Wrote overyester the initial version of STOD.PRG... to which I'll return 08-III-1998.. Big deal, ten lines tops. Someone on UA wondered how would that be done, well okay, it's so simple. The easiest way to catch foxen is to bait them with a new date problem, we always take the bait.
Went to Hungary yesterday, returned today. No saved code found on this day, so I just wonder - what was this?
Aaaah, yes! Avai was going to Budapest, in the fregata, to attend the autumn version of ifabo, whatever they call it. IIRC, it was Vanji, Brlja, Pali and me. Felt a bit odd to be there as a visitor, not as a stand girl.
Met Serž, our expat in Novi, who owns a bit of a company there (and possibly the same company that Joška used to co-found and co-own once upon a time), while walking from the parking to the ticket booths. The parking is immediately below the railway tracks, so any heavier train passing by would cause activation of dozens of car alarms, which were still in vogue there, the louder the better. Except nobody paid a pengő of attention to all the noise. [the same story is with the spring fair, fuckit, one of them is in the right place... perhaps Serž was now and the wailing cars in the spring of 1995.]
Had some good beer and sausage for lunch. The girls who did what used to be our job were all done from the same negative, csupa lába (just bare leg), same white shirts and black dopičnjaks, even the same leg shape, pure synthetic and mass production. I guess in real life they'd look rather different from each other, but on the fair, they were interchangeable. Asked Joška what do they find on them, there's nothing to take picture of, barely, less to lay with. „The trick is that they are so fragile...“. Well, de gustibus...
Had some trouble with the car, backlights IIRC, fixed it more or less at some repair shop on south end of Pest. We barely saw what we were doing, we fixed it ourselves, only borrowed the tools and the light, it was almost dark. The drive was tedious, even though the fregatta is a high comfort car, compared with the 101 Brlja was driving, or dad's trabant that I drove.
No other memorable moments, except that when I was driving the last leg of the trip, Brlja's cassete played Pink Floyd's "Atom heart mother", which I have subsequently borrowed and played until I could play it in my head.
Around this time I went to the vineyard on bicycle (it's not that far if you start early enough*) and surprised them amid work... Dad and neighbor sitting around a stump of at least 50 cm across, facing each other, each with a bucket on the side, one has a cleaver and the other a small axe, and around them a yellow circle of about three meters. They are chopping quinces to boil them briefly to be ready for fermentation. When they fill a bucket, they empty it into the still, then back to the stump and keep chopping. Neighbor's son comes with a wheelbarrow full of quince, dumps it on the heap. They both stick their blades into the stump and hold their heads.
Those boiled chopped quinces are then also squished, and only then go into the barrel. But then... those who tried, know.
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* as the proverb says about field outhouse
6-XII-2013 - 13-I-2026