfully propelling a single grain into any orifice (of their own) would win a cuddly goldfish.   

 

3 April, Wednesday

Intelligent but lonely whilst living with grandparents, eight-year-old Mert talks to me in the street. A nice kid despite his big mouth and even bigger head. He speaks English, Bulgarian, Turkish and Dutch but looks uncannily like North Korean leader Kim Jong Un. With his towel round his neck in lieu of a cape, he sped down the lane on his kick scooter in the belief that he was the Queen of England. 

I finished reading The Fall of Light by Niall Williams. An excellent tale set in nineteenth century Ireland. It could easily be retitled The Potatoes of Wrath.

 

4 April, Thursday

Snezhinka, our former street dog, has a bleeding and pustulent lump on the underside of her paw. The vet, who can probably be forgiven because English isn’t her first language, said it’s probably cancer. It seems there are no Bulgarian words for bedside manner. Injections were given to tide the poor bitch over until next Friday (Snezhinka that is) when she returns for a pustulent lumpectomy.

This dear hound, who often displays the amusing facial expressions of Gromit from the movies, doesn’t get taken into the city very often, so I suspect she considered the trip a grand day out.

 

5 April, Friday

Twice a year Bulgarians swap over car tyres. Winter ones for summer ones and vice versa. Desislava, a nice smiling lady does the work. Despite having the build for it, she was born too late to be a steroidal Olympic shot putter. We saw her in a restaurant one evening wearing her posh frock and not covered in muck and oil. Apart from the pencil behind her ear she looked quite glamourous.

We’ve two cars (essential as one of them is usually away at the menders) so the process takes three hours. The adjacent OMV petrol station café accommodates us.

 

6 April, Saturday

My favourite Bulgarian regional anthem, by a country kilometre, is A Clear Moon is Already Rising (Ясен Месец Веч Изгрява) especially Sava Popsavov’s 1953 recording. Its bold and passionate words being the hymn of the mystical and superstitious Strandzha Massif in the south east of our country. A song rallying peasants to rise against an occupying empire, it reminds me of The Rising of the Moon to convey a similar message to Theobald Wolfe Tone’s followers during Ireland’s 1798 Rebellion and which has been with me six decades. Both songs were written long after their respective uprisings had ended but both are terrible beauties.

 

7 April, Sunday

Yesterday I planted seven trees in our new territory. Babies I’d nurtured myself from seeds. In the past I’ve been a collector of coins, stamps, football badges, records and even dirty glasses whilst working as a barman. But from none of these did I gain pleasure like that from my current collection of trees. There are far too many to count.

Last night’s hefty thunderstorm prevented work in the now muddy garden so I cleaned the fridge instead. I also cleaned our extensive and dusty fridge magnet collection but there was no joy in it. I missed those lovely trees.

 

8 April, Monday

Today was International Romani Day so we decided we’d join a Romani community and live our lives the old way. But on reaching our gate and greeting our neighbours we realised we were already living in a Romani community, so we went home and put the kettle on.

Hristo the plumber started work on our bathroom improvements. A messy job which means we won’t be able to cleanse ourselves for the next five days. Would I be guilty of racial stereotyping if I were to say that made us feel even more like we were part of the Romani community?

 

9 April, Tuesday

Hristo the plumber arrived at our house smugly smelling of lavender. We no longer cared that our bathroom was out of service because the water supply to the entire village had been cut off… temporarily… hopefully! Our cat Osem stole his lunchtime sandwiches. Na-na-nee-na-naa in Bulgarian is на-на-нее-на-на.

Miro the Bulgarski tutor agreed we’d both benefit from four months without each other so my summer holidays began today.

Desperate for an evening shower but reluctant to admit it to those around us, Priyatelkata and I freshened ourselves on the terrace using dental floss and a secretion collected from osage orange trees.

 

10 April, Wednesday

Ramadan ended yesterday so our neighbours celebrated today. They observe the fast religiously apart from the bit where you don’t eat or drink. It seems that food from McDonald’s isn’t classed as food, which makes sense to me. They don’t do the bowing and praying business but the big party at the end is taken very seriously. Eid Mubarak!

The middle bit of our new territory is almost transformed from a thicket to a lawn. We’ve invited the vicar for croquet on Sunday afternoon. Cucumber sandwiches, Victoria sponge cake and lashings of rakia marks the spot where east meets west.

 

11 April, Thursday

Usually when our water’s cut off it’s just in our village, but today the whole city dried up. We questioned the wisdom of our investment in a new shower. The water boys insist they’re upgrading the system, which hopefully includes the introduction of water.

Mert’s parents paid 30,000 leva for a sinister looking black Audi. They’ve only one key which Papa has lost so Mama was shouting a lot in the street. Johnny Ten Levs, a strong drink enthusiast with cataracts like omelettes, joined in the search. So all is not lost… just the key, and Papa’s will to live.

 

12 April, Friday

The Yovkovtsi Water Company restored our supply. Hristo the plumber, assisted by Coco the assistant plumber (not clown, or Chanel), completed our bathroom modifications. But bathing’s still prohibited because sticky construction materials need to dry for 24 hours. It’s almost a week since we were germ-free post-adolescents.

Snezhinka the Wonder Dog was at the vet until early afternoon having her tumorous thing excised. She came home with a blue bandage on her paw and an ‘I was brave at the vet’ sticker. The tumour went off to a pathology laboratory in Romania. I felt miserable seeing her looking so miserable.

 

13 April, Saturday

Priyatelkata spent the morning admiring Hristo the plumber’s magnificent plumbing (ooh-err!), pointing out that the sealant around our new shower had been applied with such professionalism that it was barely visible. Whilst using the installation she observed our bathroom floor moisten heavily and realised we’d waited overnight for non-existent sealant to dry.

We showered anyway and mopped up the surplus. Hristo promised to return to put matters right on Ponedelnik (Понеделник, meaning Monday). Bulgarian tradesmen are famous for not specifying which Ponedelnik so we mentioned Bulgarian words for ‘the day after tomorrow’ and ‘Alfred Hitchcock Psycho Killer shower scene’ to clarify.

 

14 April, Sunday

A morning spent shopping for victuals in Kaufland and an afternoon strimming in the garden. Neither activity is particularly thrilling but the latter is carried out where birds, bees and squirrels play and sunshine kisses our faces. On the other hand, Kaufland sell delicious cheese and spinach banitsa so we were able to stuff those faces.  

Israel and Iran have been squaring up to each other with drones and missiles. While the world screams ‘Don’t do it!’ America stands behind Israel saying ‘I’ll hold your coat’. Netanyahu’s hell-bent on dragging all nations into his war. Will he eventually attack Ukraine?

 

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Image:

Snezhinka the Wonder Dog holding out her paw to show where it hurts.

 

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Click on the link for part two...

This Sort of Thing - April 2024 - The Sporophyte Stage

https://www.abctales.com/story/turlough/sort-thing-april-2024-sporophyte-stage