In Romania

I'm sure you realise I'm actually in Romania, especially if you have been paying attention. Yesterday was spent checking out a house we had bought and deciding what to do about various matters in connection with it. There's no nonsense about buying property here - two people walk into a notary public with the titles, the notary draws up an exchange, the cash changes hands and that's it. So lawyers and estate agents don't do that well here. And it only takes an hour or two not weeks. We put a sign up saying we intended to sell the furniture and other items, and by the time we had driven out of the village we already had a dozen people who wanted some or all of what was inside.
Anyway, as it was getting on for lunchtime by the time we finished ( that's Romanian lunchtime or any time after 6pm) we decided we would drop in on a hotel we had seen advertised on the roadside just outside Sighisoara, but which we had never been able to find.
Fortunately, I had spotted the sign as the train drew into the station in the morning, and knew roughly where to go.
I was pleasantly surprised to find a well renovated old station of considerable size. The building was originally built at a guess about 1880, but was completely redone 3 years ago. It's most attractive feature was a large terrace at first floor level, which, if you ignored the train noises and you sat with your back to the track, had wonderful views across fields to the mountains beyond. Actually, even looking across the tracks was pretty good. We had an excellent meal, although I decided against " Salt crap". In case you don't know, CARP in Romanian is CRAP - so the translator had left it as it was..
Just beside the hotel was an old ramshackle wooden structure, on which someone had written ( badly) "Broons". I have no idea what this was referring to, but it looked very like the prototype of the Private Eye cartoon strip about the "Broons" and definitely seemed to me to highlight the state of the UK and what people think of us - and Broon.
Today has been spent tidying up various legal matters.
You may recall a property we wanted to buy with three owners - an old lady who needed new glasses, her sister who should have been in a mental asylum, and a third sister who was dead, who had never married, and had no children.
Well when Alin got them to the lawyer, and she was asked, was your dead sister ever married, the reply was "yes". This somewhat put the cat amongst the pigeons. If she was married the husband would be entitled to a share of the proceeds. But he was dead. So any children would be entitled. There were no children. Good. But the man he had children by another woman. Oh dear. But they got divorced. Good. How long were they married ? 6 days. Er, er.... It turns out this was in 1951. They were officially married and then they were officially divorced 6 days later.
I'm quite certain there's a story in there somewhere, but the relief that the deal could go ahead rather overwhelmed my curiosity.
Miss Elena from Nemsa has returned from Canada. She had rather burned her boats when she left, thinking she would not be back, and had put several people's backs up. She desperatelly needs to get back into the mainstream, and particularly into the Mayor's good books. In Romania such things are easily accomplished. There is to be a barbecue & dinner for the town council and friends on Sunday lunchtime, which will probably last until I have to leave for the airport the following morning.
There's no doubt that come Monday afternoon, everything will be fine again.