The Romanians

Hey all,

The Romanians that I had most to do with were Head Romanian and his two female familiars – Head Romanian ran the grading table and the rest of the blokes helping with it, a revolving cast of Kenya, Big and Little Kiwi, Posh Boys, while the two women did the actual grading – the only job in the place that went to women as the trees were too heavy for even two blokes to lift on occasion.  The exact relationship of Head Romanian to the two girls remains a mystery.  Sisters?  One sister, one wife?  Both wives, both sisters and wives, wife and mistress, sister and girlfriend?  No one was sure.  There was an intense amount of interest in the question, these being the only two girls on the entire snowbound-in-the-middle-of-nowhere plantation, but no one was game to ask Head Romanian, who lurches around looking vampiric, sinister, and is almost entirely devoid of humour and certainly of any sense of irony.

Case in point: he is the slowest driver I have ever been in a car with, by a significant margin.  Unbelievably slow.  It would be quicker to walk all the way to the nearest town to do the shopping.  One day I said to him: “Mate, was a bit worried on some of those corners last night – thought you were going to lose it, fly off, kill us all in a fiery inferno of death and blood.  Shouldn't go round corners up on two wheels when you have passengers like that mate, taking big risks with other people's lives – it's not on.  F***ing shit myself.”  He looked at me blankly, “But I drive really slowly.  I never go above forty.  You must drive REALLY slowly if you think I am fast.”  I am morally certain he was not taking the piss.

Photos.  1.  If you look at the line of snow on the tall straight tree in the centre of shot, you can get some idea of the wind.  2.  The view out the window in the house.  3.  The shed, while snowing.

Cheers, B.