First saturday of the month, been to Čurda, it's their buč*. The fair sprawled kilometer and a half of the main street, as always. This year's gimmick were the bent cocacola bottles, in various impossible shapes, allegedly unopened. Of course they were opened, whoever manages to melt glass while it's full of liquid, gassed at that, without it exploding riht there, may freely pick which Nobel prize would he like.
Someone had a bale of longplejkas (LPs), all kinds. Bought „Life in boots with high heels“ by Dado Topić (or was he still trying to pass that under the Time brand?), and „Rush“ by Lokomotiv GT (roughly third or fourth hungarian band of some importance then, the first being the Omega, second Illés, and these guys shared the bronze with Skorpió). The LGT aren't bad at all, it's good play, though every couple of minutes you recognize which trick they stole and from whom. At least thes nicked them from the best, so this is immediate second hand.
Been to Novi about some exam (maybe the physics, that I failed again). The transportation back home was Borče, namely his father, who was someone in the province syndicate (aka trade union) and had a session of some province level body that day. I remember only him driving through Žabalj and when he mentioned that political work he was attending to. For some reason, that's, in my mind, connected to the death of Milivoje, father of Veca and Sneca, of which I only heard when we came home, or maybe he knew it and remembered to mention it during the ride. It was light and cloudy.
One weekend this september we two went with my dad somewhere to Svilajnac, Lajkovac, whichever, for dad to cash his car loan (trick explained on 04-I-1977.). The guy whom we visited was trying to make dad to buy a moskvič, which is a bit more thirsty but is indestructible. And then went on about some guy who crashed against a locomotive with a moskvič, and the locomotive needed some body work while moskvič needed none.
He changed the tune when he took his moskvič to the regular checkup, where his kum was the boss. They sat and sipped coffee while the guys finished the job. When they were done, the kum sat at the wheel to spin a round around the yard just to check it out... and lost a wheel. The bolts were screwed in by fingers. Moskvič suddenly became the worst car in the world.
While dad was going through paperwork with the guy, we two strolled around. Behind one hedge piglets were frolicking**, no larger than about ten days. She said „wow look how sweet they are, let's take one home“.
Later we heard that a piglet is just like a director - in six months, a pig.
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* from hungarian bucsú, the village's patron saint day, aka village slava and fair. Saturday and sunday, all day.
** what the fuck is this, phonetic writing? Where did the kay come from? If the verb is „to frolic“, then it should be „frolicing“ and the readers should know that this is simply another regular exception. This is just a bug in the language, the k has no place here.
28-VIII-2011 - 25-III-2026