T-Cut on the A-Bomb

 

T-Cut on the A-Bomb

 

1 April 2026, Wednesday

Time to rejoice the first flogging-myself-to-death-in-the-garden-all-day of spring.

Despite my love for nature, I’m forced to say that white ballmustard (Calepina Irregularis) is a twat of a plant. Its great banks of white flowers look pretty but it’s invasive, it smothers all our lovely spring babies, and when I’m at it with the petrol strimmer it exudes the stench of soggy overboiled broccoli. And it’s indigenous to Southern Europe, so we can’t even blame Wisconsin or Sarawak like we usually do when monster flora attacks our patch. Apparently it’s edible, but only if you’ve absolutely nothing else in your fridge.

 

2 April 2026, Thursday

I love the spring when we’ve got the garden almost under control with all the big weedy bits neatly shorn without destroying its wild natural look, and everything’s dripping wet from heavy showers but the sun’s weakly peering through rainclouds.

White blossom festoons plum trees wherever we look whilst a variety of birds gather anything they can lay their beaks on for lunch or nest-feathering purposes. I saw a nuthatch eyeing up Hasan’s old armchair that’s been lying by the road for weeks. If he’d been a parrot he’d have said, ‘Could you give us a hand with this mate?’

 

3 April 2026, Friday

Driving back from town we saw a stray dog trotting along with a large vacuum-packed ham joint in its mouth. Priyatelkata and I cheered. Next time our cupboard’s bare we’ll send Snezhinka out with a shopping list. Back home we found Osem the cat sitting by the back door holding down the remains of a rat with his paw. His technique for pleasing us requires a little fine tuning, and seasoning.

How strange that tins of cat food always have pictures of cats on them but you’d never see a human on human food, except Captain Birdseye on fish fingers.

 

4 April 2026, Saturday

Tempus fugit! It was Lazarovden (Лазаровден, meaning ‘Saint Lazar’s Day’) again. Custom dictates that villagers put flowers in rivers and streams to bring healing and purity. Our local maidens dressed in brightly embroidered dresses and sang traditional songs as they paraded the streets with baskets to gather eggs from those wishing them a bountiful future. It was a bit like trick-or-treating but without the threatening behaviour. The poor kids got soaked in the rain but we didn’t because we went to Pizza Napoli where there were more shiny trophies on display for winning international pizza making competitions than there were tables.

 

5 April 2026, Sunday

Priyatelkata has an old friend in Brittany who has an Italian husband whose father lived in Berlin until his death earlier this year.

The family, plus Priyatelkata, have planned to travel to Rome in May for the interment of the old man’s ashes and a little sightseeing.

Berlin Crematorium people were paid handsomely to burn the body and forward the dusty remains in an urn to their Roman counterparts.

The ashes have been lost in transit, the funeral holiday plans are in ruins, and I feel like I’ve been drawn into an episode of the BBC television sitcom 'Allo 'Allo!

 

6 April 2026, Monday

It’s been announced that from 6 June we’ll be able to catch a train to Ukraine. Via Bucharest, a daily service will link the Bulgarian city of Ruse with Kyiv. Apart from the obvious questions about safety (or lack of it), I’m puzzled by the fact that, on the renaming of their capital city, Ukrainians neglected to similarly rename their famous Chicken Kiev dish as Chicken Kyiv. The same applies to Peking Duck and Bombay Duck, though the latter is actually a fish. It’s about time David Attenborough and Jamie Oliver got together to sort out this zoological culinary mess.

 

7 April 2026, Tuesday

Trump’s words ‘a whole civilisation will die tonight’ pummelled my head all night. The Iranian people who were the target of this maniac’s genocidal threat must have been through hell every night for weeks. And how does he, or the idiots who elected him, sleep?

Our village bus driver told me that, in addition to our four shiny new missiles, Bulgaria has a few others left over from a previous world war.

‘A drop of T-Cut and a rub with an oily rag and they’ll be grand’ said the Defence Minister.

‘Mmmh, T-Cut’ said Johnny Ten Levs, licking his lips.

 

8 April 2026, Wednesday

We have new neighbours. A young Bulgarian couple who speak a little English have bought the land beside our meadow. They told Priyatelkata they’ll be having a housewarming party as soon as they’ve cleared all the damaged trees and rubbish from the plot, levelled it, had an architect draw up some plans, and built a house. They pottered around on it with a pair of secateurs and a couple of black bin bags for an hour this afternoon.  So it’ll be a while yet, but it’ll be nice to have someone nearby that we can borrow cups of sugar from. 

 

9 April 2026, Thursday

Today was the day that maidens boil and dye the eggs they collected from neighbours on Lazarovden as only coloured eggs are acceptable at Easter. But Adelina said the tradition has been modified slightly as all the maidens, being off school for the week, meet up with their mates to talk about mascara, spots and boys all day while their mothers stand by the stove at home boiling and dyeing on their behalf. Or did she say dying?

When Adelina was a girl nobody had spots because of the shortages that were a consequence of living under a totalitarian regime.

 

10 April 2026, Friday

Considering herself one of the village’s maidens, Priyatelkata dyed eggs and most of the contents of our kitchen. It’s a tradition that coloured eggs are smashed against each other on Veleekden (Великден, meaning ‘Great Day or Resurrection Sunday’). If your egg doesn’t break you can expect good health and if it does you just eat it. It’s a game much like England’s conkers, mostly enjoyed by children. As the eggs cooled she formulated plans for enticing local youngsters into our garden.

Then, remembering it was International Day of Resistance Against Fascism, we went for a pizza, as Mussolini might have done.

 

11 April 2026, Saturday

On the day of the invasion we asked them to leave but they were aggressive inhuman creatures not prepared to negotiate. So we decided it would be necessary to take drastic action. Having always been horrified by chemical warfare we chose to simply sprinkle cinnamon on our kitchen windowsills. It acts as a natural repellent against ants as its strong smell messes up their pheromone trails and ability to navigate. Its powdery nature also makes them sneeze so despite the operation’s success we were left with buckets of ant snot to clean up. 

My aunt Kathleen hadn’t liked cinnamon either.

 

12 April 2026, Sunday

Lent doesn’t end on Easter Sunday. It’s gradually phased out over twenty-four hours. Observers of Lent eat only vegetables for forty days, so to suddenly start feasting today would cause gastro-intestinal problems greater than anything a Rennie could combat. Only morsels of food slightly tastier than cress are ingested to prepare for Operation Roaring Belly tomorrow.

We went to the village bazaar in Hotnitsa but the woman who sells homemade samosas wasn’t there, probably because of the end of Lent rule. We bought a magnolia sapling instead and smashed our eggs whilst planting it in the middle of our meadow.

 

13 April 2026, Monday

I have a succulent patch. There I grow yuccas and two types of cacti. One cactus has spines like piranha teeth. The other has tiny hairs that penetrate the dermis to irritate and fester. The pointed ends of yucca leaves are as sharp and deadly as the tongue of the checkout woman in our village shop.

Whilst weeding I employed a combination of thick gloves, the physical dexterity of a contortionist, and bravery beyond the call of horticulture. Then, thinking I’d finished, I removed the gloves and pulled a clump of innocuous-looking weeds that stealthily concealed the Devil’s own nettle.  

 

14 April 2026, Tuesday

Safe in the knowledge that Priyatelkata’s coloured eggs had all been cracked and eaten (by Priyatelkata herself) children returned to the streets of Malki Chiflik. It had been a bit like reading the Pied Piper of Hamelin backwards. But really, Ismail and Amy’s grandchildren love her. They are often what sparks the conversations we have with our lovely neighbours.

In Donegal, Moya Brennan, the First Lady of Celtic Music, passed away. It seemed that every musical or sporting performer that I’ve ever loved was leaving us, making me feel sad and old in equal measure. Meanwhile, Conor McGregor lives on.

 

15 April 2026, Wednesday

The dentist made a good impression this afternoon. In fact he made two, which he sent off to a dental technician. In a couple of weeks I’ll return to have my newly crafted crown fitted.

Further to our 5 April ashes story, it turned out that Berlin Crematorium did send Priyatelkata’s friend’s father-in-law’s burnt remains to Rome by courier, but on the delivery day the Roman Crematorium was closed and nobody acted upon the you-weren’t-in card left by the driver. Five days later the urn was returned to Berlin. This is what happens when you make funeral arrangements through Temu.

 

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Image:

The rugged but majestic Lada Niva we used to own went like a bomb but due to its indestructability it never needed T-Cut.  My own photograph.  

 

Part Two:

Coming soon, probably tomorrow.