Teeth of Many Colours

 

Teeth of Many Colours

 

16 April 2026, Thursday

The Interior Ministry announced that millions of euro worth of counterfeit banknotes had been confiscated since the beginning of the year. Back in the days when Bulgaria was still using the lev, it was looked upon as a currency that few people really valued, or even knew about. Consequently, there was no money in forged money.

But fake euro are printed in countries all over Europe (not just in the European Union member states) and now that we’re Eurozone members they’re coming into the country from all directions.

Having a new problem to be concerned about makes a refreshing change.

 

17 April 2026, Friday

With a June 2026 expiry date in my passport I’d been thinking for a while about renewing it, but putting it off day after day seemed easier than sitting down at a computer to do an online application.

So today, after a good night’s sleep, a hearty breakfast and the casting out of procrastination demons, I overcame my fear of technology and completed the task, including the taking and uploading of a new photograph, in under twenty minutes.

Then a different cause of anxiety raised its head as I began the new passport delivery waiting game. Dublin, do your stuff!

 

18 April 2026, Saturday

For his own safety, Crazy Ludo the bane of Bulgarian veterinarians, hasn’t been allowed outside the house for over a month but has still managed to sustain injuries. There were no holes in his body or limbs this time but any attempts we made to remove him from the settee led to pathetic wincing and ferocious growling from him, and from Priyatelkata and I. Bruised ribs were our diagnosis (he’s had them before), probably caused by falling off something high up whilst engaged in battle with one of our nicer cats. If I wasn’t bigger than him I’d be scared.

 

19 April 2026, Sunday

The sale of alcohol in shops, cafés, bars and restaurants was forbidden today because it was General Election Day. Apparently voters needed to have clear heads for making such an important decision about our country’s political future. However, as this was our seventh general election in five years (none of the previous six having produced an outright winner) I wondered if there might be a better outcome if everybody got absolutely rat-arsed before voting. During forty-five years of totalitarian communist rule Bulgarians campaigned to restore democracy, but since they got it they haven’t really known what to do with it.

 

20 April 2026, Monday

Rumen Radev became our Prime Minister as sensationalist journalists around the world reported that he’s the new Viktor Orbán, which he isn’t. They constantly look for stories on subjects on which nobody from outside Bulgaria is sufficiently knowledgeable to dispute.

There have been pitifully few politicians in my lifetime that I’ve completely trusted but, during his nine years as president, Radev spoke fairly and stood up for our country, and his major target is to end corruption. He’s a former jet fighter pilot who speaks English so he’s a big step up from his predecessors. Decent Bulgarians are cautiously optimistic.  

 

21 April 2026, Tuesday

Crazy Ludo’s reaction to being picked up was one of extreme craziness that suggested extreme painfulness. At the vets’, Dr Tatchev gave him a general anaesthetic, and a good poke around revealed a large abscess in his hidden away undercarriage spaces.

The cat we collected late in the afternoon was a blood-stained mess with a hole in it, but completely free of bacteria-filled sacs. A distressing sight for us but the poor puss must have felt like a bag of pus. He battles on despite his nine lives quota having long since expired. He would benefit from having a minder.

 

22 April 2026, Wednesday

I learnt of the existence of a game called frisbee golf. In disbelief I wasted twenty minutes on YouTube to discover that it was exactly what I feared it might be. It has more or less the same rules as ordinary golf but instead of a ball they use a frisbee, and instead of a hole in the middle of each green they have a Leeds City Council litter bin. What will they think of next? Buckaroo! cricket?

With curiosity running wild I furthered my research. Did you know that the current version of Buckaroo! has three different skill levels?

 

23 April 2026, Thursday

Priyatelkata said she was worried there may be seismic activity going on beneath our house as every time we eat banitsa or work more than a couple of hours in the garden the stairs seem to become steeper and harder to climb.

I have a similar theory so I count them each time I go upstairs. There are still only eleven even though it often feels like fifty.

And we blame continental plate tectonic movement for making the distance from the bed to the bathroom so much longer in the middle of the night. It’s like our toilet’s in Africa.

 

24 April 2026, Friday

Malki Chiflik life’s currently a bit uneventful. Working in our garden every day until I reach the point where exhaustion prevents me from doing anything else fills my days. The garden’s our labour of love but also extensive and predatory. My old neighbour in Chippenham would have concreted it over and painted it green.

Hidden in a mysterious dark space, Priyatelkata has a kombucha that bubbles violently like the Weyward Sisters’ cauldron. Bacteria from this active mushroom is a key ingredient of the countless litres of delicious probiotic fruit and ginger beverages she makes. She’s become a living SodaStream machine.

 

25 April 2026, Saturday

I find myself at the centre of a Venn diagram of things that can be talked or written about but which people may find boring, depressing or both. In there with me are football, American wars, pets’ medical issues, carpometacarpal arthritis and anticipated aestival water shortages. I’ll make no further comment about them but at least we all know they’re there. I wonder if Karoline Leavitt rejoiced York City’s long-awaited return to the Football League as vocally as I did this afternoon.

A pair of golden orioles in our walnut tree smoothed the edges of the madness that surrounds us.

 

26 April 2026, Sunday

There was another attempt to assassinate Trump’s ear. Commentators say it was staged to boost his popularity, and it would have done had it been successful. Hard working Bulgarian people are struggling because of his lunacy.

At Mucky Monika’s Massage Parlour, Monika was down in the dumps, telling me her business had slumped due to the sharp increase in oil prices. My suggestion that she use argan oil instead of Brent Crude got her thinking.

Later, Johnny Ten Levs sobbed that he’d resorted to drinking Lagavulin 16-Year-Old Single Malt whisky because Unleaded 95, his usual tipple, had become so expensive.

 

27 April 2026, Monday

Baba Stoyanka, with a tooth of every colour except white, who sits by the well wailing mournful dirges about how truck drivers only stop for the young gypsy girls and never for her, said to me, ‘In the kingdom of rap music, the hard-of-hearing man is king.’

She’d probably just returned from Café Amaretto in town. A lovely place with lovely coffee but horrendously bad loud music. On my last visit there the barista couldn’t hear my request for an espresso because of an American songstress asking ‘Do you want to try a piece of my ass?’ at ninety-six decibels.

 

28 April 2026, Tuesday

Slovenian Mrs Trump insists she’s Balkan, but Bulgarians insist she’s not.

At those parties on the White House lawn there’s never a sheep on a spit, never any sign of rakia in reused two-litre Fanta bottles, and never fast and furious music played loud and late into the night by a gypsy brass ensemble.

She’s like those Canvey Island people who claim to be Cockneys, though the airports started it. Luton Airport should never be called London-Luton Airport, and London-Southend is even more ridiculous. Eventually they’ll be flying to London-Inverness.

Meanwhile, nowhere north of Bulgaria, Serbia and Bosnia is Balkan.

 

29 April 2026, Wednesday

 

As migrating flocks lift off the ground

In Boeing’s birds to the Orient bound

They’re forced to go the long way round

 

New routes to New Zealand and to New Delhi

To Old Shanghai and New South Cymru

For they daren’t go near that Persian Sea

 

Our Balkan skies where jet planes streaked

Spitting deadly fumes as engines shrieked

Have been the purest blue for several weeks

 

Above our house the noise has ceased

But for the flapping of wings of storks and geese

How strange that war can bring such peace

 

But I’ll be glad when it’s all over

 

30 April 2026, Thursday

A month’s rain fell in a day, it seemed much colder than it really was, heavy snow fell near the border with Macedonia, and I fretted over our beautiful filigree blue irises braving the elements in our garden.

Infinitely more worrying was the continued wondering about the whereabouts and safety of my friend Farzaneh in Iran, who I haven’t heard from since the bombing began. Facebook Messenger tells me my messages can’t be delivered.

People say drink is never the answer but three pots of tea warmed and cheered me as I fitted a new lock to the back door.

 

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Image:

This lady in a village in the Rodopi mountains isn’t Baba Stoyanka with her teeth of many colours but looks a bit similar. And she was reluctant to smile for the camera. My own photograph.

 

Part One:

T-Cut on the A-Bomb