Sale got two more yugos for DBA. They were perfect twins, even had consecutive registration numbers. So we had five cars now. With the country now being the stump of a federation (just Montenegro and Serbia), most of the component manufacturers were now abroad and it's actually a small miracle that they were still made. The engines were still made at DMB (Dvadesetprvi Maj Beograd - 21 may Bg), but the springs were from Lancia, imported. The engine wasn't the 55HP as with the older two, but rather the 45HP, smaller 903cc engine that used to power the sporty versions of the old Fiat 850 (the coupe and cabriolet).*
The time of purchase is my best guess, because they were purchased at the automobile fair, which is traditionally this month. And by the end of the year, when the crisis hit, I had to go to Vršac several times, each time carrying an emergency supply of 5l of gasoline in the trunk. The road was nearly empty, so the ride was quite smooth, not much stop-n-go or acceleration, but still these little ponies never needed that extra gas. "Eats shit, doesn't need gas".
Later in the year, we fitted one of them with extra springs and an 85l tank. It was the transportation horse, to carry the fuel for the others. Once at romanian border we poured at some guy who had some speciel funnel with airplane fuel filter - a sieve which wouldn't let water through. Don't know how that worked, the holes seemed quite small but it let the gasoline through at considerable speed, and a spoonful of water remained on it. Fuck computers, this is technology.
About this time we had an electrician fit everything around the house. Well, almost everything, he left a few things unresolved, like the xor switch in the anteroom, similar one in Johan's room (aka pantry) and garage. When he asked at what height to put the switches, I closed my eyes and lifted my hand at the expected height. Then we added 15cm to that, which will be the thickness of the floor.
On sezam on 17th:
"Two days ago, in Sombor, I heard two stories about the blue helmets: first, that first few hours after disembarkment they exchanged dollars at official rate, until they got smarter. This was still long enough for some smugglers to get rich quick, and some other smugglers to get into a fight among themselves...
The other story is from the other side of Danube, about a fight between some Russians and Belgians. Russians say "Zđesj Serbija!" while Belgians say "Here Crowaysha", which ended in fists. Don't know how much of a fight, but some broken noses for sure.
Don't believe this was anything big altogether, but there was something. Locals, supply details.
Also, you can't buy a bicycle and vicinity, also jeans and few other things. All bought by hungarian neighbors. They buy everything. The folks in Subotica complain, and now in Sombor too, though I don't know why - we emptied anything between Szeged and Györ and Békescsaba for years, now it's their turn for courtesy visit."
And, BTW, we're in a different country now. SFRY is no more, on 27th they announced we're the FRY now. And the word is actually not federation, it's a league, so we're now a Bundesrepublik.
These months Grgi was a patient for acupuncture. He fucked up at training - he sparred with some youngster first, then stood aside to observe another couple fencing. Ever since he wasn't a member of country's representation, he quit competing and became a trainer. So he stood there, all hot and sweaty, and caught a draft and his left shoulder started screwing him for all it was worth. He tried many things, even found some sport medicine specialist, but the pain stayed. So he decided to try acupuncture. She found the appropriate points in her books, and it turned out to be a lineup from his collarbone to half his bicep. She already had a better, stronger stimulator, which would pass some low voltage, around 1V, low strength pulsating current. She'd hook its terminals to the end needles. He looked like a model of a transmission line.
He paid in eggs, his folks had hens and too many eggs. Sales were a problem, so for a while he was peddling eggs to folks at DBA.
He'd lie prostrate on our old couch, which fell through second time, the springs in the middle have sagged again. The upholsterer didn't replace them last time, just rebound them. The first crater came from dad's watching TV, in the years while the contraption was in my room (i.e. until it got remodeled into purple in august 1973). This time they failed as being too old and worn out. Grgi already had quite a belly by then, it's a miracle what courting Višnja by going out for dinner so often can do in just two years. Which lasted while it did, and then only the appetite remained. The destiny of ex sportsmen. Anyways, the belly fit the hole snugly, and his back was straight.
She didn't cure him, he just got better. Then later he found another sport medicine specialist, who shone some yellow light on him, and he said it nearly solved the problem.
The hole in the couch was bothersome. I slept on the part which doubled as backrest in the day; it was she who slept in the hole**. It did happen from time to time, that I take a nap after lunch, because she did some heavenly miracles in the kitchen, and my circulation would go to the urgent task of digestion, leaving the brain working on only seven of thirteen cylinders (which was an internal joke, which never provoked anyone to ask „why thirteen“... yet on other jokes they always find logical flaws), and belly in the hole was the only feasible position. Nina described it with these words: „dad loves mama's hole, it's so nice, comfortable and soft“.
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* amazingly, the same engine is still used in various FIAT's vehicles - in 2020 I rode a FIAT 500 cab, a regular spacious five-seater, with that engine, running on methane, and it didn't even have to rev high at all. Amazing.
** and she slept on my left side, which was only then. Later, we developed the opposite habit which we almost never changed. Except once, twelve years later, with funny consequences.