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?

15 April, Monday

Snezhinka visited the vet for a post-operative check-up. The vet was happy but the dog expressed displeasure. She’s a very whiny dog, often sounding like she’s doing an impression of Kenneth Williams saying ‘Oh, Matron!’, which is quite impressive for a native Bulgarian. 

If ever you’re in Negushevo, the Yan BibiYan Guest House is a grand place to stay. Todor and Mariana nourished me with nettle banitsa, Shopska salad and rakia (all homemade) as we talked into the night about the strange but wonderful country we live in. Todor learned his English from clients whilst driving a van for DHL.

16 April, Tuesday

Mariana served a full Negushevo breakfast with lashings of healthy stuff. Being so close to Sofia I half expected some of the unhealthy but tasty trappings of the modern world.

Meeting all three of my kids at the airport at noon was altogether magnificent, exciting and emotional. Their first visit to these parts since before the global pandemonium.

They loved our house and garden despite the lack of Manchesterness and they loved Priyatelkata’s Bulgarian cooking and our dogs and cats but some of the cats didn’t like them at all. This happens when you brainwash your pets with pro-Leeds propaganda.

17 April, Wednesday

Snezhinka again visited the vet even though she’s almost cured but Secondborn Seán stayed in bed with his food poisoning which definitely wasn’t caused by our homemade vegetarian lasagne.

I took Firstborn Sophie and Thirdborn Rose to visit various cafés, bars, ice cream parlours, tourist tat traps and beautiful historic buildings in town. Priyatelkata stayed at home with the lasagne and temporary tranquillity. 

Luckily, Cat Crado spotted the demonic Scolopendra (a predatory and venomous local arthropod of disturbing proportions) before any of our visitors saw it so we could remove it from the bedroom wall, averting any need for screaming.

18 April, Thursday

Beyond our threshold raged an almighty tempest of such terrific magnitude that branches and immature fruits were struck from trees and nobody (including felines needing poos) could venture outside. Secondborn Seán’s intimate fluidity problem showed slight abatement but an additional curse emerged to ‘pile’ on his agony.

Approximately 60% of us visited the Museum of Illusions where some items played immense tricks on the eye and the mind but others were akin to Bridlington Seafront bingo prizes.  

Firstborn Sophie’s Zoom job interview went well so we dined at Restaurant Shtastlivetsa (Щастливецa, meaning ‘Happy Man’ but not Seán) to await results.

19 April, Friday

A cold but sunny day heralded Secondborn Seán’s readmission to So Solid Crew. Thirdborn Rose requested a return to the Gabrovo Museum of Humour and Satire where we enjoy the medieval church paintings of moneylenders and whores being dissected from the genitals upwards. Humour or satire?

Gabrovians, like Yorkshire folk, are renowned for being frugal, cutting off cats’ tails so doors can be closed quicker when letting them outside on cold days. The museum tells the tale.

We rushed Snezhinka to the vet with a reopened operation wound before our sumptuous last supper in Arbanasi.

Firstborn got the job… hurroo!

20 April, Saturday

Welcome to anti-climax land! I rose traumatically early to wave off my lovely children as they were driven away in Dimitar’s swish taxi. They returned to their distant dystopia and I returned to bed for what for a normal person would have been far too long but for me was far too short.

A cold grey day so I concentrated on yawning, reading a new book, involuntary dozing and listening to Romanian Jazz on Spotify. The tinkling on the keys of Johnny Răducanu always tranquilises me. I wish he could help with the mushy hole in the dog’s foot too.

21 April, Sunday

Some people might call me a tree hugger. This suggests intimacy. They don’t realise some of my trees are very young and some really old. Some are misshapen or recovering from diseases. Some suffer insect infestations while others are covered in bird shit. A few died so I cut them up and burnt them for winter warmth.

But I love them all.

Some people might find this relationship strange. If I showed the same feelings towards a group of humans living in my garden I would most definitely be considered a weirdo.

But no tree has ever pissed me off.

22 April, Monday

Daily trips to the vet have rendered the gammy canine foot situation repetitive and boring for all concerned. So no more updates until the job’s done and dusted.

Wintry wet weather returned overnight and despite the cheer of afternoon sun we continued feeling as cold as a witch’s mammary gland with no desire to work outside… or inside. In the lovely Rodopi town of Smolyan it snowed.

Although the level at nearby Yovkovtsi Reservoir has fallen 4 metres, Water Engineer Rosen Trifonov says there’s nothing to worry about.

Luckily we have wars to take our minds off climate change problems.

23 April, Tuesday

You wouldn’t believe how difficult it is to photograph yoghurt. The absence of sharp edges and contrasting features for focussing purposes was exacerbated by bad weather necessitating an indoor shoot under artificial light. I’m reassured, however, that paparazzi images of me in compromising situations with yoghurt will be too blurred for publication in tabloid newspapers.

And I was harangued by cats throughout, some of which weren’t even ours.

Dairy produce isn’t my preferred photographic subject matter but I needed a picture to accompany a poem I wrote about our magnificent Lactobacillus Bulgaricus, scientifically proven to be the world’s finest yoghurt.

24 April, Wednesday

A huge dust cloud’s particles behaved like refugees. Originating in Africa they landed mostly in Greece. Pictures of orange-tinted Athens dominated front pages. Many continued on to Bulgaria. Neither country welcomed them. They covered our car but we let them stay because we’re compassionate souls and we’re hopeless at washing cars.

Our city’s football club, FK Etar 1924, was 100 years old today. This top-flight club with a rich history has this season been Bulgaria’s Sheffield United, so the top-flight status is almost over. I missed the big celebration at Ivaylo Stadion because Priyatelka hadn’t finished knitting my purple scarf.

25 April, Thursday

Aylyak (Айляк) is a Bulgarian word meaning ‘The art of not giving a shit, doing everything at a relaxed pace and not worrying at all.’ It’s also the word for the Plovdiv state of mind; Plovdiv being Bulgaria’s second city and the oldest continually inhabited settlement in Europe.

It rained. There were things I could have done but none seemed as rewarding as lounging with a book and a stack of CDs of Balkan Gypsy music. Surrounded by ten animals and one human woman who were also quite inactive, I’m only slightly ashamed to say that today was my aylyak day.

26 April, Friday

I had a little birch tree, nothing would it bear, mainly because it was dead. It survived three winters but perished this spring. Devastating! I blame the moles… fluffy little bastards! When I sold my house in Chippenham ten years ago the only thing I missed was its magnificent birch tree. Driving by six months later I saw it had been felled to make way for a car port. Lumberjacks are worse than moles.

Bulgaria’s date for adopting the Euro currency has been postponed to July 2025 because we’re ‘not ready’. I envisage numerous postponements. We excel at feet dragging.

27 April, Saturday

We mark Lazarovden (Лазаровден, or St Lazar’s Day) by putting flowers in rivers and streams, or just the bath, to bring healing and purity. Groups of beautiful maidens prepare for marriage by dressing in gaily embroidered dresses and parading the village with baskets to gather gifts from those wishing them a bountiful future. Today, for the first time in over 50 years, Slavka did the rounds alone. Was the hole in her basket a metaphor for life?

In town hundreds of maidens dressed as American cheer-girls and ate KFC from buckets. There was a competition apparently. I hope Bulgarian culture won.

28 April, Sunday

FIFA announced a partnership with Saudi Arabia's state-owned oil company Aramco, which is the world's largest corporate emitter, and on Friday night, in a ‘must win’ game, Leeds United got a right dicking from QPR. High time, I thought, to turn my back on the misery that football brings and perhaps take up gaily embroidering traditional Bulgarian costumes as a pastime.

I dug up an invasive colony of Jerusalem artichokes to plant nicer things. They produce nice yellow flowers but need heavy duty watering during the hottest months. Their so-called edible bits taste like dog poo but aren’t as salty.

29 April, Monday

Two ticks was the time it took to evict the two ticks that had made themselves at home in the opulent surroundings of my dermis. Did the one in my armpit consider his social standing higher than that of the one encamped at the back of my knee? Priyatelkata removed them promptly because they are known to introduce Lyme Disease, symptoms of which include fatigue, swollen glands and insanity. Perhaps we weren’t prompt enough.

Beneath heavy duty rainclouds I planted hydrangeas where artichokes once lurked. In an afternoon I absorbed enough moisture to keep both species alive for a summer.

30 April, Tuesday

If I was asked to draw a graph to compare the rate at which the dog’s wound is healing with the rate at which Priyatelkata and I are losing patience with the three-times-a-day struggle to spray healing preparation onto the semi-necrotic canine tissue, I’d probably just snap all my crayons in two and go to the pub with the affluent vet.

This warm wet weather makes the snails happy but hungry, much to the detriment of our plants. We shoo them away but they move so slowly. Removing their shells to streamline them failed as it only made them sluggish.

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