- Solve & Explain the following :
- (19042019 ÷ 24) – (60 – 59.5) = D+D+D+D+I+CH+CH+D+D+D+CH+D+D+A+A+SLO+D+D+D+D+F+D+E+D+D+CH+CH+CH+A+A+A+D+D+D+SLO+D+D . . . . . . . . .
Sixty-eight years can seem like a lifetime. At sixty-eight you’re aware that that once comical city message proclaiming “The End Is Nigh” is starting to ring true. Not quite so funny anymore. The days seem to stack up quicker than ever. They fly by. Quicker than you prefer. However, occasionally, you have a day, like today, when you’d prefer to just blink and get it over with.
We arrive at Belgrade Camp Avala, much much later than planned. Or hoped. With no phone service for us to tag on to we can’t let the site know. It didn’t matter. We’re very warmly greeted by the proud owner. Probably because we’re the only ones here. We’re much further away from Belgrade than planned. Site’s name a misleading misnomer. We’re way out in the sticks. Far from a train station. No regular buses. It’s a new site. Opened before it’s ready. Incomplete. But lovingly being worked on. Even if parts look like a building site – see what I mean?
We’re (Mrs S) feeling too tired for cooking. Get let off the hook. Traditional Serbian BBQ is on offer. We order. The owner takes me over to his newly built terrace. Below ground he has a secret. It’s an immaculate cellar. He makes his own organic wines. Grows the grapes too. Recommends a white which would go well with dinner. Pours it straight from a huge storage cask. He makes the perfect choice.
Earlier, the day had started well. It’s Good Friday. How were we to know it would turn into Bad Friday?
We’re hopping along nicely. Like a couple of happy bunnies. Decide to take the A3 toll road. Unaware that it would later take its toll on us. We have many miles to cover today. We cover them. But not as quickly as the answer to today’s puzzle. The answer whizzes by in the outside lane. Ist der Vaterland in Flammen?
A considerable distance from the Serbian Border we merge into two. One really. Thousands upon thousands of lorries line up on the inside lane. It seems they could lovingly reach to the moon and back. Each one waiting patiently before being subjected to the Serb Security Customs control.
With a nod and a wink we pass through the Croatian exit control booth. Then, Beastie gets pulled over by the Serbian Fat Controller. Beastie’s vehicle registration documents need to get checked against the Europol database. While that’s in progress, a couple of gynecologists approach. Disguised as Serb Security. They don’t fool us. The longer look yellow Marigolds a sure give away. They insist on giving Beastie an ‘internal’. Want his private and previously unseen parts (apart from moi [I am family after all] ) to open wide. He’s uncomfortable with this. I can understand why. He’s a boy. He doesn’t fancy two complete strangers rummaging around his nether regions. He’s certainly not in the mood for a ménage à trois. I can detect a headache coming on. They spot Scoot tucked inside and he’s given the same treatment. Twenty minutes later and Europol can find no black marks. Frowns turn to smiles. Leave the Fat Controller to do what he does best. We head on.
But not for long. We discover there’s pro and anti protest marches in Belgrade today and tomorrow. (We decide to give Belgrade a miss). The traffic quickly builds up. More and more coaches over-spill into the mass. We gradually come to a crawl. A very unconventional, (that’s putting it politely) roadworks filter system, leaves us gasping. Gasping to get to the site. We’re on our hands and knees now. In fact we’d go faster if we were. Ninety minutes for 1.2 kilometers. Adds up. Brings our total traffic delay time to 210 minutes – a record for us.
Then all too soon (I lie) we arrive. Time to blink.