Due to circumstances, I spent the summer working. I didn't have time for danguba. This can be seen from the fact that I did not write a blog for two months, from July 1st to September 1st. Because blogs are born out of idleness.
I didn't even get to follow the political situation in Montenegro, regardless of the fact that it is in the description of my primary, journalistic job. But it seems I didn't miss anything. In the middle of September, everything was the same as at the end of June: DPS frantically guards the power as if it were a matter of life or death, that is, freedom or imprisonment; Bosniaks and SD assign incompetent personnel to leadership positions; The Democrats and the DF continue the pointless war; the rest are occasionally advertised with announcements that few people read; Duško K. continues to send compromising videos from London; Katnić recites epic poetry...
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In the past, "action unity" was annoying, but today "there is room for improvement and intensive work is being done on it".
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The students returned to the same desks and classrooms they left in June. Those desks and classrooms were mostly used by their parents even in the last century.
Our education is both literally and metaphorically stuck in the twentieth century.
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On Wednesday, September 11, I was in Petrovac, at the funeral of my godmother Smiljka Perazić, nee Petrović, who baptized my brother in 1953 and me six years later. She died at the age of 94. She lived almost a century, and she never quarreled with anyone, nor did she say a bad word about anyone. Is it possible? It is possible, ask the people of Petrovac.
Peco P. said in his posthumous letter that his aunt Smiljka lived according to the pattern left by patriarch Pavle: "When a man is born, the whole world rejoices, and only he cries." But he should live so that when he dies, the whole world cries, and only he rejoices."
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Arriving one Thursday morning at Radio, on the "Promenade", for the first time, instead of the unpleasant smell of tobacco, I smelled the pleasant smell of coffee. And, I have to admit, with a slight sneer, I sent my otherwise dear colleagues down to the road, to "light one at a time".
In mid-August, the Law on Restricting the Use of Tobacco Products entered into force, banning smoking indoors. Fines are up to 20 thousand euros.
What is our first move when we get into the vehicle? Let's fasten our belts and turn on the light. The fines made us wiser, because while we were passing with a warning, we didn't bother with our seatbelts or lights.
Montenegro can become a legal state only with the help of repressive measures, indiscriminate and at all levels.
I hope that the changes to the Law on Internal Trade, according to which Sunday is also a non-working day for traders in Montenegro, will take effect. Women are still in a subordinate position here, and it seems to me that this is best seen in the thousands of Montenegrin maxi, mini and other markets. In them, women work on their feet all day, mostly for a pitiful salary and without basic employment rights. They are often harassed by up-and-coming bosses who only care about profit, at any cost. They must not protest because they will remain without that crust of bread. When I see them on Sundays or holidays, that they are behind the counter or between the racks, tired, with a dull look, I sort of bow my head. Just like every December 31st, sometime at dusk. Because, while they fulfill various New Year's megalomaniac consumer whims, I know that they only want to be with their family and that, like everyone else, they are looking forward to the holiday.
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From Bar Tales 3:
Once upon a time, bar policemen were really part of the people. Especially the so-called stages that had their own area. You could comfortably wind a watch on them. At exactly the appointed time, they passed through "their" street, serious, ready to help anyone who needed help.
One of the favorite police officers was Migo G. Young, good-natured, tall and strong.
At the time of this summer story, he was in charge of the Sutomore Corso, especially in front of the "Korali" hotel, where it was the busiest.
Like every night, around one o'clock, Migo finished his shift and went to drink beer with his friends on the famous terrace of "Korala". He couldn't wait to get comfortable, because it was both tight and hot in his uniform. He put the hat on the table, and the gun and baton remained behind him.
Momo K was also in the larger company of the Bar "seagulls" of that time.
At one point, Momo, somewhat worried, turns to Migo:
"Migo, brother, I'd like to ask you something, but I wouldn't want you to think I'm provoking you or anything."
"Moka, feel free to ask, we're friends."
"I heard something, but to tell you right now, I can't believe it's true."
"Tell me, brother, what did you hear?" - Migo became serious.
"I heard you work for the police," Momo said under her breath.
First there was a sneer, and then general laughter.
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Among the most famous Bar bus drivers were Milo Uskoković, Danilo Mićković and Božo Novaković. This third one was said to drive best when drunk.
But complaints began to arrive that Božo got so drunk on the way to Belgrade that he started singing at the top of his voice around Zlatibor. The company reacts and sends an incognito auditor on board to closely monitor the development of events on the road.
The bus leaves at the usual time and at each stop Božo orders coffee and a small glass of water. When they were in Zlatibor, Božo, a čefan, sang as much as his throat could carry.
The auditor cannot believe it.
"Dude, when you get drunk, you've been drinking coffee and water the whole time?"
"My friend, the secret is in that small glass of 'water'" - answered Božo, who, of course, was informed that he would be under surveillance.
Bonus video:
