Corfu, life up the hill!

And so the time has come to say goodbye

2011-11-20T16:04:00.002+02:00

Had a lovely walk up in the olive groves this morning. I took the dog and we went on our favourite trail, she snaffling fallen olives (strange dog with very odd tastes!) then running full pelt, head down, narrowly missing me on several occasions; I meandering and enjoying the views, colours and the carpet of wild cyclamen that still spreads across the hillside, their splashes pink and mauve breaking up the greens and browns of the undergrowth.

We took our normal path up to a high peak, where I can look out across woodland of mainly Cypress pine in one direction and Olive in another, with the sea and snow capped peaks of Albania beyond. There in the deep valley immediately ahead (I've never tried to climb down that side, there is a path of sorts, but too overgrown and slippery to risk) at the bottom of which is a tiny cart-track that winds it's way between the trees, the only indication of human habitation in the immediate vista. On the furthest hillside there is a small village, the houses barely discernable as anything more than white dots, with the smallest trails of smoke rising from what must be chimneys. It is a wonderful place, where I feel very close to both God and nature.

It's a place where the only noises are entirely natural. There are no engines, no whirring of chainsaws, and providing I don't go too early or late in the day, even at this time of year gunshot is hardly ever heard. All that I hear is birdsong, the rustle of a lizard scuttling into long grasses, the dog pounding her way up and down the tracks,and just occasionally the sound of complete silence which is truly amazing.

Today though I felt sad. It may be the last time I visit this spot, with the dog anyway. Next month I'm heading back to England with the children - not forgetting Luna and Olly, the dog and cat. I have come to love this island, and our village in particular, but for economic and to some extent emotional reasons the time has come to start a new adventure!

I will be keeping the house here, and as I said to the children, we're not moving back to England, we live in Corfu but I will be working abroad for a few years. I fully intend to continue thinking of this small island as my home, and indeed we'll still be here for several weeks each year. However, for a while at least I'm returning to my home town. Somewhere that I haven't lived in nearly 25 years!

Going back to my walk though - I normally find myself absorbed with all manner of thoughts that I don't have time for when the children are around, or work is beckoning, but today, once I'd cleared my head I spent a little time on really looking at my surroundings. It occurred to me that you can tell much about life in and around a village from the paths and roads. The old pathways up in the grove seem to be nearly cobbled in a very rough fashion. Whether they were man made like that, or whether smaller rocks, now smooth and deeply set into the ground, have over the years been washing into the dirt tracks I have no idea, but in either event they have led generations through the groves and hillsides around us. A definite feeling of walking in the footsteps of the ancestors.

On the tarmac road at the top of the village, a more recent innovation laid no more than 10 years ago, we followed donkey hoof-prints for quite a distance. Was the poor beast laden with olives and made to walk across the road before the tarmac had dried? Perhaps though it was just during a particularly hot day when the tar was warmed and softened. In any event it had very delicate hooves and a precise way of walking.

Further into the village tarmac gives way to concrete, where a plethora of footprints are found. Evidence of village cats playing, or fighting; a big, big dog that probably scared half the children and old ladies in the area - I wonder, was it taking itself for a walk? A single pony hoof mark on a small patch of concrete. Maybe taking a bride's dowry to her new home, as was the tradition until not so many years ago. And then there are the bird footprints - telling stories of migration, of new spring birth, and not forgetting Sunday lunch!

For the last five years I've steadily learned about the coming and goings of a small, traditional Corfiot hill village. Whilst I have learned a great deal I also realise I haven't even really scratched the surface. That would take a lifetime.

Perhaps I'll still blog from time to time. I have many stories that haven't hit the pages of this portal yet, I'll see if I have the time. Meanwhile, thank you for joining me on this journey, it's been a blast!

That time of year again

2011-11-04T17:34:00.000+02:00

Well, here we are!

It's been nearly 9 months since I last blogged; rather a lot longer than the two or three times weekly that I achieved at the beginning of this marathon back in 2007 unfortunately, but things have been a bit up and down lately. I can only ask forgiveness for my lack of words on screen, based on the fact that I've had a few personal changes, have been doing two jobs all summer and by the time I've finished everything there has been no time left for blogging.

Meanwhile, it's not all doom and gloom, just mainly... On the negative side, Greece is in turmoil - although I'm sure you're already aware of that. Here in the village life doesn't seem that much different on the surface. Most of the same faces are here, although sadly a few have departed this mortal coil, including several of a similar age to myself in the last couple of weeks, which has been very sad. Our shops still trade, but the shelves are perhaps not quite as full as they used to be, and prices are certainly higher. The olive groves still get maintained and harvested, but it seems more and more the owners are doing what they can themselves, to save on the costs of wages.

One thing that seemed no different though was the smell of wine being fermented that permeated the whole village throughout September. We may be broke and worried, but it seems like we'll still be happy too!

Behind closed doors, and in the cafes, kafenions, tavernas and shop counters, people are expressing very deep concern, and anger, at the state of the country. Many of my friends and neighbours are either now unemployed or remain unpaid. New taxes are being thrust upon us, with threats of dire consequences if we don't pay up, whilst the government seems to be lurching from one dilemma to the next with no real concept of what to do - and definitely no idea of what to do for the best! Where will it lead us I wonder - one thing's for sure, it will be a long, long time, if ever, before we enjoy the prosperity of recent years again.

Life for me has changed too. Tony and I decided to go our separate ways earlier in the year, so I'm now experiencing life as a single parent, and the joys of how to go through a Greek divorce. That's another costly exercise filled with unrecognisable taxes and other payments, in essence just to get the right official stamps on the right bits of paper to acknowledge that the law says you are allowed to do what you want to do with your own property and lives!

But hey, I mustn't grumble, I'm working, the children are settled and seem quite happy with the new arrangements. We have a roof over our heads and food in our bellys. And in a strange sort of way it's all quite exciting. Whilst I wouldn't wish the current situation here on my worst enemy, seeing as we are in the middle of things it's certainly an eye opener and a salutory lesson in not taking things for granted in this world. Having lived for 50 or so years in a relatively stable, trouble free environment - although aware of wars, poverty and hardship they have never been close company for me - it is grounding to see, in a close up and personal kind of way, that life is most definitely not a bed of roses.

A Very English Education

2011-02-02T20:49:00.000+02:00

I posted a comment about the following on my facebook page, not realising quite how much response it would evoke, so I thought I'd share it on a wider forum...

Yesterday my youngest had to revise for an English test. She had to review 10 pages from her English text book, which is issued to state school children throughout Greece, produced, as I understand it, by the Greek Education Authority.

I happily said I'd help her to work through it, and we were getting on well until it came to a section called 'My country'. It started with a 'listen, read and find' lesson that used a short script to impart the necessary information:

It starts (and I quote):

S: Well Andrew, tell us about your country. Where is it?
A: It's in Europe, like Greece. Its name is the 'United Kingdom'. Its in the North-West part of Europe. And there are four parts in it: England, Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland.

Moving swiftly on to the next exercise. Here the child is told to look at an appendix containing a map of the UK (and Southern Ireland, although it is not named). The following questions then need to be answered:

1. Which is this country? Required answer: United Kingdom
2. What language do people speak there? Required answer: English.
3. Which is the capital city? Required answer: London.

And later still a set of tasks entitled "Write the nationalities"

5. Julia is from the U.K. She is...required answer: English

Alright, I do appreciate this text book is written to help teach children the English language, not necessarily impart accurate geographic knowledge about the country from where the language originates, but, lets break this down a little...

"Its name is the United Kingdom...' Oh whoops, my mistake, there was me thinking that the United Kingdom is a union of countries that together make the kingdom.

... And there are four parts in it..." Oh please! Parts! Why not at least refer to the composite parts by their correct title, countries. Surely something like "Its name is England, it is one of four countries that together form the United Kingdom" would be more accurate and not too complex a sentence in comparison to the rest of the text.

... Which is this country?... Yes, the right answer really was the United Kingdom. We're back to my initial comment here. Also, how about the phrasing of this question. One might assume it to be multiple choice but there are no options after the question. As I said above, the book is written to help teach children the English language. The question would have been better phrased "Which country is this?"

...What language do they speak there?... Depends on which part of the United Kingdom you're in. Quite a few people in Wales speak Welsh, in Scotland some prefer Celtic and in Ireland a form of Gaelic is still found. OK, so most do also speak English, but it's not a given. Returning to correct use of language, wouldn't this question have been better phrased "Which language do they speak there?"

...Which is the capital city?... This is the capital city of the United Kingdom. Well, alright, it is London (London is the capital of England and the United Kingdom), but shouldn't Edinburgh, Cardiff and Belfast get a mention somewhere? Yet again, the phraseology could have been better if the question had been "What is its capital city?" had been used.

...Julia is from the UK. She is English... I'm afraid I was unable to contain myself any longer, and wrote next to the answer "or Welsh, or Scottish, or Irish, all are parts of the UK."

Browsing the 166 pages that go to make up this literary gem of educational excellence I've found so many glaring errors. A few of my favourites are:

- "OK kids! Today is free day for sports!"
- "A: Lets play computer games. S: No, it's boring."
- "Write one of your habits on a slip of paper (eg: I eat ice cream)."
- "Christmas is Britain's most popular holiday... They eat roast turkey or beef with fried potatoes and Brussels sprouts."

Don't let me get me started on the punctuation and grammar, I'll be here all night.

I'm not trying to be pedantic nor am I throwing a hissy fit about the inaccurate information concerning my home country. In fact, I was quite impressed with the way the book gets the children involves in team activities and games to help learn what can be a very dry and complicated language. Shame that the school doesn't seem to have a copy of the CD that should be used with the book to bring the lessons to life! However, I am just a tinsy bit worried that if I can find these glaring errors in one of the school books, how accurate are others? What hope is there for our children's future if this is the standard of education provided?

Right, moan over, I'm off to find me some fried potatoes and Brussels sprouts!

Xronia Polla to all!

2010-12-29T12:52:00.000+02:00

Well, what on earth has happened to 2010! The year seems to have sped by and I'm struggling to comprehend that we only have a couple more days before the New Year.

It's been a pleasant Christmas though. A bit of belt tightening has inevitably had to go on as prices continue to rise (we're up to 23% VAT in Greece now), so our celebrations have been a little low key, but that's been good as we've concentrated more on family and less on the size of our gifts. The sight of Tony and Niamh working together on a 500 piece 'Hannah Montana' jigsaw puzzle is something I won't forget in a hurry! Entertaining that Tony was so engrossed in the project, and heartening to see father and daughter collaborating - something that doesn't often happen.

We did have some very pleasant surprises during the run up to the big day. Jack's school report was excellent, and his teacher told me that his Greek dictation was best in class - high praise indeed for a lad who didn't speak Greek (let alone write in the language) 4 years ago.

Niamh, having said she wasn't involved in the school Christmas play this year suddenly announced, 24 hours before the event, that she was actually singing in it after all. I admit, in true bar-humbug fashion, I was just a little disappointed as it meant I'd have to go along. School plays in Greece are pleasant enough, but tend to be very, very late in starting, very, very long winded and very, very noisy... for some reason the only time the audience tend to be quiet is when their own offspring are on stage, the remainder of the time they chat away regardless!

Ah well, not to worry. We arrived at 6pm as requested, for the 6.30pm start - that stretched to 7pm. The performance itself though was surprisingly good. A fun, well rehearsed play and songs and carols that I recognised, albeit that the lyrics were different. I had to smile at 'Santa Claus is... coming, to Town', the first few words of which in Greek were 'O Agios Vasillis einai...' replacing the 4 syllables of English with 9 of Greek - it's a bit of a mouthful!

At the end of the show the Papas (priest) was invited to draw a raffle ticket. I hadn't seen any tickets for sale and so didn't take a great deal of notice of what was going on, until I thought I heard my daughter's name being called. At the same moment Maria, sitting next to me, nudged me and said, "Niamh's won, she must go and get the prize." Odd, I thought, slightly confused as to how she'd been entered in the draw, and presumed she'd get a box of chocolates or something.

A Greek speaking English friend leaned over to me... "You don't really understand do you Bill? Niamh has won a desk". The look on my face must have been a picture! It transpired that the local Sconto supermarket had donated a computer desk to the school to be given to one lucky pupil whose name would be drawn at random.

Niamh is now the proud owner of a very smart desk that we've just about been able to squeeze into her bedroom. She's announced that she's going to do all her homework at it - and I sincerely hope it will be the catalyst to encourage her to study a little harder!

Meanwhile, one of our cockerels, earmarked for Christmas lunch, had an unexpected reprieve. He was spied by a local who asked Tony if he would sell him. Tony had a quick think and I admitted that it was about 34 years since I'd drawn a bird (plucking is no problem, but I'm not too sure about the inside bits!!), so he decided to sell the cockerel and use the money to buy a pre-prepared chicken 'roloff' from the butchers. The roloff made a delicious Christmas day lunch, but the chap who had ordered the cockerel failed to turn up to get him.

Guess what's on the menu in our house for New Years Eve... ELENI!!! HELP!!!

Christmas post

2010-12-16T11:58:00.001+02:00

Traditionally it seems that Greek people are not great senders of cards to mark special occasions. Yes, it's possible to find greetings cards with Greek texts celebrating births, marriages and birthdays, but, on Corfu at least, there are no 'Clinton's Cards' and other shops dedicated to the mass sales of funny, poignant and heartfelt greetings.

Previously I had, once in a while, wondered why the sending of cards is not big business here, but on Monday I found out...

I called into our local post office (roughly akin to a sub post office in the UK) to pay my electricity bill and purchase stamps for a total of 24 letters/cards and one small packet. After waiting patiently for around 10 minutes in the queue whilst others paid their bills I made it to the one counter and presented my bill for payment. I also placed the cards on the counter, in two piles, and tried to explain in my broken Greek that I needed stamps for them, but I was sending one pile on behalf of a friend, so needed just to know the total cost of postage for those letters.

The cashier gave me his best mega scowl, put my half processed bill to one side and motioned for the gentleman behind me to step forward. The cashier then proceeded to issue him with his car tax for next year.

Meanwhile the cashier's wife came and took a look at my letters, tutted loudly and frowned. I again tried to explain that I just needed to know how my the total postage cost of each pile would be, although I was happy to pay for it all together.

More tutting and out came the scales. My pal's pile was dealt with first, each card weighed and priced. The tiny ones were marked at .72c, the slightly larger ones - A5 sized - were priced at 1.55€ for those being sent to England, and 1.60€ for those being sent to Australia... and Scotland!

She then moved on to the small package, put it on the scales and looked at me. I wasn't at all prepared for what happened next. She scowled and started to shout (or at least speak very loudly) at me... "why for do you bring these in to me. You are wasting 3, 4 hours of my day having to weigh these letters. Why don't you bring all the same size and weight in?"

"Ummm," I said, taken aback (remember these envelopes only contain Christmas cards, all fairly standard sized, nothing larger than A5, and at this point she had spent all of 90 seconds weighing and pricing on my behalf)... Eventually I recovered myself and retorted "Perhaps you should have a word with the card manufacturers and get them to make a standard size to suit you, I'm sorry, but such matters are beyond my own control."

Whether or not the lady understood me fully I have no idea, but she certainly got the impression that I wasn't entirely happy with her diatribe. She glared at me again "You must take these to K**** (name removed to protect the innocent) I should not be expected to process these". K being some 10km away but home to the nearest main post office.

I'm afraid I then got a bit angry too, although I did manage to hold back on the language! "I'm sorry," says I, "I foolishly thought this was a post office, and that one of the basic functions of a post office was to supply stamps. Obviously I'm mistaken".

It was at this point that I noticed she was now weighing my cards. In an attempt to be clever I had three A5 envelopes that each contained two cards destined for the same address, one went on the scales, and 1.60€ was written on the envelope. Hang on a minute I thought, each of the cards in that envelope is small and wouldn't cost more than .72c to post separately. I'm not mathematician, but I do know that 72+72=144, which is a .16c saving, x3, that's nearly enough for a small loaf!

"Stop" I said, "don't bother weighing any more of my cards. Just give me 16 .72c stamps and my cards back. "No, no" came the reply, "I must do this". She looked suddenly contrite. "No, you don't have to. Just give me back my cards and sell me 16 stamps" I assured her.

The conversation continued in that vein for several more seconds before I eventually got my cards and stamps. This was followed by much thumping of keys on a hard done by calculator before "Twenty five euros" was snapped at me. I paid - along with the cost of the electricity bill. Outside I opened up the larger envelopes, stuck stamps on my cards and popped them in the letter box. Hopefully they will arrive safely

I do appreciate that the Greek rules regarding the weight and size of postage may be quite strict, but to berate me so loudly and publicly for having the audacity to go into a post office and ask to send some letters seems completely over the top! If a PO isn't there for buying stamps from what does it do? Yes, you can pay your bills there, but even that isn't a free service in Greece - there is a handling charge of around .60c per bill! What I found even more irritating was that when I too punched my calculator I realised that the postage hadn't been a round 25€ at all, I'd been overcharged by .27c. Not a fortune I grant you, but irritating nonetheless.

Later in the day I regaled the story to a Greek colleague of mine. She roared with laughter and said, "do you know, since I was a girl I have always wanted to work in a post office. You work from 7-10, take a 2 hour coffee break, then close at 1pm. When you are actually working you get to sit down behind a desk and shout at people all day..." How right she is!

Now I understand why greetings cards aren't popular in Greece!

Xronia Polla to all, have a wonderful Christmas and please excuse me if I send you e-cards rather than paper ones :0)

Some flew over the chicken coop

2010-11-20T13:04:00.000+02:00

... or the strange case of the shape shifting poultry...

Two evenings ago Tony came in shaking his head and looking bemused.

"Wassup?" I asked.

"It's the chickens", he replied. "Or more accurately one of the cockerels". "You remember the brown cockerel I bred from the hen that Nikos gave me?" "Yes", I nodded, lying slightly as they all look the same to me.

"Well, it's gone. But now there's a young, scrawny little cockerel in there that I haven't seen before. I've got the right number of birds, I counted them carefully, but Big Brown has definitely disappeared."

Now, this is a bit strange as we have a 2 metre high fence around the entire chicken run, and the gate has a large padlock on it. There was no sign of a forced entry and the larger chickens are not capable of sufficient flight to get over the fence unaided.

After much debate and discussion we've come up with two theories about what happened. Either Big Brown was abducted by aliens, experimented on, and returned a shadow or his former self; or, just possibly, someone has come along and coaxed some of the chickens to the fence (which, being chain link is large enough to get a man's hand through). Coaxing the chooks isn't difficult because they're a nosey bunch and will always come to see if there's any extra grub on offer. Get a bird close enough to the fence and you could stick your hand through, grab it (probably by the neck) and then move it up the fence link by link until you could heave it over the top.

If this rather implausible theory is correct we must also presume that the 'thief' thought that by putting a replacement bird in the run he/she had either done the decent thing (fair exchange being no robbery), or that they would fool the Englishman who might know how many birds he has, but surely wouldn't notice the difference...

But then last night Jack went to take the dog back to the garden after their evening walk and noticed a pile of something just outside the chicken run. It was getting dark, but closer inspection revealed clutch of chickens that were, according to Jack, shivering and looking very sorry for themselves (how a chicken can express such emotion I have no idea but anyway!).

Jack's version of events is that there were 3 brown hens and one white bird that might have been a cockerel, sitting at the side of the fence. He picked the three hens up one at a time and put them back over the fence, but the white bird did take a bit of catching. He indicated the height of the birds that suggested these were full sized, not the nanies (bantams) that also live in the run.

Now, this was a bit odd for a number of reasons. The full sized birds, as I mentioned previously, can't get over the fence. The nanies are capable of gaining sufficient height to effect and escape, and occasionally one will do, but four....? Not so far.

It was also strange because the previous night one white nani cockerel had got out, and despite Jack and Tony's best efforts for nearly an hour they'd been unable to recapture it as it had hidden out in thick brambles on the far side of the run. Yet here's Jack saying he caught all 4 with very little trouble.

Tony got a torch and went down to investigate. Again there were two possible theories. Either the fence had been cut and the birds got out that way, or Jack was playing a trick on Tony. Half an hour and one rather angry father later the second option seemed more likely, although Jack was looking quite hurt at being accused of winding his dad up, and swearing blind that the chickens really had been out.

In the cold light of day we have come up with option 3. Perhaps, as with all the best fishermen, Jack's idea of "they were this big" was rather exaggerated, and in fact the birds were nanies. And perhaps, rather than there being 4 birds there were two, but Jack, in the dark, didn't manage to lob them over the fence properly first time, and thought he was capturing more when in fact he was recapturing the same one. Of course the number of birds could also have been a slight exaggeration on his part.

As for the truth? I suspect we'll never find out, but I'm keeping an eye out for flying saucers hovering low over the village in the night sky for a while...

A bit damp...

2010-11-17T13:39:00.000+02:00

News today is that after another storm last night Corfu is in the grips of flooding. Properties in Corfu Town have been damaged, landslides reported, one dead and many people needing to be rescued.

I'm sure this is correct. I understand from colleagues who live further south that the storm was horrendous there, and areas to the south west of the island are without power etc today.

Up here in the north we did have quite a downpour overnight, it was certainly remnicent of some of our more inclement autumn nights, but this morning we have sunshine and blue skies, and everything seems fine.

We've always said that weather on the island can be very localised, with rain in one village and brilliant sunshine on the next. I am slightly bemused though that such mayhem was going on just a few miles down the road from us whilst I, if not quite slept through the whole thing, didn't find the need to actually have to get out of bed last night!

I sincerely hope all those caught up in last night's difficulties are safe, sound and haven't suffered any damage to property.

Tired and confused

2010-11-12T22:07:00.001+02:00

... is what my friend Katerina said when I asked her how she was feeling last Tuesday. I knew exactly what she meant as I was feeling precisely the same way.

It all started on Sunday night. By about 8pm it was blowing a fair hoolie, the wind whistling round the house. We latched the shutters and made sure the doors were bolted before going to bed that evening.

At around midnight the rain started, and inevitably the electricity went off. It always does when we have a bit of a shower.

By 2am the distant thunder was rolling and the lightning flashing. Our bedroom is in the loft and we have roof windows - we didn't need any electricity to keep the place bright, the lightning flashes were coming every one or 2 seconds for much of the night, and the constant rolling thunder was vie-ing for ear-space with the torrential rain and gale force winds.

Effects of torrential rain and wind on an old stone wall.

The storm suddenly started moving at a huge speed, and at 4.30am our windows were rattling and the very walls of the house shook as the thunder crashed immediately overhead. It was at about the same time that our neighbour's roof came off... Cartwheeling across our roof and crashing down through our other neighbours roof, ending up in their (luckily spare) bedroom. We have a tiled roof, but both our immediate neighbours have corrugated cement board ones, which are widely found on older Corfiot village houses and are an inexpensive but normally strong alternative to tiles. These boards were roughly 3ft x 5ft and are surprisingly heavy.

At the time we were blissfully unaware of the devastation going on on both sides, being too involved in finding buckets and towels to mop up the rain that seemed to be permeating the tiniest of spaces, dripping in through the rooflights, somba and balcony roof. We had heard the huge racket, but put it down to the overhead thunder, not realising that the cacophony of sound had more than one source.

Not a hedge, a fallen Cypress Pine!

Monday morning the village looked like a bomb had hit it! Detritus littered the roads and most properties seemed to have suffered some damage. Missing tiles, chimneys down, a couple of places had single glazed windows that were blown in, and one nearby house even lost a back door that was blown off it's hinges!

Many small trees and two huge ones had been uprooted, a Cypress pine that had managed to fall twix wall and bell tower of our 18th century church - a metre or two either way and it would have caused untold damage. A massive Eucalyptus tree had engulfed much of the village platia, managing to squash a wrought iron bench as it fell.

Proof that wood can be stronger than iron!

But were the residents all indoors frantically dialling their insurers to put in claims for storm damage? No. Most of them were out in the street laughing ruefully, swapping notes about damage caused and liaising with the local tradesmen to make good the damage.

By the time I got out of the house my neighbour Vaso, whose roof had lifted, had organised Stamatis, Stathis and Rikos to repair her roof and make good our own whilst they were up there. Thanasis and Vasilist turned up minutes later to replace Gregoris' shattered panels, and Tony meanwhile was replacing a stench pipe that had been sideswiped by a falling chimney at another house in the village.

All that was left of Vaso's roof panels

Full sized cement board roof panels

The hum of chainsaws buzzed around the village, as fallen trees were turned into manageable chunks. Ladders were dusted off and new tiles delivered with unusual speed to ensure that properties were made watertight before the next storm, forecast for later the same day.

Monday night we had a diluted version of the Sunday night storm. Winds remained strong and we did again have rumbles of thunder and crashes of lightning for an hour or two. But this was much more reminiscent of our normal winter storms that whilst quite spectacular and awe inspiring unless you're used to them, pale into insignificance when compared to The Storm of Sunday 7th November.

What did take a bit longer was the resumption of mains services. We eventually got our electricity back late on Tuesday morning, and the water was flowing from the taps again a three or four hours after that. Properties closer to Corfu Town had power back within 24 hours, but some villages waited for nearly 2 full days for their supply to be restored.

The 'tired' bit of this title is fairly self explanatory in the circumstances; and the 'confused' bit was exactly the right description of how I felt after having everything that we take for granted at the flick of a switch or turn of a tap taken away from us for a relatively prolonged period. Quite simply, remove these services and life has to change completely. If you're not used to it it can indeed be very confusing!

Plenty of drinking water from the village spring.

By Tuesday breakfast time we were starting to get the hang of things. Buckets of water taken from the stream down the road could be used to flush the loo, whilst we'd already got our drinking water, gathered from the spring at the platia. Candles in place, plenty of matches, oil lamps filled and wicks wound to the right height. Split logs now next to the somba and the calor gas camping stove heating water for washing and those all important cuppas. But still, our routines had been taken away,we were having to think laterally to deal with the sudden change in lifestyle and circumstances that we were landed in our laps, and the "fish out of water syndrome" was much in evidence.

When power was eventually restored I certainly felt relieved, but strangely it was mainly because I hated the idea of hand washing everything, forever, and because I was concerned about my work, which is completely reliant on internet access. Other than that there was little I really missed. Reading by oil lamp in front of a roaring fire was wonderful, and boiling a pan of water rather than switching on the kettle is no great hardship.

Just right for reading by! Taken by Niamh

The word on the island is that Sunday night's storm was the worst recorded, the worst in living memory and that it was a hurricane. How true this is I don't know, but it was certainly extreme. However, dealing with the effects of a storm, Corfu style, is an experience I'm richer for having had, although I sincerely hope that it was a one off, and not something that will be repeated in the foreseeable future!

Just an average day in a Corfu hill village

2010-11-05T15:49:00.002+02:00

... The sun is shining.

The children are off school today, and again on Monday, because of local elections. (They were also off school on Wednesday for the same reason - amazing how lengthy the local election process is here).

My daughter is playing dolls with her best pal... Yergos... Yergos does an uncanny impression of 2 cats fighting and prefers to stand at the front door shouting "ding dong" rather than actually pressing the door bell.

I asked my son to do the washing up this morning as he had nothing to do barring Kevin impersonations... Instead he decided to 'clear' the kitchen table and 'do' the floor (his words not mine). I have no idea what his interpretation of clear and do are, but it took under 3 minutes and there is no discernible difference to either. The washing up was left for me to do. He has now disappeared off the face of the earth, having muttered something about wanting a lift into Acharavi.

I've taken 4 phone calls from a friend who's in Athens at the moment with his elderly mother who is unwell. I've now booked their flights back to Corfu later today, at roughly the cost of a small (slightly used) car. No, I haven't gone into the travel business, but I have internet and credit card access to hand (something of a novelty here it seems).

A five car shuffle took place at a bottle neck in the village about half an hour ago. It was like watching one of those puzzles with one more space than squares where you have to jiggle the pieces around until they make a picture. I'll swear the houses were holding themselves in!

There is a young Albanian lad currently standing outside the front door shouting "Tzak". Another one who's not au fait with pressing the red button. This is the 11th time today that he's done this, but it makes no difference... I still don't know where Tzak, or Jack, is...

The Jehovah's Witnesses have just been to the door, twice. Niamh hid under the table. They worked out how to use the door bell first time.

Yergos is now doing parrot impersonations too... Or maybe the parrots are doing Yergos impersonations, difficult to tell sometimes. Still, they can do door bell impersonations perfectly... It's just a shame they can't answer it too.

Musical (and magic) moments

2010-10-30T23:54:00.003+03:00

A certain Jane B has pointed out to me in a comment that I didn't mention the Agiotfest in my summer roll call... Well yes, this is true, and it was an excellent event held here on the island back in August, but I had been saving it for a small blog all of its own.

To set the scene - the Agiotfest has been held in Agios Ioannis for several years now. The brainchild of Paul McGovern and others, the festival has grown and is now a 2 evening event bringing British, Greek and other European musicians together. This year's event had Joe Brown - not forgetting the Bruvvers - as headline act, with a variety of homegrown and international musicians supporting. The outdoor stage was set up in a field (or possibly a large garden?) to the side of a house on the outskirts of the village, and there were plenty of refreshments available for those who chose not to bring an evening picnic with them.

Now, last year I had been lucky enough to get an invitation to the pre-festival reception. Held at a very nice restaurant just outside Ag. Ioannis, it welcomed the performers, sponsors and media to the event. I went under the media umbrella, being on the Nisea Magazine team.

It was a great evening and I was very pleased to meet one of my musical heroes, Dave Pegg, long time bassist with the legendary Jethro Tull amongst others. By the time he and I got to speak together it was very late and we had both availed ourselves of a not inconsiderable amount of the free-flowing wine that accompanied the buffet. When I revisited the notes I had made of the interview the following afternoon (having spend the morning nursing a hangover) I was slightly concerned to realise that the bits that were legible probably weren't publishable!!

Remembering that Dave was performing as a part of the Dylan Project, interpreting the music of Bob Dylan, my favourite line had been:

Me: So, Dave, why Bob Dylan?
Dave: Because Bob is Dog.... I mean God...

Bless him!

Anyway, I digress. This year Nisea Magazine is resting, and so my entry to the festival was via the Corfu Donkey Rescue, a charity that I help out from time to time. The CDR, as well as various other charities, were invited to have a stall at the festival to promote their good work, and I had agreed to man the stand on the second evening. I concede, I wasn't that excited with the prospect. I'm fairly broad minded in my musical tastes, but being honest Joe Brown doesn't come to close to the top of my 'got to see' list, and I hadn't heard of any of the other acts. However, Niamh was eager to come along too, not having been to a music festival before, and I was gee'd by her own enthusiasm.

Contrary to my concerns, the evening was well presented and the music excellent. Joe is a commensurate performer who knows how to please the crowd and I admit I found myself singing along, whilst all the other musicians most certainly deserved their professional status. For me though the biggest stars of the evening were three young men and an equally young lady who collectively called themselves 4Square. Not one of them over about 20 years of age, they were nothing short of magnificent! With their own brand of folk music they played with the panache of performers with many more years of experience than their own and kept the crowd enthralled. If you don't believe me please take a look for yourself (link under 'some other good stuff').

Towards the end of the evening Niamh and I were beginning to put away the CDR stall when a small elbow nudged me. "Mum, look, it's those boys that played earlier..."

Sure enough a few metres away were 4Square, chatting with some of the festival goers.

"Come on", I said, grabbing Niamh's hand, "lets go and say hello".

Two little cheeks went bright red, her left foot scuffed against the right, and a chin buried itself deep into a neck whilst a little voice went nooooooo, I can'tttttttt"

After a couple of minutes of cajoling I realised I was onto a lost cause. My daughter was having her first experience of hero worship, so it was a case of leaving it to mum!

I sauntered over and solicited 4 autographs for one young lady who spent the next few minutes trying to look as though she really didn't care who mum was talking to, but spent the next 3 days showing all and sundry the autographs and pointing out that they put kisses on them, just for me!

Paul and the team, thank you for putting on some great entertainment. Nicola, Jim, James and Dan, thank you for your brilliant music and for making (at least) one young lady's week!

Summer - come and gone!

2010-10-28T22:25:00.001+03:00

Oh good grief, what happened? One minute the summer was nothing but a twinkle in Mother Nature's eyes and then, booomf, there it was gone!

Well, it's been a while since I've found time to blog. Back in May I was, like many Corfu residents, worried about the economy and whether or not we would see sufficient tourists to make ends meet. Now, the general consensus is that it's not been the best of seasons. We've had quite a lot of visitors but there is precious little money to splash about and sadly many small businesses have struggled or gone under. Some, however, have done quite well, and I've been busy spreading the good word about one of them (aka marketing), hence my shortage of blogs in the recent months.

So a precis of Summer 2010 in north Corfu...

- It rained... And rained... And rained... until well into June. Of course there were sunny periods too, but quite a few early visitors found their pac-a-macs coming in more handy than their factor 30.

- Then the sun came out, and it shone... And shone... And shone... until well into September. By late July we were "enjoying" (I hate inverted commas but sometimes they say exactly what I mean) temperatures way up into the 40s centigrade. Great if you're relaxing by the pool, but not so good when you're trying to get the old grey matter to be productive.

- And here in the village we had a bumper crop of entertainment. We had our annual panigeri (festival) in mid May. The rain held off and, accompanied by a live band, we all danced around the big tree in the middle of the platia until the small wee hours. We stuffed ourselves with spit roast lamb and souvlaki, ate huge bowls of chocolate and cinnamon coated doughnut balls, and tried to avoid the overpriced balloons, silk roses and lazer light torches being traded by the travelling community.

A month later, as part of the Corfu Festival we saw an evening of music; with a superb male voice choir and bouzouki orchestra playing a range of classical pieces and traditional Greek music... along with souvlakis and plenty of chilled beer.

Then we had an evening of Greek folk dancing which attracted dancers from throughout the island. Suffice to say I was kicking myself for being in the audience, rather than on stage, but I'd temporarily given up dancing as it's just too hot in the summer when you're built in such a sylph-like manner as I am (I've started again now though). But a great evening was had by all... along with souvlakis and plenty of chilled beer.

A few weeks after that we had another panigeri, just because we could!

And to top it all off, by way of a change of direction, we had a Greek rock band come and play too... along with souvlakis and plenty of chilled beers.

And right in the middle of all this there was a wedding. Apparently it was quite a small do by Greek standards, just 260 guests for a sit down 7 course meal on the platia, followed by live music and then a disco until silly-o'clock. Tony and Jack were roped in to help with the preparations and service - as were a lot of people in the village. The happy couple are mainland residents, but the best man is from the village and so the wedding and reception, being his responsibility to organise, were held here.

On the evening of the wedding Niamh and I had gone out elsewhere and got back into the village around 11pm. As the lads weren't at home we ventured up to the platia to see how things were going. We respected the fact that the festivities were a private event, albeit that they were being held on a very public platform, and walked around the edge of the platia to where we spied the men helping to plate up piles of food.

Within seconds of getting to the rear of the service area the chef was trying to thrust plates of food into our hands and the barman had come over armed with chilled beer for me and Fanta for Niamh. Within 10 minutes we'd been led to a table in the centre of the platia and were told to get stuck in!

I still have no idea of the bride and groom's names, but I wish them both untold happiness for their future together and extend my grateful thanks for allowing us to join in their celebrations.

- On a darker note it's been a summer of fires. After a whole host of them reported on the north east coast, we experienced one at what seemed to be rather too close quarters late one night. Walking home from a friend's house a passing motorcyclist pulled up, pointed at the hills on the edge of the village and shouted "look, fire". The sight was awesome, and frightening. An orange halo enveloped the hilltops and was growing as we watched. As the flames got higher we could see trees lighting up like matches and ash began to drift over the village. We watched from the platia and later our bedroom window until about 2am, but having ascertained that most of Corfu's hardy firefighters were on the scene and containing it we decided there was no need to leave the house unless we were advised to.

In fact the fire was further away that it had appeared and we were never in any danger, but in the small hours the sight of the horizon being engulfed with flame was a bit on the scary side of scary.

A few days later an arsonist set several fires on the hillside around Skripero, taking out great swathes of olive grove and only thanks to the amazing work of the fire crews, including the fire planes and helicopters, did they manage to save a filling station and restaurant where the flames were stopped within feet of the buildings. Some people were evacuated from their homes, but so far as I know there were no casualties. The stench of smoke hung in the air for days afterwards and the whole hillside seemed blackened and dead. But thankfully a few short weeks later there is green peeking up through the soil and the land is coming back to life. Which is what the arsonist will hopefully be serving in due course!

- Through all of this the children holidayed, and holidayed. For 3 long months I heard the plaintive cry of "I'm bored, what can I do" on an unerringly regular basis, which, when you're trying to think of something catchy and witty to encourage people to take advantage of spa services (I'll come to that in a minute), can be very distracting.

Jack eventually discovered teenage-hood and the joys of a part time job, as well as football, cricket, horse riding, bike riding and having mates to hang around with - looking cool of course.

Niamh, bless her, isn't quite old enough to enjoy the freedom that comes with being 13, but thankfully she now has a gang of friends who have enjoyed each other's company throughout the summer. The biggest issue for her has been acknowledging that even if she doesn't want to siesta in the afternoons, her friends fathers (and her own) do, and so the friends have to go home and the village snores for a few hours.

Tony has been busy in the garden. Earlier in the year he was offered the use of two further pieces of land. Untouched for many years he's cleared them, fenced them and has a flock of around 45 hens and 15 cockerels (including Nanis - bantams to you and me), on one of them. On another he has polytunnels and we've now got a chest freezer absolutely chokka with tomatoes, multi coloured carrots, parsnips (yes, really), onions and turnips, all ready for some winter warmers. We've had fresh salad leaves every day, red garlic, peppers, chillies and all manner of other goodies. I've even taken to freezing eggs that I'll experiment with as and when the hens stop laying, which they tend to when the days get shorter and colder.

As for me, well, as I mentioned earlier, I've been marketing - and writing. After years in the civil service in a job that I didn't dare talk about for fear of being ostracised by my mates, I'm now so happy to be working for a company that is loved by many! At risk of turning this blog into an advert, the Asian Spa Ayurvedic & City Retreat group have some of the best spas in Greece. At Gouvia, Ermones and Rou in Corfu, and three more in Athens, I have been enjoying every minute of my time extolling the virtues of these fabulous places! The staff, a fusion of Greek and Asian therapists, are a delight to work with, and I can say from experience that the treatments are second to none (great perks of the job - much better than a an inexpensive tea club any day).

And now, as the days get shorter, the evenings get cooler and everything gets much wetter our village is coming back to life. Yes, we've had some wonderful nights of entertainment this year - better than I've experienced here in previous summers - but for the main part people have been away trying to make a living in the resorts. Now in the resorts the closed signs are going up, the chairs and tables upended and the doors being locked until next spring. The locals are coming back to the village, the olive nets are being unrolled; bonfires being lit outdoors and sombas being lit indoors; wine being made and families are again gathering round the table.

I'm sorry I haven't been blogging of late, it seems from the number of comments I've received that some people rather miss my ramblings, so I hope this will go a little way to making up for the shortfall. I promise that now the kids are back at school I'll try to make time to writing a little more frequently in the coming months. Thank you all for your support and Xronia Polla - it's Ochi Day today!!

Woops, what happened to August?

2010-09-09T19:32:00.000+03:00

Pride comes before a fall

2010-08-04T19:05:00.007+03:00

I was driving into Town earlier today and came to a busy junction where I needed to filter to the left. There are two lanes to get into if filtering in that direction, the far left one to continue on the same road after crossing the junction, the second to immediately filter right again after crossing the junction.

I was in the far left hand lane, and I glanced a black car beside me in the next lane. The lights turned to green and off we went.

The black car and I drove alongside each other, but it became apparent to me that he was going to go straight, not filter right, and expected me to allow him to cut in front. I can't be doing with road rage these days so let him get on with it.

I was a bit surprised though when he didn't shoot off ahead of me but instead dawdled along at about 40kmph, the car snaking slightly. As soon as we got to the dual carriageway I pulled out and went round him.

As I overtook I realised why he had cut in front of me and was driving so slowly... one hand on the steering wheel, other hand on his mobile, texting furiously. Eyes fixed on the phone, not the road ahead.

I glimpsed in my rear view and grinned. He obviously hadn't noticed the truck, parked in the lane he was travelling in, about 100m in front of him. Although I lost view of him for a moment I suspect from the number of cars that quickly found their way between us he managed to get boxed in behind the parked truck for a while.

My emotions are mixed. On the one hand texting whilst driving has to be one of the most stupid and potentially dangerous things I have seen in weeks!

On the other hand I am smirking quietly. I bet not many owners of elderly Citroen Saxos can say that they've overtaken a brand new, black, convertible Maserati on a dual carriageway...

Warmth and village gossip

2010-07-30T19:55:00.004+03:00

A few evenings ago I was cooking up some chicken (supermarket variety I'm afraid, not ours, they're living to see another day) when there was a sharp rap on the front door.

I peered out through the glass but couldn't see anyone. On opening it I discovered our 88 year old neighbour-from-round-the-back, Sophia, (who is a couple of inches shorter than my 9 year old daughter), standing at the bottom of the steps, having used the end of her walking stick to knock. I gave her a helping hand up the steps and she came in, crossing herself in the doorway and muttering "poli oreyo" (very lovely) over and over.

Bless her, of course, she hadn't been in the house since we moved into it, we normally pass the time of day outside on the street.

She burbled away to me in Greek for a little while, but soon lost me. Thankfully Niamh was on hand and did an excellent job of translating a peculiar conversation. It transpired that Sophia had a blanket that she had made for her daughter when she was a child. It was still in good condition but Sophia had no use for it. Her daughter (now married with grown up children of her own) had no interest in taking the blanket and had told her mother to throw it away, and Sophia didn't want to give it to an Albanian because they wouldn't look after it (her words, not mine!)

The conversation then moved to her telling us that both her husband and son had been born in our house. I knew that there was a family link, but hadn't realised quite what until now.

Originally the property was a manor house, but over the years it has been divided into two smaller homes. She was able to tell us that the house had been in the same family for many generations. Eventually her brother in law had inherited our part of the house and had lived there with his wife and daughter. He had predeceased his wife and the daughter, a spinster, passed on before her mother. On Sophia's sister in law's death ownership of the property had moved to her remaining siblings, rather than her late husband's - and we had bought it...

This whole story was told without any resentment or sadness, but just so that we could appreciate some of the history of the house.

Then the conversation returned to the blanket. Having established the somewhat tenuous link between her family and my own, Sophia asked if we would like the blanket. Inwardly I cringed a little - and elderly crocheted blanket - hmm, I couldn't honestly believe that I would find a great deal of use for it. But still, I didn't want to upset Sophia so I said yes, of course we would love to have it, and agreed to call in at her house the following evening to collect it.

The next night the children and I went to Sophia's at the appointed time. Two rooms, bare boards, a fridge, one chair, two single beds (one in each room) a sideboard, a kitchen table, a portable TV and a hatstand. Spotlessly clean but exceptionally frugal - no phone, not even a water tap - that was outside. Laid out on one of the beds was a thick, creamy coloured blanket intricately knitted/crocheted - I'm not sure, into a myriad of tiny circular floral style loops. Wow, I hadn't been expecting anything so carefully made.

Sophia then started to say something about how it had made her hands ache when she made it. I assumed because of all the stitches, which apparently had taken her about 3 years to complete. No, the discomfort had come from when she had spun the wool by hand after preparing fleeces in the first place!

She grinned, pleased that she'd be able to surprise us, and said the blanket was no good for the summer, but in the winter that and a sheet would be all that was needed to stay toastie warm in bed at night. I didn't doubt her for one moment!

We accepted the blanket with some reverence, realising that this was more than just something to keep warm under in winter. It's a little piece of Greek history, linked to our home, that a very lovely elderly lady had put a huge amount of effort into when life was much harder than it is today, to ensure her children were kept snug in winter.

Before we left though Sophia's grandson Nikos appeared. Home from university for the summer we'd not met before but we started chatting and left together. He and Jack struck up an extended conversation as we walked back, so I suggested he join us at our house for a drink. Accepting my invitation we trundled home, dug out some cold coke and beer from the fridge and started to put the world to rights.

Nikos was intrigued as to why we decided to move to such an old village, and we got into a deep discussion about village life. We had just agreed that one thing was for certain, even if you had forgotten what you were supposed to be doing, half the village would be able to tell you! Greek village gossip is an art form that has been honed over many centuries!

At that moment the phone rang. It was Lakis from the taverna at the far end of the village. I assumed he wanted to speak to Tony, as they're friends, but no, he said, could he have a word with Nikos please, his mother was looking for him...

What was that about half the village knowing what you're up to even if you don't?!

We still haven't worked out how Lakis knew Nikos was with us :0)

If you can't stand the heat... (don't touch the chillies)

2010-07-24T10:20:00.003+03:00

I looked at the pile of green chilli peppers on my kitchen worktop and sighed. I don't do much cooking with chillis and there at least 40 of the blighters there, all home grown and apparently more than a little warm to the taste.

Oh well, only one thing for it - split, de-seed and put in the freezer.

Stupid thing was I turned the chopping board over so as not to risk the capsicum in the chillis tainting subsequent foodstuffs I might prepare on the board. I know how difficult it can be to get it out...

Then I found a sharp knife, washed the chillis, started slicing and seeding.

15 minutes later all the sliced chillis were laid in a plastic bag in the top of the freezer, and the base of one finger on my left hand was stinging slightly.

30 minutes later the backs of my hands were on fire. Ice pack applied to both and a frantic search of the internet to find a cure.

Over the next 3 hours the palms of my hands started to glow, the pain underneath my fingernails increased, and the discomfort in the folds of skin on my knuckle joints was intense. The nearest comparison is the feeling you get when you inadvertently put your hands into the freshly run washing up water and then remember you've not added any cold...

...except it doesn't go away.

Last night I tried the following 'cures'. Some that I found on the 'net, others that I just hoped might do the trick:

> Cold water - works until the skin is dry, then it hurts even more.
> Ice pack - works well until you taken your hands away from it, or the ice melts.
> Warm water and soap - nope.
> Lemon juice - works until the lemon juice dries, but it's sticky and goes everywhere. Pain returns within 3 minutes.
> Warm water and lemon washing up liquid. Not really.
> Vinegar - instant relief, for about 5 minutes.
> Greek yoghurt- relieves until it dries. I had a pot of yoghurt in the freezer and the best bit was putting my fingertips in the top of the frozen food, the proteins helped with the pain and the coolness was soothing. But, as soon as the yoghurt dries on the skin the pain comes back again. It is also a very messy activity and for people like me who don't like milk products the smell made me feel sick. OK for milk lovers who can sit with their hands in pots of yoghurt for 10 hours.
> Olive oil - helps to take off the capsicum. Limited temporary success, better when mixed with lemon juice, but again once the hands dry the pain returns very intensely.
> Germoline - just made the pain worse, possibly as it has a warming effect on the skin?
> Aloe Vera gel - alone it worked beautifully whilst damp, but dried on the skin quickly and I had to wash it off, the pain became so intense. But... surprisingly, but washing it off with cool water and large quantities of cream soap the burning sensation dissapated a little.
> Holding hands in front of a fan (on full blast) or an air con. Highly effective in reducing pain, but makes your arms go numb after a while! As soon as hands are removed from the direct air flow the pain returns.

Eventually I managed to get sufficient relief that I didn't want to cry any more by going through the following process:

1. Allow burning sensation to continue for at least 3 hours, trying all the above.
2. Slather hands with Aloe Vera gel.
3. When it starts to dry, wash hands thoroughly in warm water using lots of cream soap.
4. Repeat steps 2. and 3.
5. Pat hands dry with paper towel (don't use a towelling towel the capsicum will get onto it).
6. Apply liberal quantities of Dettol antiseptic/anesthetic cream.
7. Once Dettol cream has soaked in add a goodly amount of Nivea After sun!
8. 400ml Ibuprofen.
9. Keeping hands slightly above the body, so blood isn't rushing down the arms to fingertips and making hands throb!

By 1am I felt able to lay in bed, and found the cool touch of the cotton sheets was helpful.

This morning, 12 hours later, the burning is nearly gone, just a tingle in my fingertips and across the back of my knuckles remains. My hands feel tight, as though I'm wearing too small gloves, and the skin has started to peel on my palms. I touched my chin about 20 minutes ago and I can now feel the warmth where I touched, so the capsicum is still present and working, albeit less effectively now.

Moral of the story - never, ever prepare chillies without protection! And today's handy hint is don't wear latex gloves as the capsicum can permeate them, splash out and buy rubber ones...

Humid days, humming and hot chicks!

2010-07-22T21:20:00.004+03:00

It was a strange old day yesterday - a day of things not being quite what they seem.

We know summer is upon us. Not because of the searing heat, blue skies, tourists and plethora of colourful inflatables that hang from every shopfront, but because the bin men are on strike.

Same thing seems to happen every summer. The temperatures go up and the bin men down gloves and leave the bags of detritus to pile up on the roadside**. Allegedly they aren't getting paid, or aren't getting paid enough, I'm not sure which, but I used to feel sorry for them. It's a stinky job - the wheelie bins on Corfu aren't the personal sized ones that it's illegal to overfill and have to be put on the kerb each week. These things are mega municipal ones that are shared by residents and tend to spill over all sort of rancid refuse that it's probably not a good idea to consider to closely.

The bins in our village haven't been emptied for well over a week and the bags of rubbish are now piling high at their sides - cats, rats and stray dogs are having a fine old time!

As I said, I used to feel sorry for the binmen, I know there have been problems with getting paid on time in the past, and it isn't a fun job even in the cooler months. However, my sympathy wained somewhat yesterday during a drive into Corfu Town.

We were travelling just a few kms from the Town proper when I noticed a large and shiny motorcycle waiting to enter the main road from a slip. As a long term enthusiast of 2 wheels I took a prolonged glimpse in my rear view at this black, yellow and chrome beastie of a BMW - and then realised I recognised the rider...

Yup, you've guessed, it was one of our local bin men!

I've checked on the Beema website and a bike of this type will wear a small hole in £11,000 (so that's about 13,000€ at today's exchange rate). I wish I could EARN 13K a year, let along find sufficient spare funds to purchase a bike for that amount, even on the never never!

So I must now surmise that a Corfu binman's life is not such a bad one - a half decent salary and the annual option to down tools and go ride a bike for a few weeks in the summer - lucky beggars!!

On the subject of dumping things, we've had a bit of an incident in the garden with other people's (well chickens) property being disposed of...

We have two chicken runs, a large one for the cockerels who'll eventually end up on the table and the hens whose eggs we collect; and a smaller one for hens who are sitting and/or have young chicks.

Tony went to feed the chickens yesterday morning and see how the laying hens are doing. He has one young lady in particular - a nannas (bantam) who having hatched one clutch had been moved to the larger run, but decided to do it all over again, made herself a nest and is now sitting on 8 of her own eggs and fostering several pheasant eggs too. She's been doing a grand job so Tony was a bit surprised to see that one of her eggs had been kicked out. He went to check and realised that the clutch had increased by 3 eggs - not nannas, not pheasant, but full sized chicken.

It didn't take too long to work out what was going on. One of the larger hens had previously been sitting but then left her eggs and decided to play chase the chicks, disturbing several of the newborn youngsters belonging to other mums. To stop her, Tony had moved her from the 'nursery' run and put her in with the main flock (is flock the right name for a group of chickens? Just looked it up, yes it is, although you can have a brood of hens).

Madam, now in with all the lads, was keen to keep on laying, but rather than go to the effort of having to sit and hatch them herself she was waiting for the nannas to pop off her nest for something to eat, then kicking out the little eggs and laying her own in their place!

And there was me thinking it was just cuckoos who did that!

Quiche for tea last night :0)

** Since writing I have discovered that the binmen were not on strike, there was a fire at the municipal dump and no further rubbish could be put there. My apologies for wrongly suggesting to the contrary! However, given the number of strikes we do experience I hope I may be forgiven for the error ;-)

2010-07-06T09:31:00.002+03:00

I have written before about our village elders, their red pick up trucks and rules of the local roads. Some things are written on tablets of stone, "the red truck shall have right of way over all other vehicles, irrespective of junctions, width of road etc". And, "the red truck goes in one direction only... forward". That sort of thing.

We do have one gentleman who is an exception to the rules. Not in his belief that he is king of the road, but in that he has baulked tradition and drives a dark blue, fully enclosed van.

He purchased the vehicle new about 3 years ago; and so far as I'm aware gears 3, 4, 5 and reverse are still in pristine condition, never having been used. Unfortunately the same cannot be said for the rest of the vehicle. Not a single panel is unscathed, mainly now decorated with a wide variety of scrapes, scuffs and dings; the wing mirrors have long gone and not a tail light lens remains. Sometimes all 4 tyres have air in them, but quite often one is flat (only at the bottom though so that's OK).

It's always advisable to add an extra 10 minutes to your journey out of our village, just in case you should catch up with him on the way down the hill - a guaranteed 15kmph maximum (on a good day with the wind behind him).

A few evenings ago Tony and I were wandering through the village together when we heard a mobile phone ringing. Glancing round we saw the very elderly driver of said blue van sitting in the vehicle, phone pressed to his ear, shouting into it. My first reaction was to be mildly impressed that a gentleman of such advanced years had embraced modern technology sufficiently to have a mobile. It then dawned on me that I could hear the phone ringing whilst he simultaneously tried to talk into it...

Someone, please show him where the little green button is ;0)

A feast for the ears!

2010-06-28T11:26:00.003+03:00

It's been a while since I've found time to blog anything - it seems wrong really, we came to Corfu for an quieter, simpler lifestyle, yet I've been so rushed recently I haven't had any time to myself! Ah well, mustn't grumble - at least I'm not doing the London commute these days.

Meanwhile, I was beavering away on some writing work last evening when Tony said, very uncharacteristically as he hates doing anything sociable, "are you coming up to the platia (village square), there's a do on".

It's probably the first time this year that he's actually suggested we go anywhere together, so I thought I'd make the most of it and promptly hit the 'standby' button, changed into some jeans and was ready in 5 minutes.

We arrived at the platia to be greeted by rows of chairs facing the stage (a concrete structure purpose built for the various performances that we're treated to), hordes of people including a number of gentlemen in black suits, wing collars and grey bow ties. Also obvious was an orchestra that were just getting settled on the stage.

After the inevitable speeches that seem to be a prologue to any entertainment event, from the school play to a professional performance in the municipal theatre, the conductor took his place, the musicians, a mandolin orchestra, sat down in readiness and baratone soloist Pantelis Kontos stood in front. How wonderful! In total they performed 5 pieces. all Greek, that floated around us in the evening air, with the amazing voice of Kyrie Kontos resonating deep into the soul.

Bows were then taken and the performers left the stage. Minutes later the members of "Xopwdia Kepkupas" (the Kerkyra Choir), also known as the gentlemen in wing collars, filled it. Accompanied by what I think might have been a harpsichord - or more likely an electric keyboard that sounded like a harpsichord - the first gave us some Verdi, then Weber, then back to Verdi again with pieces from Nabucco and Il Travatore. Our Italian over they moved on to some beautiful Greek songs by composers I'd never heard of such as M Theodorakis and N Lampelet, but whose lack of familiarity didn't detract from the beauty of their work. The finale, a rousing and emotional version of "Kepkuraikos Xopos" (the Kerkyra Chorus).

I am no expert when it comes to matters classical or operatic (father, you'll bear me out on that one!! "What is that racket? It's not music, just noise" was the oft heard cry when I had my 45's playing at full blast many moons ago); but the performance last night was worthy of any professional stage in the world. To enjoy it, free, in the small village in which we live was not just an experience, but a true gift of entertainment.

As the audience applauded the departing choir I took a moment to ponder. I read various "forums" where (mainly British) devotees of Greek holidays share their experiences and ask questions, amongst which is often found the query - what sort of traditional entertainment will I find? The most sought after seems to be a good night out with Greek dancing, table balancing and plate smashing. Great fun and based on traditional entertainment, albeit slightly exaggerated for the visitors amusement. But an evening like last night's is one that I would doubt many visitors to the island will ever experience. Music is a hugely important aspect of the Corfiot lifestyle, a fact proven by the size and diverse ages of last night's audience. The Greeks came out and enjoyed themselves in a more sedate but nonetheless enthusiastic manner and I feel privileged to have been there!

If you happen to read this and are visiting Corfu this summer, take a moment to look up the Corfu Festival Ionian Concerts 2010 on Google, or this facebook link http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=98693979560 (Blogger won't let me put it in my list!) There are numerous events of this nature taking place, many of which are free admission, and which might offer a welcome change from the norm...

The Lodger

2010-05-31T16:04:00.003+03:00

A couple of weeks ago I had to move my pc, and it's now located in our loft, directly beneath the big central beam that holds the roof up!

I was working quietly one afternoon recently when, plop, something fell onto the sheet of paper wedged twixt my keyboard and screen. Upon investigation it looked suspiciously like a small poo...

Hmmm, not big enough for a rat (thank heavens); we do have sparrows nesting in the eaves but definitely the wrong shape and consistency for bird doodahs; could be a mouse, but slightly large... Perhaps it's a bat, but I can't see anything.

I didn't worry too much and in honesty soon forgot all about it. That is until Saturday when I found another piece on my keyboard.

Then this afternoon I was busy writing an entirely different blog entry (since scrapped) when, plop, another bit narrowly missed the telephone on my desk.

Starting to get just a tinsy bit paranoid, I found a longish plank of wood, raised it up and gave the central beam a good bash or ten. No scuttling noise, no little black winged thing tumbling out of the narrow void above the beam, in fact nothing at all.

Bemused I cleared it up and carried on.

At this point I have to explain that I'm wearing (amongst other things) a longish, floaty cotton top at the moment, that covers my legs nearly to the knees when I sit down.

A few minutes ago I was about to get up when something caught my eye. Another poo was rolling about in the 'apron' formed by my top.

Tissue paper. Closer inspection. Hmmm, I think I've sussed it Sherlock. There's a telltale little bit of white on the end of this poo, I've seen similar before. There used to be quite a bit of it at the villa I cleaned for a while last year... evidence of the gecko in residence!!

I don't mind sharing my home with a small lizard, but I do wish that even if he can't use the loo he might consider pooing on the floor instead of on top of me. It brings a whole new meaning to the expression "being sh*t on from a great height!"

Walking the walk

2010-05-24T22:40:00.003+03:00

Just a quickie!!

A VNM (very nice man) called Dave Hancy is walking the Corfu Trail to help raise funds for the CDR (Corfu Donkey Rescue). This is a pretty tough challenge - 220km of various terrain and a couple of steep peaks to traverse. 52 year old Dave has also lost 5 stone in weight in his bid for fitness before doing the walk, so I think I can safely say he's a MONM (man on a mission)!!

Dave arrived in Corfu this morning, and at 9am sharp tomorrow will start his walk from Kavos (in the deepest south).

If you would like to catch up with how his walk is going and perhaps even make a donation I have put a link to his travel blog, which will be updated each day, on the left hand side of the page.

All the best Dave! May the sun shine for you, but let you walk in the shade ;0)

2010-05-16T16:58:00.002+03:00

Well it would appear that summer is upon us. Last week the temperatures found their way up into the 30s and small, shiny cars have been found parked at every blind junction, with very non Greek looking passengers pouring over maps and pointing in different directions!

Of course we did have the obligatory glitch on Friday night/Saturday morning. The same thing happens every year. The locals are just beginning to say 'poli zesti' (very hot) as a standard greeting; (personally I'm already at a point where I hope autumn gets here soon) the tourist buses are taking to the roads, and then the skies darken, the wind whips up and the rain comes hurtling earthward!

It was a massive storm. Plants were flattened, the road turned into a stream again, the good ladies of the island reached for their brooms to sweep the rainwater back out after it came in under doors, and the top of our flue was upended and is now hanging at a natty angle to the rest of the chimney!

By mid afternoon on Saturday things were getting back to normal again, although thankfully we do have a bit of a breeze still and temperatures are more bearable. However, on Friday evening, before the clouds gathered a small person had said to me "Mum, can we go swimming tomorrow". Perhaps foolishly I agreed. Of course on Saturday it really was far to bleak for a dip, but with a pocket handkerchief of blue sky visible this morning the same little person said, "are we going swimming today? You did promise"...

I tried various ways of getting out of it, but then thought no, she's right, I did promise. Jack decided it wasn't for him, and has now announced that he doesn't like swimming (bet he changes his tune in July) so we girls packed our towels, donned our cozzies and headed for the pool.

There was a subtle lack of other swimmers when we got there, but surprisingly after the initial shock of hearing my voice raised by two octaves in a matter of a nanosecond it really wasn't too bad. I swam for about half an hour and Niamh continued to splash around for at least that again before I decided that she might turn into a prune if she didn't dry off.

After a very pleasant dip we headed home - narrowly missing a small, shiny red car that was careering down the hill towards me on the wrong side of the track - and returned to reality of life up the hill. It's good to have the occasional break with routine, and today was a good day for that :)

A fowl tale.

2010-05-01T15:03:00.004+03:00

Smile time for my birthday (today).

Jack came home yesterday with a garbled message about ten cockerels that Lakis, Tony's pal whose family runs one of the village tavernas, had told him about.

Today Tony rang Lakis to ask what the message was all about...

Akis (father of Lakis) overheard Tony recently saying that instead of getting 8 cockerels and 12 hens that he had ordered from the chicken man (a man who sells chickens from a van) he thinks all except 2 of the birds are in fact hens. Or at least that is what Tony said. What Akis heard was, "I only got 2 cockerels, I wanted more". Similar, but not the same.

Two days ago the chicken man and Akis were in conversation. The chicken man was telling Akis about how he had mistaken the sex of some of his stock and had sold hens thinking they were cockerels. Result being he now has a surfeit of cockerels.

"How much are you charging for them" asks Akis, always with a keen eye for a bargain. "3€ each" says the chicken man. "I'll take 20, says Akis'" remembering Tony's comment.

Tonight we take possession of 10 more cockerels, payment in kind for the charcoal that Akis had from us a couple of weeks ago. Akis, bless him, saw it as doing us a favour. We meanwhile are up to the gills with chickens (both male and female - we actually already had several other cockerels, who will now be firm contenders for the pot sooner rather than later). Methinks we'll have to increase the size of the run to accommodate the new arrivals!

And a few things to smile about...

2010-04-23T15:25:00.004+03:00

Sorry about that last post, not the most pleasant of subjects I know, but this blog is about life up the hill - warts and all. I'd love to write that life here is one long holiday filled with sunshine, flowers and happy smiling local people. Unfortunately it's not always like that, and if I only wrote about the nice parts I wouldn't be painting an honest picture of the place.

However, away from the nuances of rubbish disposal and onto a slightly more appetising subject - I was helping my daughter put her bicycle away last night just as it was getting dark when a little voice called out "Mummy, mummy come and look quickly, there's one of those flying thingies that sparks at night...". Our first firefly of the season glinted and glimmered in a neighbour's buddliea.

I was also rather pleased to notice as I drove down the hill this morning that the road now looks as though it's suffering a bad case of measles, covered in scars and blotches. I'd smiled a few weeks ago to see that lamp posts were being erected along the last few hundred metres of the lane (largely unpopulated) that leads onto the main road through the centre of the island. I'd joked that the authorities might not have sufficient funds to plug the potholes but at least we'd be able to see them in the dark.

It seems though that they've found a few extra euros to send a man with a large pot of hot tarmac to fill all the holes as well. I lost count of the number of black blobs spread liberally along the road, but both I and the overpriced Citroen are very pleased that the likelihood of further punctures, wrecked wheels and damaged suspension has now greatly reduced.

And finally, my biggest smile of the day was when I popped in to see my accountant to sort out our tax return. Of course the tax return didn't quite get sorted out, but during the conversation I pointed out that I had still not received an invoice, nor made any attempt to pay him for his services last year. His response? "Oh, don't worry, we'll sort that out when you pay me for this years. Besides, I'd forgotten you owed me anything." Just slightly worrying when your accountant doesn't know who owes him what... ;)

Caveat: Do not read if of a squeamish disposition!!!

2010-04-21T18:33:00.003+03:00

Oh that's just great! Poor old Tony has just spent several days clearing a plot of land that a friend had said he could use, only to be told, after he'd strimmed it all twice and paid an Albanian chap to help him clear the surrounding stream, that he'd got the wrong piece of land. Better still the owner of said piece of land has a business that overlooks it, so much have watched Tony tidying it all up and not bothered to point out his mistake...

It gets better...

Directed at last to the correct piece of land Tony's heart sunk. This plot hadn't been used for donkey's years. A plethora of brambles and rubbish it was a serious mess. Not to be put off though Tony, ably assisted by Suli, set to work on it on Monday, cutting down old trees, threshing through the brambles and lighting bonfires (there's no vehicular access and far too much junk to be able to move it).

This afternoon he got back looking rather unimpressed. We had a conversation that went:

Tony: "You'll never believe what we've got to shift..."
Me: "Go on, surprise me..."
Tony: Well, we've finished most of the brambles and weeds, there's just the mass of rubbish that we found left to go now."
Me: "Oh, so you've got the old standard feta tins, rubber shoes, old fag packets etc now then..."
Tony: "Well yes, those too, but do you remember the old boy who lived next to the shop who had Parkinsons?"
Me: "No. Does he still live there?"
Tony: "No, he died about 3 years ago."
Me: "Well I can't remember what I had for breakfast, so I'm hardly likely to have a clear picture of the chap am I? Anyway, what about him?"
Tony: Well I don't think his wife could be bothered to use the wheelie bin."
Me: "And..."
Tony: "We've found around about 100 carrier bags full of used incontinence pants that seem to have been lobbed over the fence from their garden. Oh, and 40 or 50 empty Ouzo bottles."

There's not a lot you can say about that really is there. The TV programme 'Life of Grime' would have a field-day in our new garden I have no doubt.

But the question now is, how do you safely dispose of said detritus? The bags are old and tear as soon as they're lifted, whilst their contents, being highly absorbent, have become very heavy and sploosh out of the bags at the slightest movement. Bury them? Burn them? Get the council to clear them? He'd like to lob them back over to the originator's garden, but that's a non starter! Who knows at the moment.

Meanwhile, Tony, ever the master of the understatement, eventually shrugged his shoulders and said "well at least I now know why it was a bit smelly down there..."

Home thoughts from abroad

2010-04-18T14:02:00.006+03:00

Well we made it back to Corfu by the skin of our teeth, being chased by the (at that time not known about) cloud of volcanic ash that within a day of our return had blanketed the whole of the UK, leaving thousands of people stranded. Initially I had thought it might have been pleasant to extend our hols by a few days but now, 5 days later with still no firm idea of when the cloud may disburse or even clear European airspace I think I am glad I'm at home.

I have friends who are stuck in London, having flown to the UK on what turned out to be the last inbound flight from Athens. They were to enjoy a 3 day break in the city and take in a show (their first break together in many years), whilst their 4 children were staying with various friends and relatives back in Corfu. They are now desperately trying to find a way of getting back. Their youngest children are missing their parents dreadfully and they are fast running out of money to fund their unexpectedly prolonged stay. I'm sure similar stories are being replicated throughout Europe at the moment - it rather brings home to me the power of nature and how little mere men can truly do to control it.

Meanwhile, the children and I had a fabulous 2 weeks in the English spring sunshine (and showers). I thought I'd share a review of the highlights:

*Top of the list has to be seeing parents and other family members, some for the first time in 18 months or so. The internet at Skype are wonderful devices for keeping in touch, but you can't have a good hug with a loved one via webcam!

*Visiting my great aunt Nora and seeing the photos of her enjoying her most recent birthday treat a few months ago - a flight in a microlite. Auntie N has always been a bit of an adventurer. Other birthday surprises over the last few years have included a trip on the London Eye, a hot air balloon ride and a glider flight... oh, I forgot to mention, Auntie N was 95 in October 2009 :-)

*The reunion party. Around 70 members and associates of the motorcycle club I belonged to in the mid '80s got together and relived old times. It was sooo good to catch up with so many old friends, some of which I hadn't seen in 15-20 years, and also to see that many of them were still on 2 wheels. Made me feel more than a little nostalgic. I recovered my crash helmet from my brother's loft and brought it back to Corfu with me. I feel a two wheeled purchase coming on.

*Chinese food. Ah bliss!! Our first night in Blighty the friends that we were staying with suggested a takeaway. Quick as a flash the kids and I said "Chinese!" And we proceeded to phone an order to my old favourite takeaway, 'Hot Wok' for inordinately large amounts of authentic cuisine to be delivered to the door.

*Seeing our old pal Clinton just about back on two feet - and winding him up unmercilessly. He'd had a horrendous motorcycle accident not long after he and his family returned from their last Corfu holiday back in 2008 and things were touch and go for a while. He isn't fully recovered yet, but at least he's mobile again. He and his lovely family were hugely kind in accommodating us for our first few nights in Blighty. A great time, but no, I'm not going to divulge how his partner and I wound him up ;-)

*Family birthday lunch. My 50th is coming up next month, my dad had just celebrated his 21st (again) and my young nephew was about to enter his 10th year, so a family lunch seemed like a wonderful idea. A bakers dozen of us enjoyed a wonderful meal at one of my brother's favourite restaurant... which, funnily enough, is a Chinese!! Can't have too much of a good thing!

*Fish and chips on the seafront at Felixstowe, followed by Peters ice cream with 3 generations of the family. A truly traditional day out at the seaside.

*Shopping! As a reformed shopaholic hitting the big stores and supermarkets with a long shopping list was an unmitigated treat for me.

*Catching up with my wonderful Godfather, Bill, and his lovely wife Sylvia. A visit to their palatial new 'park home' really opened my eyes as to how far the humble caravan has come over the years. Really fabulous!

*Seeing my in laws and meeting my handsome young nephew Archie for the very first time.

*The Railway Motorcycle Show on Easter Sunday. Hadn't been there for years, but it was as though I'd never been away! Great to catch up with so many people... and their bikes.

*Catching up with a certain old Goat and his good lady who traversed half way across the fens in his trusty 2CV just so we could have some lunch together.

*Seeing all the baby lambs in the fields and enjoying the beauty of the English countryside. I love Corfu which has, without doubt, the most stunning scenery, but the rolling fields, lush greens and abundance of daffodils everywhere was a sight to behold.

*Hearing the giggles and squeals of delight as my kids played with their cousins for the first time in ages.

*Seeing my beautiful God-daughter Cassie who is fast becoming a very elegant young woman.

*Spending a day at a theme park without ANY mechanical rides! If you ever find yourself at a loose end in East Anglia, head for BeWILDerwood. http://www.bewilderwood.co.uk/ Fascinating and fun place for kids of all ages from 2 to 92 (and probably a little older too). Filled with Boggles and Twiggles and a fearsome Crocklebog, there wasn't a dull moment!

*And last but not least, flights that were on time, boarded without problem and two of the best landings I've ever experienced. Thank you easyJet!

I love my life here in Corfu and don't regret the move. I will always be grateful for the wonderful opportunities I've had by coming here, and proud to have become friends with some of the diverse and amazing people that live in this historic country. However, as I've said before, whilst I live here I'll always be an Englishwoman living abroad, so just once in a while it's nice to enjoy a taste of the home country!

Thank you to everyone who helped make our visit so memorable, not least to Andy and Julia, Alison and Clinton and especially Mum and Dad all of whom ensured we had a roof over our heads and a warm bed thoughout out stay. Here's to the next holiday :-)

Grand old ladies

2010-03-27T22:33:00.003+02:00

I was awoken in the small wee hours a few nights ago by the ominous sound of clickety-click, clickety-click, clickety-click. That's a sure sign that someone local has just died.

It was 3.42am according to my alarm clock and the clickety-click was the sound of a staple gun putting up obituary notices on the telegraph poles opposite our house.

When I got up the next morning sure enough the notices were there. I took a quick look and saw that the deceased was 102 years old. Not a bad innings really!

Later that afternoon when Jack came home from school he relayed the story that one of his classmates had been quite upset - she'd seen the notice which heralded her great grandmother's demise. A sad way to find out about the departure of a family member. One might have thought that her parents would have told her.

However, she was pleasantly surprised later in the day to find her 102 year old great granny still very much alive and well. The lady who had departed this mortal coil shared Jack's young friend's ancestor's name, but the printer had made a mistake about her age, she wasn't 102 at all....

She was 105.

Amusement aside though, I had the privilege to meet the older lady a couple of times. As recently as the summer of 2008 she would sometimes sit outside in the sunshine on the forecourt of her grandson's filling station, dressed in traditional white headscarf, blouse and long black skirt, watching the world go by and passing a hello with customers. I realised that she was quite elderly even then, putting her at perhaps as much as 90-92 years of age, but she certainly didn't appear even slightly frail, and had she not been in traditional dress I would probably have given her nearer 80.

My respect to the lady in question, and condolences to her family on their loss. A little more Greek history now laid to rest.

Settling in update...

2010-03-19T10:41:00.002+02:00

As I walked to the car this morning, rifle under arm, Jack pipes up...

"Funny thing mum, four people stopped to talk to me when I was walking back through the village with the gun yesterday. Three of them commented on the dog (Dylan had walked up to Nicos with Jack) and one asked if I'd been going hunting, but no one actually mentioned the fact I was carrying the gun with me."

I'm not saying another word on the subject ;-)

Settling in

2010-03-18T21:59:00.003+02:00

It's finally happened - I think I might be turning into a Greek village lady...

Today Stamatis and his merry band turned up to put the roof on our balcony - 11 short months after he gave us the quote. Was I cross? No, of course not! I was delighted that he'd come back in under a year and had picked a nice day to get started on it. Hopefully they may come back tomorrow and finish the job.

I offered drinks throughout the morning and about noon decided to nip up the shop to purchase the necessaries for making a light lunch for the crew. Now this is where I really get into village mode.

Do I bother putting any shoes on or do I go out wearing mauve fluffy slippers with one sole hanging off? The only reason I know I haven't entirely succumbed yet is the fact that I did stop and deliberate the question, and eventually settled on a change into flip flops rather than the fluffy footwear option.

Then of course after I'd cooked pies, made a large Greek salad and put beer and retsina in the fridge to chill the men decided they didn't want anything today - but would have something tomorrow instead.

Ah well, no point in getting upset. Feed the kids and Niamh's Greek teacher the pies, knock up a pastichio for dinner and have the salad with it. (Ha, knock up a pastichio - took me all of 20 minutes. A few years back it would have been an afternoon of kitchen mayhem). Meanwhile polish off the beer meself and leave the retsina for the lads tomorrow.

Jack comes trailing in from football. "Just nipping up to Nicos' house, he's going to lend me his gun..."

"Wait a moment, he's going to lend you his what?"

"Gun. But don't worry, he'll make sure it's not loaded, and I'll give it back when I've finished with it."

"But why do you need his gun?"

"For school tomorrow".

"What?" (You can imagine the images being conjured up at this point).

"Yes, I'm Gasto in the play and I need a gun - we've got dress rehearsals tomorrow." "It's OK, Spiros took one last year." Very reassuring.

"But surely the headmaster wouldn't let you."

This gets withering look from son.

"Oh mum, for heavens sake, it was his idea. He'll look after it in his office when I'm not rehearsing though."

Well that told me didn't it!

It's at about this point that Tony wanders in from the garden with a large bag of turnips. OK, small fairly tender turnips, but what, pray, can I do with 17 turnips? Turnip soup perhaps? Turnip salad? Turnip on toast? Answers please on the back of a small turtle...

Jack seizes the opportunity and dashes out.

Half an hour later we have an elderly carabina, in full working order, propped up in the corner of the kitchen. No case, just the rifle.

"Only thing is mum, I can't really take it on the bus. Could you take me to school tomorrow?"

Now, 4 years ago I would have been reeling at the concept of Jack taking a gun of any description to school, yet I suddenly realise that the only reason I am at all concerned about him taking a potentially lethal weapon to school with him is in case it gets damaged. Worrying? Possibly!

So tomorrow, and again for the performance proper next week, I will have to chauffeur Jack and a very big gun to school, safe in the knowledge that it's quite OK because the head teacher said so...

Looking back on my day:

My husband has been making charcoal. Fingers crossed that works out OK otherwise we'll be chilly next winter. Our own olive trees are so far down a steep slope that bringing the wood up is unfeasibly difficult. Instead he and Artemis (experienced Albanian charcoal maker) dug the pit, put the wood in, banked it up, put the straw on top and lit the blue touch paper. Idea is, make charcoal (which weighs about 1/5 of the weight of wood, and is easier to get up from the grove). Sell the charcoal and use the money made to buy firewood delivered to the door... Seems sensible to me.

My daughter came home from school, whinged (until bribed with ice cream) swore at her brother in Greek and went to plant chilli seeds with her dad in the garden.

My son came home from school, discussed the correct way to erect poly tunnels with a neighbour and swore at his sister (both conversations in Greek), went football training half way up a mountain and then wandered through the village in sole charge of a potentially dangerous weapon.

I've fed the cat outside whilst wearing my nightie (not a pretty sight) Thankfully my neighbour didn't catch me today - did yesterday!). Witnessed people climbing in through my attic window (surprising what you can do from the balcony roof), washed the chicken poop off the eggs and had a definite fashion crisis.

Stamatis' men have had a great time, done well on the new roof and spent a seemingly endless amount of time trying to get the parrots to say hello to them (the birds will eventually speak with a Greek accent!)

All in all a fairly typical day up here in the hills :-)

Daisies, Dylan and doo-dahs!

2010-03-02T10:06:00.006+02:00

Oh... Where did February go? I only blinked and there it was gone!

Ah well, that's life on Corfu for you. Time seems to stop being of any great importance after a while and one day/week/month just blurs into the next.

I woke up this morning with the words of one of my favourite poets running through my brain:

"The Spring is sprung, the grass is riz,
I wonders where the birdies is,
Here come the birds upon the wing,
But that's absurd, I always thought the wing was on the bird."

Spike Milligan (although sometimes attributed to others including Ogden Nash)

The sunshine was streaming in through our windows, the sky blue and cloudless, the birdsong a cacophony of tiny voices. In fact in the small wee hours I'd been awoken by light streaming in, making me wrongly think it was time to get up; only to realise after regaining consciousness that it was the bright, white moon that was lighting my way.

I woke the children then went downstairs to prepare breakfasts, packed lunches and feed the cat. Putting the cat's food outside on the doorstep I realised the air temperature was already considerably warmer than it was at the same time a few days ago, so I think I can fairly safely say that Spring is indeed sprung.

I love this time of year in Corfu, it's warm but not uncomfortably hot, the flowers are blooming in the olive groves and hedgerows, and the colours are vibrant. Everything and everyone is beginning to wake up and the island isn't yet filled with visitors, who, whilst very welcome (not to mention necessary) do change the persona of the place and the pace of life here.

Of course, it's not all sunshine and daisies. On the grand scale of things we do have a few tinsy difficulties. The country is in economic meltdown, austerity measures will hit an already stretched populace. Yes, it is argued that many got away with flouting the rules for many years, and maybe there is some truth in that. If (says she with the experience of one who worked in a revenue gathering environment in the UK for a number of years) you can afford a good accountant you can save a fortune by implementing tax avoidance schemes. No breaking of laws, just an interesting interpretation of them. But those who can't afford the good accountant to begin with were probably not saving a hugely significant amount from that which should have gone into the public coffers in the first place. And of course there is a train of thought that suggests that rather a lot of what did find its way into the Greek public coffers then made its way out again and into the pockets of certain politicians and people of influence... Just hearsay though, you understand...

Well, in doing our bit of belt tightening we're (or perhaps more correctly Tony's) getting more and more involved with growing our own this year. Our polytunnels are up, we've invested in a rotovator and the garden is beginning to teem with seedlings and new growth. To help protect our asset after last year's lettuce nicker we decided to get a dog. We had originally said we'd get a puppy, but then a couple of weeks ago we heard about Dylan.

Dylan was rescued from the side of the road where he'd been dumped, at just a few weeks old, around 18 months ago. His saviour, an Englishwoman, for reasons beyond her control now finds herself having to return to the UK and unable to take him along. I weighed up the options:

Puppy = negatives: lots of noise, in the house for first few weeks, cost of injections, spaying/castration, training and eventually getting it used to an outdoor life. Positives: very cute, cuddly and the kids will love it.

Dylan= positives: already jabbed, 'done', used to living outside, comes with his own kennel, needs a home. Negatives: not small, cute and fluffy.

The practicalities of offering Dylan a home seemed to outweigh the cuteness of a puppy, so we opted for Dylan. Which just goes to prove how much theory and practice can be different.

We now have a medium sized, extremely strong dog who firmly believes he is still a cute, cuddly puppy. No Dylan, you can't sit on my lap whilst I'm working. No Dylan get off the furniture - and don't you DARE bare your teeth at me when I try to sit on MY bed.

Dylan trashes everything that he can. He arrived with the toy he had for Christmas. Within a hour of getting to us he'd completely obliterated it and was making a start on one of Niamh's dolls.

Dylan is now living in the garden with his kennel and his cushions. At least he did have cushions to sleep on, but he's turned the garden into a snowstorm by shredding the cushions, eaten one corner of his kennel and is busy digging holes wherever he gets the chance. But has he TOUCHED the huge doggie chew I bought him? No chance!

Now, before you say, he's bored, he needs walking, he is walked twice daily. We were warned that it is impossible to wear him out, yet on Sunday I managed to. I walked from Acharavi to Almeros on the beach whilst he ran rings around me. On the way back to the car he didn't pull on his lead once, and he sat quietly in the back all the way home. Definitely tired out. Of course this didn't stop him from trashing the cushions, again, within a couple of hours of getting back!

Yesterday morning I went to the garden to feed and walk Dylan. I arrived to the sight of the second snowstorm in as many days, so whilst he had his breakfast I filled a carrier bag with the shredded innards of the cushions. My bag filled to bursting with stuffing I then clipped Dylan on his lead and let him pull me along the bank of the stream as we set off for our walk.

En route we have to cross the stream, which is more of a small canal, the natural path of the water flow having been enhanced many years ago by a man made gully. It's not massive, a fairly easy jump even with dodgy knees like mine. But, with the worlds biggest puppy pulling you along and a large bag of rubbish as a counterbalance the jump can be made more complicated.

When we arrived at the crossing point I decided to throw the bag across before making the leap myself. Dylan went first, then the bag, which then gently rolled back on itself and straight into the fast flowing stream! I hauled Dylan back onto the pathway side and chased after the bag, which conveniently got stuck. The channel at this point was over 2ft deep and I couldn't reach the bag, so I used a long stick. As the bag began to split and the stick broke, loosening the bag and sending it further on its trip downstream I realised that the contents, now wet, were highly absorbent and weighed about 5kg...

I chased after it and eventually it became snagged again, this time on a shallower stretch of the stream. By laying down flat I could JUST reach it. So I laid down flat, on the anthill, dog pulling me one way, me teetering on the edge... would I go headfirst into the stream? Thankfully not, and after a couple of attempts I managed to fish the sodden bag out! By this time it had ripped quite badly so I had to head home and find a bin liner to tidy it all into.

Meanwhile, Dylan is becoming a multiple pooh dog, stopping every 10m to leave another little present... preferably in the new stinging nettles that are sprouting up in the hedgerows, making it really interesting for me to bag up.

Whose bright idea was it to get a dog now? Remind me?

Aggghhhhh.....

Chateau Neuf du Pop

2010-01-30T00:41:00.006+02:00

Earlier this week I was invited to meet a young lady who has been following my blog from time to time. We're both Corfu based ex-pats, albeit that she originates from the other side of the Atlantic to me. The invitation was to her home for coffee and home baked cakes.

As it customary in Greece I took a small offering with me, a bottle of our krasi, remembering to take the 'Fanta' label off the bottle first.

A little while ago I received an email from my new friend with this photo attached. I'm chuffed, so I thought I'd share her decanting skills with you. :-)

Fire, flood and pestilence

2010-01-29T11:26:00.005+02:00

Yesterday started as a fairly normal Thursday. Spent the first 45 minutes chivvying children to get up and go to school, had a cuppa and thought about doing some work.

Earlier in the week we splashed out on a "somba". The Greek name for a heating unit of various construction - calor gas heater, electric fire, or in our case a log burner. Tony had duly installed it in the kitchen where for the last few days it's been churning out more heat than this house normally sees in the middle of summer.

Going back to yesterday...

Got up, popped a load in the washing machine and then popped myself into a hot bath. After a relaxing soak I eventually decided to pull the plug out, and moments later noticed the drain in the middle of the bathroom floor was dribbling all over my robe (that'll serve me right for hanging it up on the floor). Oh great, it's blocked again (happens from time to time). I partly replaced the bath plug so that the water would drain away slowly, making a mental note to fix the drain when I had a moment.

Got dried and dressed, and went into the kitchen to light the new somba.

25 minutes later I had opened every door and window in the house to let the belching smoke out. It didn't matter how I set the vents, flue or door, the wind direction kept changing and was rattling down the chimney, forcing the smoke downwards. Deep joy.

Eventually I got things under control, and noticed that the washing machine had finished its cycle. Open washing machine door. Small flood ensues. Close washing machine door quickly, it's full of water.

Just at this point I realised that the house was full of smoke again. Windows and doors opened again. By now I'm cold and rather soggy.

Over the following hour I juggled my time between bailing out the washing machine (I got about 3 litres out in total), mopping the floors, unblocking the drain, moving ever increasing piles of dripping laundry, unblocking the washing machine filter, testing the washing machine (it seemed that the spin wasn't working), opening and shutting the somba flue and hanging out of various windows gasping for breath with great billows of smoke curling around me.

By 2pm I had finally got the fire going properly, unblocked everything, mopped the floors, got the spinner working again and managed to wring and hang out a large load of washing.

I went upstairs (into the loft, 2 floors and 30 steps above the kitchen where the somba is) to my computer.

10 minutes later I could smell smoke.

I got down the first flight of stairs and started choking. Holding my breath down the second flight I threw open doors and windows again. The somba was standing there glowing nicely without a smidgen of smoke anywhere. If somba's could smile this one would be grinning like a naughty child who thinks they've got away with it.

I swore at the somba, got all the smoke out of the house. Closed all the windows and doors again and went back up the 30 steps to my computer.

Over the next hour this scenario happened three more times. By this time I'd realised that it happened every time we got a big gust of wind or it started to rain hard. Eventually I managed to second guess the situation and got down stairs whilst the fire was still expelling smoke from around the door.

Another half hour of sitting watching and adjusting it until at last it appeared sorted. I went back upstairs to finish what I had been doing unhindered by further interruption... 20 minutes later Tony got home and started messing with the somba.

As for the pestilence. When we lived in the UK I used to get the occasional cold sore when I was stressed out. I've been delighted to be cold sore free since we moved here... that is until the beginning of this year. No sooner have I got over one than another starts to form. The latest one took shape as I was sleeping on Wednesday night and is my third in as many weeks. Oh well it'll take the edge off the mouth ulcer that also appeared yesterday.

Stressed? Me? Nooo!

Just a thought...

2010-01-10T13:03:00.003+02:00

Ah, life on the sunshine island of Corfu... OK, so we don't have sub zero conditions like our friends and relatives back in Blighty, but I wouldn't exactly call it typically Mediterranean here at the moment either.

This morning the hail has been crashing down on our roof, and the closest crack of thunder immediately followed lightning that seemed to be directly overhead. The good news is that we're not having quite so much rain as we did in, say, October. But... that's because of the near constant gale force winds! The moment the wind drops the rain recommences. But hey, I'll be moaning about the incessant heat again soon enough I'm sure!

Life in the village seems to be trundling on regardless. The big issue for debate recently had been the hike in car tax - if you happen to own a vehicle with an engine capacity over 2.5 litre that is more than 15 years old it's a whopping 800€ a year now! Having said that though, I don't know many people with vehicles that fit that description here. The few I do know who have large pick ups are registered as agricultural users, and as such not subject to high vehicle tax. In reality I've only heard of one person whose had to find such a huge amount to keep their car on the road.

Apparently the government is also imminently increasing tax on alcohol and tobacco by 20%. Although I'm sure it will have an adverse effect on some city dwellers, and these increases may not be appreciated by visitors who make the most of the cheap cigarettes in particular, I wonder if many local people will really have to spend a lot more. A majority of the alcohol consumed in this village is krasi - home made wine - so no change there, and tobacco will still be considerably cheaper than elsewhere in much of Europe.

However, I have thought of one way that the government could clear the national debt in next to no time. TURN THE BL**DY LIGHTS OFF!!!

Sorry about that... I didn't mean to shout.

What I'm suggesting is that considerable savings could be made if the street lights were turned off for a few hours when most people are asleep. Say between the hours of 1am and 5am.

In the village where we live, with about 800 other souls, there must be a streetlight every 30m or so. You can walk up the road at 3am and it is nearly as bright as day. Every alleyway and corner is illuminated, and even the country roads that we traverse between one village and the next have lights every couple of hundred metres. On top of that every decorative light - intended for Christmas and Easter - also finds itself left on throughout the year.

It's a fairly educated guess that this situation is replicated in most villages throughout Greece. I question how much, in both financial and ecological terms, this costs the country each year. Whilst it's very pleasant to have a well illuminated road, the sheer volume of lights really is excessive. Even if they were left on all night we would be absolutely fine with 50% of the current volume. The streets wouldn't be dark and the savings would be massive.

Perhaps there is an argument that crime is kept lower due to well lit streets. Periodically there are break ins in the village, but I somehow doubt that these would increase if we had a few less street lights. Street violence is pretty much unheard of anyway. Most would be muggers would be hard pressed to find a victim carrying anything worth stealing wandering our streets after 1am most nights anyway (or come to that at any time of night!)

I'm not suggesting that all the cities and towns necessarily should be less well illuminated; but in the villages (of which there must be thousands on the mainland and islands), where crime rates are low, there are no clubs and bars that turn out at 3am, no late night traffic and the vast majority of people are safely tucked up in bed before midnight, perhaps savings could be made if the timers were set differently or a few light bulbs were removed...

A new year's essay.

2009-12-30T16:06:00.004+02:00

It's difficult to believe that 2009 is nearing a close; and moreover that the first decade of the new millenium is also nearly over.

My elder child was just a toddler when we saw in the new year in 2000, yet in a few months time he'll be a teenager. My daughter wasn't even a twinkle in her father's eye then, but is currently out on a bike ride on her own... I know it's an oft used comment, but the older I get the faster time seems to go.

Meanwhile, when I've had a spare moment in the last 12 months I've enjoyed a few good books (and a few awful ones!). I seem to have read a disproportionately large number that have Greek recent history, particularly the last war, as their theme. 'Captain Corelli's Mandolin', 'The Island', 'The Brass Dolphin' (actually set in Malta, but telling a very similar story to the Greek occupation) and most recently Nicholas Gage's true story of his mother's life, in 'Eleni'.

Each of these books tells a story of village life in the country in a time before electricity, running water, indoor toilets or motorised transport, let alone tarmac on the roads. As well as the main storylines of great heroism and vile acts, they also paint vivid pictures of life in Greece 60-70 years ago, well within the living memory of many of my neighbours.

These stories have helped me to understand why some things happen in our village even today. The segregation between men and women, whilst no where near so extreme as it was before WW2, can still be seen. Sunday evenings in the summer months when the men congregate on the steps to the platia, whilst the women sit on their front porches, the latter lacemaking or preparing vegetables and gossiping, the former arguing politics or football. The kafenions that are still strictly men only. Most now do see the occasional woman through their doors, but one or two remain exclusively male domains.

The books have also helped me to have a glimpse of what life must have been like before tourism discovered Corfu (and indeed all of Greece and her islands), when the seasons and the sunrise dictated the lifestyle, and people relied on the land, not the supermarket, for their food.

Only last week we were about to bottle some of our home made wine. Tony was warned, "only do it if the day is sunny." Bottle it when its raining and the wine will be cloudy. Is this an old wives tale, or perhaps because the air is damper on a rainy day, and the action of the wine being opened to the damp atmosphere makes it cloudy? I have no idea, but Tony bottled it on a day that was overcast, although it didn't rain. Result? Our wine has a good flavour, but could be clearer!

You may ask where all this is leading. Well, in early spring this year the rumours started. "It's going to be a hard summer this year," "there's no jobs about" and other similar comments. These are the same stock sayings as have been said every year for the last 6 or 7, and so I'm not sure how many people really took them very seriously. However, with the benefit of hindsight the doom-mongers were right. Tourism nosedived this year, thanks to the global credit crunch, European recession and other factors such as cheap long haul holidays to non EU countries, where the British tourist's (which have historically made up nearly 50% of summer visitors to the island) hard earned pound would stretch a bit further.

You probably know that Greece welcomed a new government earlier in the year. Since Pasok returned to power the community has been made far more aware of the true nature of Greece's debt. It's pretty massive and there is much talk of bankruptcy, devaluation, a return to the Drachma and various other possibilities. I'm not sufficiently well versed in the economics of the country to pass any comment, but have noticed a not inconsiderable amount of wailing and arm waving in certain quarters. "How are we going to manage?" "How will I pay for my new car/new suite/new house" etc etc.

The word on the street now is that there is plenty of work about, but no-one is paying. This certainly seems to be true. It looks to me that the generation who have enjoyed relative affluence over the last 20 years or so thanks to mass tourism haven't quite got their heads around the fact that they cannot continue to spend in the way they have been used to.

As an observer, it seems to me that the hierarchical nature of society here comprises the employers and the workers. The employers (aka the rich) are good enough to offer the workers work, and the workers should be grateful. Wages have always been a bit sporadic here, especially within tourism. Workers are often not paid quite when they should be, the employers waiting until the tour operator payments, or whatever, are received, before dipping their hands too deeply into their pockets. This year employers employed, workers worked, but nobody paid. I have friends who are still waiting for final payments from summer 2008 who went back to the same employer in 2009 and have worked all season without pay.

It begs the question, given that experience why do the workers work? I feel sure the answers are manifold, but at least in part it must be because they don't know anything different, and being essentially an honest race they presume that if they've been promised their wages they will get them eventually. Sadly though this touching faith isn't holding true at the moment.

Which all takes me back to the books I've been reading. It seems to me, and from conversations with some of my older Greek friends and acquaintances, that this recession is going to mean not simply a bit of belt tightening, but a complete change in outlook for many people. For the more mature who remember life before tourism it will be a return; a resumption of life not dissimilar to that described in the books. But for the youngsters who are used to having state of the art mobile phones glued to their ears, whilst driving a souped up Golf or Seat around or sitting in the bars of the coastal resorts until the small wee hours, trying to 'out-pose' one another, it'll be a huge culture shock.

I went to buy some chicken feed today, and was talking with the Greek shop keeper about just this subject. His words were quite prophetic if slightly dramatic. "We can no longer rely on tourism. We must move back to the land. The land will provide for us, and for those who do not know how to tend it there are others who can teach them. However, some people here are lazy and don't want to learn. They are the ones who will die."

A somber thought for a new decade. I hope and pray it won't quite come to that, but I suspect that things on our little green island will change out of all recognition over the next few years. Lets hope that Prime Minister George Papandreou and his government will succeed in making those changes for the better, not worse.

Personally, I was originally somewhat scared by the prospect of life without two brass farthings to rub together. I'm still not too keen on the concept of arranged marriages and eating boiled snails for dinner, but now I'm beginning to be a little less nervous and am even looking forward to the possibility of living life a different way. Perhaps I'm being naive, and I guess the fact that we have a few quid left in the bank, plus the knowledge that if the going got too bad we could return to the UK reassures me. But if Corfu starts to rely less on tourism and more on farming and local manufacturing it could be a fascinating experience and a wonderful, if rather basic place to live.

Busy, busy, busy!

2009-12-22T10:38:00.005+02:00

Sorry I haven't blogged anything recently. It's not so much been a case of nothing to write about as no time to write about it!

The Christmas season is well and truly upon us and the children break up from school today/tomorrow. Yes, I know that seems odd, but they go to school today, then tomorrow morning they go to church in the village before being sent home for about 10.30am. They then have a couple of weeks off until returning on 8th January.

In fairness they've done well. After the massive 3 month summer recess they've been back at school since mid September without an official break. Unlike UK schools we don't have half term holidays, so by the end of the term they've had about 3 months of 8-4pm Monday to Friday, which is quite hard going for the younger kids. Jack has had a week's unexpected break after his class was closed due to swine flu, but by the time the week was up he was itching to go back as he was fed up at home.

Conversely, Niamh has had every imaginary ailment she can think of in the last few days in order to try and get a day off - this from the child who, an hour after she returned from school on the last day before the summer hols announced that she was bored! There's no pleasing some people!

Meanwhile, I've taken another great step in understanding Greek bureaucracy and am beginning to appreciate that the fear factor is much worse than the reality! This time it was the fabled car tax which has to be paid before 1st January each year. In previous years we've had a renewal sent through in mid November, but this year nothing. Tony had started to fret about this as, if we don't pay by the end of the year the 'fine' is a doubled tax charge. Also, there had been numerous rumours going around that the new government had considerably raised the taxes on older cars. Village gossips were saying that even small cars over 10 years old were going to be stung at least 300€ in tax - ouch!

So last week I, the intrepid explorer, armed with only my ATM card and our car registration documents, headed for Corfu Town. My solicitor's secretary had told me I could pay my car tax at a National Bank of Greece branch if I didn't have my renewal documents.

I parked at the Liston, and, after getting slightly lost in the old town, found my way to the main branch in the city centre just after 9am.

The place was heaving. I noticed an illuminated number '33' over the cashiers desks and, looking round, found the ticket dispenser which would enable me to have my turn.

I took my ticket. Number 279. Ouch. This could be a long wait.

I decided to walk up to my solicitor's office just in case the renewal document had been received by them. I somehow thought I'd have enough time!

Unfortunately they hadn't seen it, so I headed back towards the bank. En route I noticed another, smaller branch of the National Bank - and deep joy, it only had 2 customers in. I tried to go in but was stopped at the door by a very ferocious looking lady in a tweed suit. She pointed at a notice on the door. Even with my limited Greek I could work out that it said closed until 12 noon for staff training.

Expletive time.

As I wandered back to the other National Bank branch I spied a Eurobank, where I have an account. Could it be that I could pay at any bank perhaps? The lovely, helpful staff (I do like Eurobank they are a breath of fresh air!) apologised but no, without my renewal document they couldn't help. If I'd had the document it wouldn't have been a problem. Just as I was about to leave the young man called me back. "You do realise, the only place you can pay if you don't have a renewal is at the tax office". I stopped. "The tax office? You mean I can't pay at the National Bank?" He confirmed my query.

More expletive time.

Deep breath and off I went to the tax office.

Now the tax office scares the living daylights out of me. Last time I went in, to pay an 11€ bill, I was shouted at in Greek and told to go away!!! (I relayed this story many moons ago in the blog). This time I went in, found the first office, and waited very patiently whilst the young lady assisted someone else. When she was free I asked in my politest voice whether she spoke any English, apologising that my Greek was very poor. "It depends" she replied, "on what you want".

"Umm... to know where to go to pay my car tax". "Ah, that's no problem" she replied with a big smile; "across the corridor, room 10".

20 minutes later I was back outside the tax office. I'd got my invoices from room 10, then back to the cashier's office to pay them, then next door to be issued with the tax discs for Tony's and my own car. Simples!

I was also delighted to realise that the village gossip had been just that, gossip. Yes, car tax has increased, but not anywhere near as steeply as we'd been led to believe - I can afford to have Christmas after all!

As I wandered back down to the Liston at about 10.45am I passed the National Bank of Greece. I peered in over the milling through and looked at the serving number - 91. Ouch!

Find a friend!

2009-12-07T18:07:00.005+02:00

We found a young dog wandering in the village last week. Others have mentioned that she's been around for a while now.

A pretty little thing she's very friendly and seems to crave human company. I wish I could offer her a home, but in our location, with no garden adjacent to the house and stepping straight out onto the main road through the village (however small and narrow that may be) it really isn't possible. For the moment the children and I are contenting ourselves with buying the odd can of dog food and giving her a breakfast each morning.

In the meantime I put a message on one of the Corfu forums enquiring whether anyone might be in a position to offer her a home. Amongst the replies I received someone suggested that I mention her on my facebook page.

That got me thinking. Most of my facebook friends are not local, so wouldn't be able to help, but I could always start a separate group that's open to all. So, during my tea break earlier I fired up a new group entitled "Help a stray find a home on Corfu", listed under "general interest - pets & animals". Designed to try and match up strays with new homes, its a sort of friendship site for pets!

If you are interested, especially if you live on Corfu, why not take a look or even join the group. I've put a link to the page under the 'some other good stuff' list on the left hand side of the page.

Meanwhile I haven't found a home for Rosy/Fida/Susy (as she's variously known), quite yet, but I've popped a photo of her on the top of this post, just in case those doleful eyes capture someones heart!

Batbiting

2009-12-04T09:17:00.002+02:00

I was sitting at my desk yesterday, late afternoon, engrossed in what I was writing, when I sensed something behind me.

This was slightly disconcerting, as the only thing behind me is a chest of drawers, wall and a window (2nd floor - I'm in the loft).

Our of the corner of my eye I was sure I saw something move. A moment later something fell onto my hand - a tiny piece of grit...

Next thing I knew I felt a draught as something skimmed my head and shot through the open door into Niamh's bedroom.

Round and round the bat flew, intermittently crashing into walls and the various hanging storage thingies - disorientated by the lights I guess.

Each time it plummeted to the floor I tried to catch it in a towel, but it was too quick for me. Eventually it started to fly down the stairs so I shouted to Niamh to open the veranda doors just at the bottom, in the hope that it would fly straight out.

A minute later the kerfuffle ceased and we assumed, from the lack of bat, that it had found its way out.

Later on I went upstairs again to finish off my work.

Swoop.

"TONYYYY...!! That bludy bat's still up here. Can you help catch it?"

Eventually we managed to get it, and Tony, into my office. Reducing the space it had to fly in would hopefully make it easier to catch. I shut the door swiftly. A moment later a voice trailed out... "it's landed on my back... ouch! and it's bitten me!"

It took some persuading to make the kids believe that we don't have vampires in the loft, or indeed in Corfu at all. However, my feelings towards those 'cute little' pipistrelle bats has now changed - I give anything that bites a wide berth!

Since the beginning of the year we've had various young birds come in and Nipper was the second bat recently. The roof is watertight and the windows were shut. I can just about understand the baby birds that fall through the cavity between us and next door then out of a tinsy gap in the skirting, but an adult bat, even a pipistrelle, is a slightly different matter. Ah well, it will probably remain one of those unanswered mysteries of life!

Good morning

2009-12-03T09:59:00.006+02:00

On Tuesday Jack came home from school with a message that he should remain at home the following day. Swine flu is rife here at the moment, although more to the point the fear of Swine flu if rife, making the slightest sneeze a cause for concern, bed rest and a large dose of Depon.

As a result the education authority has dictated that if more than x number (I think 4) children are off sick in any one class, for any reason, that class is closed.

Yesterday the phone call came through - he's to stay off until next Wednesday.

Niamh's class meanwhile hasn't the requisite number of absentees so she is still having to go to school (you can imagine that went down like a lead balloon!) This morning she wasn't too happy about having to get up in the dark whilst big brother languished in bed, although bribery in the form of mini Weetabix infused with chocolate chips for breakfast did salve her mood somewhat.

In a massive fit of parental care I said I'd get dressed and walk with her to the bus stop, rather than let her walk down alone. I'm always up first during the week, but I concentrate on getting breakfasts ready, lunches packed and children scrubbed, waiting until the first wave of activity is safely out of the house before I get dressed and venture further than the kitchen.

Today was different. At 7.35am I was out walking down the road with my daughter. Generously I offered to carry her bag - good grief it's heavy!! I had imagined that things were still pretty quiet in the village so early in the morning, it was barely light after all. So I was just a little surprised to see the local kafenion packed with men drinking coffee and watching the morning news before they set off to work.

We wandered on. Above us a shutter swung out from a bedroom window, the golden glow of the lights within filtering out to meet the rising sun. A radio played a Greek ballad in an unidentified living room not far away. Fresh pies, warming in the heated cabinet at our new supermarket, indicated that the baker had already done his rounds. The village was certainly much wider awake than I had expected on a late autumnal morning.

As we crossed the gardens to get to the bus stop on the far side of the village I looked westward to take in our own garden. It's abundant with orange and mandarin trees, heavy with their brightly coloured fruit, and Tony's incongruous chicken shed, resplendent with royal blue tarpaulin, looking rather out of place surrounded by natures colours. The sky was lightning more quickly now, revealing grey clouds with little patches of watery light blue dividing them. And there, round and full, was a huge creamy moon shimmering down on us, still high in the sky despite the fast approaching day. What an amazing sight!

Once on the far side of the gardens, looking back towards the main village, I couldn't help but feel nostalgic. The view was the epitome of how a Greek village is expected to look. The greens of the gardens in the valley giving way to the hustle of houses that nudged each other on the hillside beyond. Some are grand four story buildings, brightly painted and well maintained. Old stone houses long fallen into disrepair, jostle for roadside positions with those that are still looked after and lived in. Arched terraces, louvred shutters, steps everywhere, winding their way between the shops and cottages. Above it all the clear moon shone majestically, and the clouds were just tinged with red, letting us know the sun would soon rise over the hills to the east.

OK, so I'm being a bit romantic, waxing lyrical about our village. In reality life is quite hard here at the moment and many of the local people are finding it difficult to make ends meet. But what a lovely way to greet the day! Three years ago I'd have got up at about the same time in order to catch the 7.42 to Liverpool Street. I'd encounter grimy city streets, boarded up shop fronts, graffiti strewn walls, squeezing into tube trains and making my way to an office where the watchwords are stress and targets. Today I walked through a traditional village watching the balance between moon and sun subtly change, aware that the colour of the clouds, rather than the brevity of the deadline, will dictate to many of the local residents how they plan their day.

As I said in my previous post - I'm not going to throw the towel in quite yet!!

Bemused, confused or just plain muddled?

2009-11-25T18:52:00.003+02:00

I sometimes doubt that I'll ever really get used to living here. As I've said before, I do recognise that I will always be an Englishwoman living abroad, but I do wonder if I'll ever understand the way things work in Corfu!

Today we've learnt that someone we have considered a good friend, and who has indeed done several good turns for us (and we for him), has also been ripping Tony off at every turn over the last 18 months. A long and boring story that I won't go into, but suffice to say I have no doubt the friend doesn't see it as ripping us off, merely making a bit extra 'on the side'. A case of seeing things from a different angle... and conveniently forgetting to mention it.

Then of course there's the business with the electricity for the cottage being reconnected.

We've waited nearly 2 years for the previous owner, a lovely chap who has welcomed us into his family with open arms, to come with us to get it sorted out at the electricity board offices. (We're still waiting).

We've listened to all manner of conflicting advice about the pros, cons and difficulties of getting reconnected if you don't have an old bill (in our case a bill that would have been issued at least 7 years ago to the previous owner's late father), which has given us a few sleepless nights. But last week I decided to take the bull by the horns.

Last Thursday I went and spoke to an engineer, got a diagram of the wiring drawn up, took it to the electricity board and before you could say 'efharisto' the nice lady at the electricity board was charging me 100€ and saying we could have electricity again. Whole exercise took me 40 minutes.

Today, 7 days later, I phoned the electricity board to ask when we might expect to be reconnected. Answer - no idea, could be one month, could be two...

A spot of quick thinking before the phone could be put down. Is there any reason why we can't get an electrician to reconnect it - after all it is only the matter of refitting a fuse. Answer - oh yes, no problem at all.

'Scuse me but... Aggggghhhhhhh!!!!! Why oh why couldn't they have told me that in the first place? Probably because I didn't specifically ask the question I guess.

It was the same when I tried to get the internet connected many moons ago. The nice people in Athens said, "oh yes, no problem, we'll send a modem and you can have broadband." Six weeks later I go to the local OTE offices and ask (after a 1.5 hour wait) when I might expect my modem and broadband. "Where do you live?" came the curt question. I told her. "Well of course you can't have broadband, it's not available there" and she turned her back on me to serve someone else.

"Umm, excuse me" I said in a little, slightly wavery voice, "but if I can't have broadband is there any chance of getting dial up instead?"

The big scary OTE lady turned slowly and glared at me and growled (I swear she did, she growled). "Yes, why didn't you ask for it?"

'Scuse me again but..... Agggggghhhhhhhh!!! 10 minutes, one disc and 42€ later I had internet access.

There is no doubt that we Brits see life through very different eyes to those the Greeks use. I'm not criticising, merely observing the depth of difference between our two cultures.

I bumped into an English friend yesterday who has lived here for about the same length of time that we have. Like us, she and her family had hoped to 'live the dream'. She had just sold her car, the last big item to dispose of before heading back to the UK to live. She said she couldn't wait to get home to England, and would be glad to see the back of Corfu. Although there were several contributory reasons for their departure, like many ex pats, she and her family had found the difference in culture and attitude too much to want to stay any longer.

I'm not about to throw in the towel just yet, but the longer we live here the more we discover about the Greek way of life. The more we discover, the more complicated things become and the more difficult I feel it is to integrate. I think my children will be fine, they are young enough and sufficiently open minded to be able to embrace both cultures. But as for me, perhaps I never will.

On a lighter note though, I popped out earlier this evening to take some coppers up to the new supermarket (apparently the bank couldn't supply them with 1 or 2 cent coins, so I raided our piggy bank). As I walked up the road the silhouette what looked like a large rat scuttled across the road some 40m in front of me. I shuddered. When I got up to the point where the rat had crossed I looked to the side of the road and there, hiding in a corner, was not a large rat but a middle sized hedgehog. I'd never realised they could move so quickly!

A quick shot in the arm

2009-11-17T21:08:00.003+02:00

It's been a funny old couple of weeks, lots of little things have happened and I've thought, "oo, I'll blog that", but really none of them have been worthy in their own right. Or maybe they are worthy, just not long enough to find more than a sentence or two about.

Then I thought again - "Ah ha, bullet points!" My old boss loved bullet points and always reckoned that I made too much of a meal of my writing... So, in no particular order:

*Why have a deck of playing cards been scattered the length of the main road through the village? And what is the significance of the King of Hearts being ripped in two? All the rest are complete...

*Have you ever wondered how those clever people at the circus learn to balance and do tricks on the back of a cantering horse? No? Neither had I really. On Saturday I took the children for their riding lesson and Ilona the instructor said, "this week we're going to do something different, vaulting". And they did. Taking it in turns, four children each rode bareback, a girth with handles was their only saddlery. By the end of the session they were riding arms outstretched, trotting, and thoroughly enjoying the experience. Apparently it will become a monthly treat. Perhaps this is common enough in riding schools these days, but I'd never seen it before.

*In my voluntary role of BBC foreign correspondent I did a short broadcast for a local UK radio station last week, a piece on what Corfu has to offer visitors. The opening question (from cheery DJ) "and what's the weather like over there right now?" Me, (allowing mouth to work before engaging brain) "it's tipping it down, but at least the thunder has stopped"... Great advert for tourism I make!

*The CDR have named one of their donkeys after the magazine I write for. Nisea. Whilst it's a lovely gesture, the girls and I aren't entirely certain that calling a blind donkey after us quite the sort of publicity we're looking for - after all we don't publish in braille! However, we'll ensure our namesake is kept well supplied with carrots and apples.

*You can tell winter is on its way. Gossip is running rife in the village now. Doesn't matter what the gossip is, it just has to be gossip. Yesterday a friend told me she thought she just might be expecting. "Tell me something new", I replied, "I've known about that for over a week". "But how?" she replied, "who told you? It only been in the last couple of days that I wondered if I might be"...

*And whilst we're in the village I'm pleased to report that business is booming here despite the recession. Saturday saw the grand opening of a new supermarket! I don't think Tesco need to start worrying yet, although its a handy little shop. Previously it had been a sort of Arkwrights Store, with precious little on the shelves that was under a decade old; but now we have a good selection of foodstuff (including Kelloggs cereals and Heinz beans as well as many Greek name brands) and even a handful of special offers. Whether it will adversely affect trade at the four other general stores in the village remains to be seen, but hopefully there'll be room for everyone.

*I opened a bank account last week. Nothing novel about that really, but if I'd gone to a high street bank in the UK as asked for an account that offered me internet banking, a savings book and a debit card they would have stood me in a booth with a biro and form to complete, then taken that away, possibly have issued me with a passbook and then told me to go home and wait - 5 days for the pin number, 10 for the card. Here in Greece I take a comfy seat, the nice lady asks me some questions and I provide various documents that I knew would be needed. She fills in the forms for me so all I have to do is sign. Then she prints me off a passbook and two sealed forms, one with my pin number, the other my ebanking login details. Finally she gets a blank card from the safe, runs it through the machine and gives me my ATM debit card. 45 minutes later I'm checking my balance... Greek bureaucracy, what Greek bureaucracy???

On that note I think I'll stop my ramblings - even the bullet points are getting a bit lengthy!

Beautiful but impractical...

2009-11-04T17:33:00.004+02:00

Viv posted a comment about the photo of us all in our dancing finery (the photo below). She said they looked amazing but thought they might not be the easiest thing to dance in. I started to reply then thought hey, why not publish the reply instead....

They are amazing costumes, made using traditional Macedonian designs(and valued at about 2,000€ each), but... They are 5 layers thick and weigh 7kg. Starting with a full length cotton underdress and white 80 denier tights/stockings. Over which is the heavy cotton/linen full length embroidered and tapestried shift. Top that with a quilted coat, on top of which is a second coat, this time heavily embroidered black cotton. Then add the tapestry apron (which is like a rug) over it all, tied tightly to keep everything in place, before lastly putting on the woven belt with solid brass buckle. The final touch is the several chains of coins pinned across the cleavage.

Headgear is like a shaped 3D triangle of balsa wood, covered in felt with ties that go under the chin, and a tapestry headband across the forehead. Then a large, decorated tablecloth affair pinned carefully on it - it goes down to your bum at the back! All your hair has to be tucked into the hat and with the ties under your chin and the weight of the headgear pulling your head backwards it makes breathing and swallowing difficult!

The girls in the red had it a little easier as their costumes aren't quite so heavy, but not much. Add then a mass of stage lights and it's better than having a sauna!

Thankfully we only rent these for high days and exhibitions. Last time I wore it was at Lefkimmi for an open air exhibition near the salt flats. I hadn't had time to take the hem up so it was only about a cm above the ground. We finished dancing and left the stage down some steps - the girl behind me stood on my hem as I stepped down - I couldn't move, and narrowly missed falling flat on my face into the audience.

We're hoping that this year we might try some dances from a different region - preferably one that is warmer and didn't historically wear quite so many layers :)

The effort of making an effort

2009-11-02T09:12:00.003+02:00

Two weeks ago our dance classes started again after a summer recess.

To be honest I wasn't sure that I could be bothered to go any more. It takes an inordinately large amount of effort to motivate myself, after a relatively lazy Sunday, to go out into the now chill and often damp evening. Once I get to the Demos building where the lessons are held I dance, get extremely hot and bothered, then go back out into the cold/wet night air again and am chilled to the bone by the time I've walked home.

As my left knee and right foot were (and still are) a bit sore after the multiple falling exercises I undertook not so long ago I decided I had an excuse not to go to the first lesson.

Last week I conveniently forgot the lesson time.

During the week Niamh said "Mummy, when does dancing start again? I'm really looking forward to it". Niamh isn't the most athletic of children and I certainly don't want to discourage her from enjoying exercise, so I had to admit that they had just started. I was then subjected to frequent reminders just to make absolutely certain positive that I didn't forget, along with "You will be going too won't you?".

Yesterday afternoon the questioning was taken up a notch. From 2pm onwards, "Is it time to go yet? How much longer before dancing?" Eventually the allotted time arrived and (after numerous decisions about what to wear) off Niamh went with her friend Lily. The children's class is an hour before the adults, so I said I'd meet her at the end of class.

In my heart I knew that I'd have to make a decision as to whether I did start the classes again. I couldn't keep putting it off. They are good fun once you get there, but oh the effort that it takes to go out...

"I really don't want to go" I said to Tony over dinner, then went back to the computer.

Fifteen minutes before the lesson started I got changed. "What are you doing that for?" Asked Tony. "Dancing of course" I retorted. "But I didn't think you wanted to go" came the reply. "Ah yes, but there's a difference between not wanting to go and not going" I explained...(Typical feminine logic).

Off I went, shivering, to the Demos building.

It was good to see people again. I'd forgotten how social an event it can be. Most of the ladies had been working hard over the summer so recent contact had been restricted to waving or hooting as we drove past each other.

"Ah well, I'll give it a go now I'm here," I thought to myself. If I get any pain I'll just have to stop. Although my foot ached a little we're learning some new dances that have more upper body movement and thankfully not too many springy steps, so it was far less traumatic than I'd expected.

Before the lesson commenced we had the obligatory angry lecture from Katerina (our teacher, and scary when riled) about being there to learn not talk. She pointed out that we'd chatted through the first 20 minutes of the lesson, and said she wasn't going to waste her time and intended leaving at 8pm when the lesson should finish.

At 8.25pm we finished the lesson...

We were given another lecture. Or at least discussion. Apparently we've been invited to dance at two festivals in the next few months. One on the mainland in the new year, complete with live, rather than recorded music. What was that I said after the last time? I'm not wearing that costume again, I'm only going to dance for a bit of fun, no more performing.

Well maybe after this season...

The tortoise and the hare, Corfu style

2009-10-27T13:11:00.005+02:00

Tomorrow is Oxi Day (pronouned ochi). The children performed their traditional celebratory show at school this morning before all being let out at 10:30am (deep joy). After which came our own tradition of having to drag them around the local shoe shops to purchase a pair of black shoes that fit.

Black shoes (as well as black or blue trousers/skirt and white shirt) are required uniform for the children on Oxi Day, when they march through the towns and villages to the sound of the local brass band. This is to remember the day that Metaxas (Greece's prime minister at the time) said Oxi!(no)to Mussolini's demands and the Greeks found themselves involved in WW2.

My kids don't seem to wear black shoes except on Oxi Day and on Independence Day (from the Turks)when again they parade through the streets in similar garb. End result is the day before Oxi or Independence day we drag last season's black shoes from the back of the cupboard, establish that they no longer fit and then chase round madly trying to find new black shoes that don't cost a fortune.

Thankfully today I only had to buy one pair. A relative had kindly brought Niamh some slightly too big black pumps over from the UK earlier in the year, and they now fit perfectly. These were a massive £1.99 from Tesco's school range and just right for the job. Jack, however, had outgrown his last pair of black shoes so off we went. 25€ later, along with stern lectures about having to wear them for school too - I want them worn out not out grown - Jack had a new pair of trainers.

As I turned the car round to head home a very elderly green, agricultural truck - the sort that travels at jogging pace and runs on a large rotavator engine, passed, meaning I had to take up my place behind it. After a 100m or so I was able to overtake.

A little further on I stopped to pick up some laundry.

Phut, phut phut, past me it went, just as I was about to pull out again. Thankfully the road ahead was clear and before long I managed to slip round him and away. Red traffic lights stopped me though, and a moment or two later I heard a phut, phut, phut behind me.

The lights turned to green, we pulled away and off up the hill I went. I stopped at the supermarket for potatoes and tomatoes. Yes, you've guessed, as I got back into the car, phut, phut, phut, it went past again.

I swung out of the car park and followed on up the hill. Again, after a little way I was able to get round him.

We wound our way up into the village where I saw Stamatis, whom I wanted to speak to. I parked the car and I went to have a brief chat. Conversation over I returned to the car so we could collect various bits and pieces from it. Phut, phut, phut past us went the little green truck.

Despite having a top speed of 10 km per hour compared to my 130, the little green truck passed us 4 times and still managed to get to my front door before we did!

It just has to be said ... "for phuts sake!!" ;-)

... and a very rural Greek one.

2009-10-14T17:36:00.003+03:00

Some people say how lucky we are to live in this rural community. They envy the simplicity of it all, the pace of life and the opportunity to escape from too much materialism.

I wouldn't disagree. There are indeed many bonuses to living in this environment, but perhaps to suggest it is idyllic is taking things a step too far. In fact the reality of this lifestyle is, for some, both harsh and very basic.

A good example of this happened just the other day.

Tony had been asked by one of his Greek friends in the village to help him strip out some old kitchen cupboards from an elderly couple's house in readiness for some new ones being fitted. Apparently the wife was in hospital and is not being allowed home until the kitchen had been improved.

My initial reaction was to think that the couple couldn't be too badly off to be upgrading their existing kitchen - it wasn't as if they didn't have one already...

But after hearing the tale of what happened during the removal of the old furnishings I now take it all back.

Firstly Aris pulled out a draw, and a mouse leaped out, across his arm and scuttled away! Lovely!

Then they removed the old cooker (which apparently didn't work) and found at least 40 assorted bones underneath it. Wonderful!

Then Tony removed another drawer and found...

...a mummified rat.

Apparently the rest of the house, although frugal, is quite neat and tidy and I am not being critical of the couple's housekeeping. Sadly it seems they were not really able to cope, and despite having many friends and good neighbours no one noticed.

How could this be I wondered? Then it struck me - probably because even these days it isn't that unusual to live in relatively squalid conditions in rural Greece.

Hopefully though their new kitchen will be easy to maintain and will remain vermin free for many years to come.

A very British experience.

2009-10-12T20:54:00.006+03:00

Keeping within the theme of "wot my kids are doing" - Jack enjoyed a first yesterday. He's recently taken up cricket, in addition to the football and horse riding, and yesterday was his first league match.

Now, cricket isn't widely played in Greece, in fact the story goes that (apart from one team in Athens), the only place that it is played is in Corfu. That is because the British introduced it to the island during the 19th century.

There is one really famous cricket pitch in Corfu. Slap bang in the middle of Corfu Town, overlooked by the fabulous arcades known as the Liston, (an architectural remnant of the years that Corfu came under French rule), the Liston's cricket pitch is a world famous arena, albeit that it isn't ideal for trying to hit a 6 in due to the proximity of parked cars and buildings. A quintessentially English theme, one can sip cold ginger beer under the arches on a warm summer's afternoon whilst watching a Sunday match and calling 'oh well done!' every now and again.

And it is here that Jack played his first match (a 20/20) - and they won! Final score was opposition 45 all out after 19 overs, whilst Jack's team were 46 for 5 after 8 overs.

The whole thing about playing at this impressive venue seemed to go somewhat over Jack's head though, he was more impressed that the coach bought the whole team a McDonalds to celebrate!

An unexpected meeting

2009-10-09T22:00:00.003+03:00

Meanwhile, I had intended blogging about a minor celebrity moment experienced last Saturday...

The kids and I arrived at Kanoni for the riding lesson. Jack was saddled up and off to the top paddock whilst Niamh, looking more than a little nervous, was sitting astride Sam the Silvan pony. The pair took a few paces and then stopped, Ilona, the instructor, going over and having a prolonged chat with Niamh before helping her dismount. As I watched the scenario unfurl a slightly scruffy looking gentleman wearing a baseball cap back to front and heavy duty wellies (amongst other items!) wandered around the rink and sat down near me at the table by the tack room.

A moment later Ilona came over to us. "Franklin" she said, "I have a young rider here who is rather nervous and has said she would rather lead her pony today than ride it. As you're not busy at the moment would you mind helping her so I can concentrate on the other student?" "Sure, no problem" came the response, with more than a slight twang of American accent.

Ilona then introduced me to Franklin, with simply an exchange of names. We shook hands and off he went to help Niamh.

For the next 40 minutes or so I watched, entranced. Franklin worked wonders with Niamh... and Sam. By the end of the session Niamh had learnt how to lunge her pony both clockwise and anticlockwise as well as backing him up. Initial nervousness seemed to have vanished, to be replaced by a broad smile, a lead rein in one hand and a long stick with a carrier bag hanging off the end in her other (long story, but an excellent tool of the trade!).

Franklin, I thought... Franklin. I've heard that name before in connection with the riding school. At that moment Alex came over. "Alex", I asked, "that Franklin who's helping Niamh, isn't he the ...". Alex finished my sentence for me. "..Horse whisperer. Yes that's him. Lovely chap". And he is!

I 'googled' Franklin Levinson when I got home and got no less than 232,000 hits! I haven't read them all ;), but if you'd like to know more about this remarkable horseman I can recommend this link:

http://www.eques.com.au/training/dec_05/franklin_levinson_bio.htm

At the bottom of which is another link to Franklin's website, The Way of the Horse.

As for Niamh. Well she was blissfully unaware that Franklin was anything more than one of the volunteers at the stables until after her lesson was finished. After an initial moment of awe, she is now happy to have made a new friend and hopes he may be there again sometime!

Fly tipping

2009-10-09T21:23:00.004+03:00

Having been away from my blog for a few days I logged on today and found a comment from Sibadd awaiting my approval. The comment is now linked to my last post (what a load of rubbish), and it includes a couple of web addresses. One is to his own blog, Democracy Street, which is certainly worth a read and I've included it my 'some other good stuff' heading. The other link is, sadly, far from 'good stuff', but is equally worth a mention, so I've replicated it here so that you can view it:

http://www.flickr.com/search/groups/?q=corfu&w=373693%40N21&m=pool

Corfu is a beautiful island, but issues such as infrastructure, rubbish disposal and ecology are still in their infancy compared to some other European nations. I'm not going to start getting too political and opinionated about such issues - I understand far too little about the government, either local or national, to be in a position to have any firm arguments. However, it's simple to see that we have to look after this emerald plot if it is not to end up being a carbunkle in the Med.

What a load of old rubbish.

2009-10-03T17:31:00.003+03:00

Could it be, just possibly, that the powers that be on this beautiful, verdant island have woken up to the problem of litter and poor roads?

I'm not being sarcastic here, it's a well known fact that rubbish disposal in Greece generally isn't something that is particularly well managed. Wherever you look on roadsides and hedgerows you will inevitably see plastic bottles, bags, tin cans and other assorted detritus.

Also, having fallen foul of subsiding tarmac myself not so very long ago (and yes my foot is still sore) I can speak with a certain level of authority that the road surfaces on Corfu are not exactly perfect ;)

So, you can imagine my surprise yesterday when driving into Town to see that increasingly large stretches of the road I journeyed on are being resurfaced. Not just a new layer of tarmac over the top of the old, nor the normal fill in the potholes, but what appeared to be proper, scrape the old stuff off and put the new stuff on resurfacing. Having just forked out 125€ for a pair of tyres for the overpriced Citroen I am delighted to think that they may remain puncture free for just a little longer than the last ones did.

And as if this wasn't enough, as I traversed the hairpin bends on the way up to Trompeta I noticed a gentleman of indeterminate age, carrying two large black bin liners, bending over to pick something up by the side of the road.

I did a double take... Yes, he was, he was picking up litter!!

Today I did the journey again, this time to take the children to their bi-weekly riding lesson. As we travelled around the Trompeta bends the verges did look largely clear of rubbish, and I counted 4 large and very full black bin liners waiting for the next available garbage wagon to pick them up.

I was a tinsy bit disappointed to see that the clear up seemed to be rather localised, but on the way back from Town I did see a road sweeper near the Liston...

Maybe at long last someone in authority, somewhere, has started to recognise the problem and do something about it.

The Art of Falling (down)

2009-09-24T21:59:00.002+03:00

My feet haven't touched the ground recently - well actually they have, as will become clear in a moment - but proverbially at least they've been working at faster than the speed of light. What with donkey auctions, sorry, donkey art auctions, getting Nisea articles in on deadline, meeting celebs (I'm not going to brag about it, but I've crossed paths with authors, artists and musicians, several of whom are household names, in the last couple of weeks) and rather a lot of other stuff including a wonderful job offer, (but more of that another time) things have been just a tinsy bit busy.

However, that's not what I'm blogging about today. I'm blogging about falling over.

Tuesday before last my car (the overpriced Citroen mentioned in many previous posts) had to have surgery. On this occasion it was replacing the wheel bearings that were supposed to have been replaced 6 months ago - but it transpires weren't (strange, the mechanic charged me for them... I don't use him any more), and a new 'sleeve' put on the steering column, the old one having perished.

The mechanic I now use is about 10kms from my home, and he wanted the car for most of the day, so a friend kindly agreed to pick me up from and then later take me back to the garage. At the agreed time my pal came to take me to get my car, but unfortunately the mechanic had just phoned to let me know that it wasn't quite ready. Not in a position to turn down the lift I asked that he drop me about a mile from the garage so that I could pass some time walking the last bit rather than hanging around in a workshop waiting for the repair to be completed.

Niamh came with me and off we went, enjoying the afternoon amble. Eventually the pavement gave way to a dust track that abuts the road and has an uneven tarmac'd edge.

We were about 100m from the garage when I went over. I'd been walking twixt track and tarmac, listening to Niamh tell me about the science experiment she'd done at school, and wasn't really watching where I was going.

Next thing I knew, I was heading towards terra firma - seemingly in slow motion. My left ankle went east, the rest of me went south. First my knees, then elbows, and finally palms. The only bit that didn't quite reach the ground was my head!

A small Fiat screeched to a halt and a concerned young man jumped out. Was I alright? He enquired. I tried not to cry and managed to get myself into a sitting position. Yes, I was sure I hadn't broken anything, but could he help me to get up please .... oh good grief I'm getting old!

He kindly hoisted me up and went on his way. My knees stung like anything, and my ankle throbbed. I got to the garage, where my car was by this time ready to go, but had to take a seat whilst the mechanic wrote out my receipt.

Driving home was a nightmare - my clutch is quite stiff and I squealed every time I depressed the pedal. Eventually I stopped at Mellissa's shop and with her help strapped the ankle up, and with the extra support I managed to get home without screaming too much!

The pain got worse and worse, until I eventually got in touch with a holidaying paramedic friend who diagnosed a torn ligament. 3 hours in a warm bath, some strong painkillers and a good night's rest helped the recovery process, but it's still tender a week and a half later.

Then on Saturday morning I got up bright and early to take the kids horse riding. We left the house at about 8.15am, children jodphured and helmets in hand. Perhaps I should have been wearing one of the hats though...

I got as far as our last step down to the road, which is quite a steep one. At this point I have no idea what happened. Maybe I wasn't looking, maybe I wasn't quite awake, maybe I was just trying to compensate for my injured left ankle, but...

As I stepped forward off the final stair I caught my right heel on the edge and over I went again! Niamh says my arms went up above my head and I swan-dived onto next door's parking space!

I did scream this time - it was agony. Stamatis the carpenter was passing as I fell and came to my aid. There was no chance of me getting up alone this time either, and my right ankle was now throbbing even more than my left one! The look on Stamatis's face as he heaved me upright spoke volumes. I seriously need to lose some weight!

The good news is I no longer limp. Or at least I do, but because I'm limping on both feet it isn't so obvious. The bad news is that my right foot is black and blue - bearing an uncanny resemblance to Tony's foot when he broke his toe just a few weeks ago.

My knees are so sore - they took yet another battering - and my shoulder and elbows are only now on the mend, they were jarred particularly in fall number two.

Hopefully though this will be an end to it. First Tony's near disaster, and now both my feet - they do say things happen in threes ;) Oh and no, before you say anything - I was neither nursing a hangover OR in a state of inebriation, not a drop having passed my lips in the preceding 24 hours on either occasion :(

Still more about donkeys...

2009-09-15T13:48:00.002+03:00

The auction on Sunday evening raised a stunning 3276€, which is wonderful.

And in the last few minutes I've heard that the court case that had been hanging over the CDR's (and it's founder Judy Quinn's especially) head for the best part of a year now has today been resolved. In the event of Judy being found guilty she could potentially go to prison and be subjected to heavy fines. The donkeys meanwhile would be out of a home.

However, the Court found in Judy's favour and the donkeys can stay! Chuffed? Well yes, just a little bit :)

Coming up for air!

2009-09-11T22:33:00.002+03:00

Sorry I haven't blogged anything recently - I'll get back to it again soon, promise.

I've been rather inundated with organising the charity art auction for the Corfu Donkey Rescue - it's amazing how much work is involved. The auction is on Sunday evening (take a look at the link on the left if you'd like further information), after which time it is possible that some sort of normality will descend over my household once more, but then again...

Thief of time

2009-08-31T12:16:00.002+03:00

We have a little gift shop in our village. The owner had run a place down in one of the local resorts, but with the economy faltering somewhat he decided to save money on rent and move the centre of operations up to the village where he owns a small shopfront.

Last night the shop was burgled.

From what the owner can see the lock was forced off the door, but the only thing stolen was a watch.

The thief conveniently left his old on on the counter though....

Pump it up.

2009-08-30T18:00:00.003+03:00

How Greek am I?....

I was heading back from Corfu Town a few days ago and thought I should take advantage of the petrol prices there, it's several cents a litre cheaper than in the villages.

Spying a JetOil garage I pulled in.

As I slowed by the pumps I noticed a big sign that proclaimed "Self Service".

Without stopping to consider my options I put my foot back on the accelerator and drove out again.

Self service! You HAVE to be kidding me! I'm not getting out of my car, getting my hands dirty and filling my own tank. Filling stations have forecourt attendants to do that for you.

Ah, I remember Tesco's, club cards, double points, 5p a litre off if you spend over £50 in store.... No thanks. I'd rather pay full price, help keep people employed and remain in the comfort of my own car whilst the tank is being filled! ;)

Jack said "Mum, you MUST blog this"

2009-08-21T10:52:00.003+03:00

The Greeks, especially the menfolk, are unmistakeable when it comes to driving style. I'm told (though I make absolutely no claim as to the credibility of the statement) it is because most Greek men learn to drive whilst doing their national service. The armed forces style of driving tending to be somewhat more forceful than that taught by your average driving school instructor.

Before relaying this latest little story it's worth bearing in mind that:

Here in the village our house is located right on the side of a very narrow strip of road. in fact the narrowest bit of an already narrow road.

The Athenian presence (as mentioned previously) is very much in evidence at the moment.

Probably the best driver in the village is "Rufie" who lives just up the road from us and is a truck driver by profession.

Back to the story...

Jack was sitting on the front step watching the world go by a couple of evenings ago when an elderly MG Rover, with ratting tappets and a problem with keeping steady revs came up the road. At the same moment Rufie was coming down the road in his own car. The road simply isn't wide enough to allow anything much larger than bicycles to pass each other at this point safely.

The Rover pulled up, revs uping and downing. He flashed his headlights at Rufie indicating that he was coming through, like it or not. This is somewhat foolish as 5 metres behind him is a substantial pull in place. It would have taken very little for the driver to have reversed up and pulled over. Instead Rufie very kindly reversed around 20m and managed to slot his vehicle tight up against the garden wall of a neighbour's house.

Mr Rover then had a clear run at things. At the narrowest point he should have had around 2ft space on either side of his car.

He pulled forward.

Jack flinched.

After inching forward for several seconds Mr Rover managed to miss our house, just. Roughly 3cm clearance - and of course plenty of room for a scooter to get past on the far side.

Jack let out a sign of relief.

As Mr Rover came up alongside Rufie he leant his head out of the window, shook his fist and shouted in very Athenian Greek (noticably different from the colloquial Corfiot spoken around here), "You should get a driving licence before you're allowed out on the roads!!"

Durr.....

Meanwhile, last night I watched Rufie, in his works truck (curtain sider, 3.5 tonne) execute a perfect pass of our house. For a vehicle this size it really is a case of around 3cm clearance each side - but for Rufie it was a doddle!

The Pirate of Corfu

2009-08-18T11:24:00.005+03:00

After waiting an inordinately long time, our arrangements beset with difficulties, our two African Grey parrots finally joined us in Corfu a couple of weeks ago.

They had been with foster carers since we left the UK, and there were times when I thought we'd never see them again. At first they couldn't come over because there are no direct flights in winter and they would have had to stop in Athens, making a long and unsettling journey. Then came an outbreak of avian flu just a few miles from where they were staying, which precluded them from being exported for a while. After that we managed to organise their export but the then foster carers didn't manage to resolve the paperwork in time... I didn't quite believe we'd got it sorted out this time until they arrived at the front door!

We wondered whether they'd remember us. But within minutes of getting through the door they were out of their carry cage and sitting on Tony's shoulders as if they'd never been away. That in itself left little room for doubt, but if any further assurance was needed, around three days after their arrival Jojo started calling "Zoe, Zoeeeee". Jo used to mimic me calling Zoe our cat when we lived in the UK, but sadly she died a few months ago, so obviously I no longer call her. This was proof indeed that we were not forgotten.

Last night Tony decided that he'd like to take Jojo out down to the garden with him. He fabricated a lightweight chain to link around Jo's leg band, just as a precautionary measure (neither bird has clipped wings. Whilst we appreciate it's not painful for them we don't feel it's right), and at about 7pm off Tony, Niamh and Jo (sitting on Tony's shoulder) went to water the garden.

Three hours later they got back, having caused a minor sensation in the village. Jo had happily sat in an orange tree watching the world go by and sampling the fruit whilst Tony and Niamh did the watering, but on the way back they'd stopped at our local bar. Apparently around 50 people stopped to say hello, try and pet the parrot and even have their photo taken with her!

A new attraction in the village perhaps? Will the tourists come flocking I wonder? And will Tony become known not as the Bird Man of Alcatraz, but the Bird Man of the Kafenion...?

... and yes, before you say anything... a few people know that Tony took a nasty fall a week ago and is currently nursing a broken toe. He's supposed to be on crutches but isn't using them because the sprained wrist he also suffered makes it difficult. So there he is hobbling along, parrot on his shoulder - all he needs is the eye patch. 'Scuse me whilst I go and hoist the Jolly Roger!

Making something from nothing - in a good way!!

2009-08-17T13:09:00.003+03:00

This week has seen the celebrations that mark the Assumption of the Virgin Mary. August 15th was a bank holiday, and all week the church bells have been tolling in the evenings. I've been able to hear the dulcet tones of the choir in the tiny church that nestles just a few metres behind our house on the hillside, and on Friday evening there was a large candlelit procession through the village.

I normally follow the bier on these occasions, but this time I didn't, preferring to watch from our balcony. It occurred to me that the crowd was probably larger than the one at Easter, which was odd as many of the villagers are now working in the resorts but at Pascha would have still been at home. Tony put me right though. He'd been watching the procession further down the village with the children. "I hardly recognised anyone" he said. "Most of the followers are here on holiday from Athens".

He was quite right of course. We've been here long enough now to know most of the faces in the village, albeit that some of the names are still unknown. But these were all complete strangers to us, and it also made sense of the parking difficulties we'd been experiencing over the last few days. Parking space is always at a premium in our village, but it has been nearly impossible lately, with numerous large shiny saloons and 4x4s taking up every available inch of tarmac. I was aware that a lot of the properties in the village are owned by people who live and work on the mainland, but this is the first time I have seen so many come back to their roots at the same time!

Meanwhile, other events had been organised during the week. We're fortunate to have a wonderful platia (square) in the village. It's large, grassy, has a massive tree in its centre - ideal for dancing around - and a raised platform at one end that makes a perfect stage.

On Wednesday evening we were treated to a free concert there, performed by various very talented Greek musicians. This, along with the ice-creams, souvlaki, honey covered donuts and ice cold beers made for an enjoyable evenings. There has also been a wonderful photographic exhibition in the Demos building (loosely equates to the village hall, but far more up market!). This comprised several hundred shots of the village and her residents over the last 100 or so years. Wonderful!

Then last night the posters proclaimed that a puppet show would start at 9pm. So at 9 on the dot the children and I walked down to the platia, full of expectation. The place was beginning to fill up as we arrived. We recognised several people, and the Athenian contingent were again out in force.

It became apparent that the entertainment wasn't actually a puppet show, but a film of a traditional puppet show. A large white board was on the stage and several young men were frantically working on a projector that was running very grainy images of shadow puppets. From what I could see it had been filmed at the back of a theatre, using a handheld camera, complete with silhouetted heads blocking the filming every few seconds.

The film kept whizzing back and forth, occasionally slowing to a point where images could be seen more clearly. The whole film was sepia, but whether old or not I wouldn't hazard a guess!

At 9.30pm one of the organisers apologised for the delay and said they'd be starting in 15 minutes. At 9.50pm one of the organisers apologised for the delay, citing technical difficulties, and said they'd definitely be starting in 10 minutes. At 10.15pm I said to the kids, who'd been sitting very patiently for well over an hour, "how much do you really want to see this?

We gave it another 10 minutes then went home. We'd seen precisely 15 seconds worth of film, and there was no obvious sign that the show proper would actually start before midnight! The Athenians and locals though didn't seem to be concerned. They were socialising as only the Greeks can, back slapping, cheek kissing, souvlaki waving and gesticulating. The film might have been a non starter, but I feel sure the majority of the audience had a lovely evening anyway!

The secret of longevity - take a rest when you need one

2009-08-08T21:33:00.003+03:00

I popped out earlier this morning to push a vacuum cleaner around a friend's villa.

On my way down the hill I passed the house of a very elderly lady (she's been mentioned previously, picking horta in the rain). I was a mite concerned to see her quite literally on her knees at the bottom of the steep slope that leads up to her cottage.

I was going to stop, but then realised that although I could probably manage "are you alright" in Greek, "do you need any help at all?" would be way past my abilities. Given that an unknown woman gibbering away at her in a mixture of Greek and English might cause her even more angst than she already appeared to be suffering from I thought I would stop at the local shop, 200m down the road and ask for their assistance.

I duly pulled up in the car park and ran into the shop. Thankfully the owners speak pretty good English, so I didn't have to struggle too much. I explained to Katerina, the owner, why I was concerned and a frown crossed her face. "I'll get Kostas to go and check" she said. "Did she have her eyes open?"

"Oh yes" I responded (in fact she'd been looking slightly upward, nearly as though in prayer).

"Was she laying down?" Asked Katerina.

"No, she was kneeling". I demonstrated, kneeling on the floor next to the cash register, much to the amusement of a sales rep who had just come into the store.

Katerina thought about this for a moment.

"Oh, that's all right then, she's just having a rest!"

I thanked her and went on my way, with a feeling of slight incredulity. I had just seen an 89 year old lady, who is so hunched over that when upright her body is bent at a 90 degree angle, and she can only look at the ground, kneeling on an unmade track, because she was 'having a rest'!

However, it must have done the trick, as I saw her walking along later in the day looking quite sprightly and relaxed!

Another little gem...

2009-08-05T11:26:00.002+03:00

Further to Niamh's lovely note to her dad, I just had to share this too...

We were in the local DVD hire shop yesterday, such things are a necessary evil when the school hols last 13 weeks and there is only so much time you can spend lounging round a pool worrying about the work you should be doing.

Niamh had selected a title, and I thought I might see if there was something worth watching for myself. Niamh, being an inquisitive little soul, was pointing out various DVD covers and suggesting I might enjoy them. The constant 'Mummy, mummy, what about this one', was somewhat off-putting as I was trying to work out the titles of the more interesting looking covers, that of course are in Greek.

Eventually she wandered off a little, going around to the opposite side of the tall display stand I was looking at.

A little voice said 'Mummy, what's behind that curtain?'

I wasn't really concentrating on what she was saying. 'Mmm, I don't know darling, why don't you take a look'.

'Do you think there are more DVDs there mummy?'

'Yes, probably, why don't you take a look'.

There was silence for a moment, and then I heard a little voice say, very slowly 'EE-ROT-EE-KA'

I looked up and saw my youngster, hands clasped behind her back, staring up at the Greek sign above the curtained doorway.

'Oh, come on Niamh, lets just go and pay for your DVD' I said hastily.

'Mummy....' came the little voice trailing behind me, 'what's ee-rot-ee-ka?'

English for beginners

2009-08-02T18:56:00.003+03:00

I was typing away on my pc a few evenings ago. Tony was out watering the garden, Jack was at football training and I had thought Niamh was downstairs busy doing 'something'.

I went down to the kitchen to make a quick cuppa and realised that the house was empty apart from me. Then I noticed a note, written on the back of an old receipt, it read:

To DaD
We haf Gon To faD you

It too me a moment to work it out, it said, To Dad, we have gone to find you.

I still haven't quite worked out whether it was the royal 'We', but obviously Niamh had decided to go and find her father but hadn't wanted to interrupt me.

Funny thing is, my first reaction wasn't one of panic at my youngest wandering off without even telling me she was going. It is definitely one of the advantages of living where we do that I can feel 99.9% sure that my children will come to no deliberate harm from anyone here. I would be a fool to be 100% certain of course, but nevertheless, the safety factor and community support here is good, even in this day and age.

Instead it was a case of - ah, so she is learning a little something from the English lessons I've been giving her for the last couple of months. OK, so the spelling wasn't perfect, but she did get 5 out of 8 correct. However, for a little lass who has in her short lifetime just about learned to speak English before being thrown into an education system that uses an entirely different language, then learned to speak, read and write this second language, I don't think she's doing too badly!

Lazy Sunday

2009-07-26T21:20:00.002+03:00

It's hot! Up into the 40s for the last couple of days. Yesterday the whole place felt airless, and even sitting stock still was enough to bring me out in pools of perspiration. (We should be so lucky though, Tony sat on a roof and painted a gable end for a friend, whilst I cleaned a very big villa yesterday morning!)

Thankfully today we've had a light breeze which has made things a little more bearable, and we've also managed to have a day off.

This morning, after watering the garden, Tony, Jack and some Albanian friends of ours all went fishing. At least that was what they said they were doing, and they all maintained they had caught a fish but it was so big they couldn't get it into the car! I understand that a game of pool was also order of the day before the hunter-gatherers returned early in the afternoon. Methinks there was possibly more bikini watching, cold beer drinking and pool playing going on than serious fishing...

Meanwhile Niamh and I decided to do a bit of cooking. At long last, 8 months after I first thought I must find a recipe, we made crumpets! You can take the girl out of England, but you can't take England out of the girl - well, not entirely anyway. In fact they're simple to make, but due to the fact that we made sufficient mix for 16, but only have 3 cookie rings for cooking them in, and cooking time is 10 minutes, it did take rather a long time! Still, it was fun, and the end result, whilst not quite Tesco's Finest, was very palatable.

Still eager to help mum a bit more, Niamh wanted to continue in the cooking theme, so we decided to cook a roast dinner. Broccoli, French beans, courgette and carrots from our garden, potatoes from Eleni's garden - and turkey from Lidl! Two years ago the whole list would have been from Lidl, so we're not doing too badly. Actually, we have turkeys in the garden as well, but they're safe from the oven for the moment.

In fact I might have made light of the hunter gatherers in my household, but credit where due, Tony has worked hard on the garden recently - apart from turning it into Fort Knox, we now have 5 veggie beds, 22 fruit trees (well, to be more precise, 21.5 fruit trees, the turkeys keep roosting in a Kumquat tree and breaking the branches), numerous grape vines, 3 turkeys, 3 hens, 2 cockerels and now 5 chicks.

Because we don't have employers any more, our time, and how we organise it is largely our own these days. The result of that though is that we always seem to be busy, so it has been really pleasant today to just do 'some stuff', chill out a bit and enjoy a family day.

Well, I'm off to find a glass of wine now - home made of course.

Art auction website

2009-07-21T16:59:00.002+03:00

A quick note to point out the Corfu Donkey Rescue charity art auction website is now just about up and running. There's a link to it on the left hand side of this page.

It isn't fully developed yet, and more paintings etc will be added to it in the coming days, but at least you can take a look (and perhaps leave a bid).

Slightly batty

2009-07-18T00:00:00.003+03:00

A few nights ago I was awoken at about 3am by a small daughter saying 'mummy... there's a bat flying around in my room. It hit my bed and its muddled up in my sheet'.

Answer from mummy 'Mmmm, that's nice dear, go to sleep on the sofa instead'.

Half an hour later the little voice says 'mummy, there's a banging noise on the stairs', to which mummy replies 'and what can I do about that? Go back to sleep'. A moment later the little voice says 'oh, it's stopped now', and nothing more was said until after the sun had risen the following morning.

The following day Niamh protested volubly and repeatedly that a bat had been flying around her bedroom and that it had dive bombed her in her bed. I, and her father, both repeatedly said that she must have been imagining things, bats have excellent sonar so they don't bump into things, and it was probably just a dream.

That night Niamh got into bed somewhat warily, still maintaining her story about the bat. I sat with her and explained very gently and at some length, that it was probably just a strange dream. Perhaps some outside influence had made her think that a bat was in the room, but there really wasn't. I cited an example where I had woken from a deep sleep, convinced that the house had been hit by a lorry when in reality a motorcycle with a loud exhaust had gone past. Then I got up and had a good look around her room, just to convince her that there were not bats hanging from her ceiling... when I had to eat my words.

There, tucked away and sound asleep upside down on the top of a picture frame was a tiny Pipstrelle bat.

Now, whilst I don't mind bats I'm not quite minded to pick them up if I don't have to, so I told Niamh (who by this time was panicking again) to go down stairs and watch some TV whilst I extracted Tony from the kafenio so that he could deal with the unwanted lodger.

A few minutes later he came back and captured the offending creature in a large net. Before releasing it into the evening sky he showed Niamh and she was able to stroke it's tiny head. End result, one bat released, and one young daughter who now thinks bats are the cutest things since kittens.

Arty crafty

2009-07-17T15:38:00.003+03:00

I've recently found myself getting slightly involved in the organisation of a charity art auction being held in September to help raise funds for the Corfu Donkey Rescue. I don't propose to go into one about the good work the CDR does (I've mentioned them many times before), but....

If you happen to either paint, sculpt, turn a pot, take a good photo, stain glass, design mosaics or do anything slightly art orientated and might consider donating a piece of your work to the cause we'd be most grateful. The only requests are that the items have a vaguely Corfiot, or at least Greek theme to them and that they are original works.

Should you be able to help please contact me, with your email address, via the comments link on this post - I won't publish the info, but it's the easiest way to get in touch.

In the not too distant future a site will be generated showing the pieces that are to be auctioned and inviting pre-auction commission bids. Once that's up and running I'll link to it. Even if you can't be on the island, or attend the auction, you might like to consider helping by taking a look and seeing if there's anything you'd like to bid on from afar.

.... and on a more personal note - hello Mona! I know you're out there, a 'joyful' little bird told me you log on from time to time. Please have a word with that husband of yours re the above, and also enjoy your coffee tomorrow in Felixstowe!!!

Many thanks one and all for any support you can offer.

An end to the saga?

2009-07-14T18:54:00.002+03:00

Tony went to the taverna last night. Typically men only down there - us women only seem to go in at weekends.

He and his cronies were propping up the bar, moaning about the state of the economy, government etc when eventually, and inevitably the subject came round to the veggie nicker.

A serious hush fell over the assembled throng. Then someone said, "we're 99% sure we know who the culprit is". Much sage nodding of heads. A name was mentioned. Entirely different to the one we had previously thought was probably to blame, but in reality a far more likely suspect.

As the individual is well known for these type of antics, Tony enquired whether we might expect any more repeats? No, was the adamant response, too many people in the village have heard about what happened, and the adjacent land owners have now strimmed back their gardens (previously quite overgrown) to ensure that no one can sneak to our land unseen.

Ah, village community spirit at its best!

Meanwhile, I saw the individual concerned walking up the hill this morning. I was in my car. He turned, hopeful of a lift, but I just couldn't bring myself to stop and offer one. He was sporting a large stick over one shoulder, Dick Whittington style, and slung over the end were two large bags, full of veggies....

Yesssss!

2009-07-14T18:32:00.004+03:00

'Scuse me my moment of infantile entertainment. This is entirely unnecessary I know, and I'm being very childish... (quick dance round my office, trip over boxes, dolls house, papers and own feet).

On 7th July 2008, intrigued by the number of hits I was getting on my profile, I put a 'site meter' on this blog, just to get some idea of how many people might be visiting. At the time I thought I'd be very chuffed if I managed to get 1,000 visits in a year. In fact one year and 5 days later I've managed to tip over the 10,000 mark! Aw, I am well made up.

I daresay more than a few people have clicked onto the site by mistake and just as quickly left it again, but I am really, really delighted to know that so many people have bothered to take the time to click on in the first place...

Thank you to everyone who has been reading my ramblings over the last year or two, I hope they entertain just a little and I sincerely apologise for when I get a bit maudlin! Thank you also to the blog followers - I really am amazed that you've been sufficiently entertained by my waffling to want to be kept up to date with it ;-)

Whilst the meter keeps on rising I will endeavour to keep on writing. Oh... and as soon as I've published this post I have a gardening update.

Saddle sore and smiles

2009-07-08T17:49:00.003+03:00

Sorry, I've been somewhat remiss recently and haven't had much time for blogging. I will blame the intense heat that we've been experiencing here for the last couple of weeks. I'm not exactly complaining. It's lovely if you are enjoying a holiday, where you can laze around the pool and generally do things at your own pace; but not quite so wonderful if you're busy with work, children, housework (3 hours of ironing last Thursday) etc etc, especially if, like me, you're not a natural size 8.

Anyway, enough of the excuses and apologies!

At Christmas we weren't exactly flush with funds, so for the main part of the childrens present they received a home made voucher each promising them horse riding lessons during the following months. They'd been mad keen on horses since last summer, so I thought this might be a good way of giving them a really memorable gift and also spreading the cost a bit.

Unfortunately we had rather a damp few months in the earlier part of the year, so the long awaited lessons were fast becoming a very belated Christmas gift.

Then the owlets arrived (remember them? We rescued them from a cardboard box sat in the direct sunshine, with only a courgette and some water for sustenance after they were dislodged from their nest). After nurturing them for a couple of weeks I eventually found someone far more able and informed than I who was prepared to care for them until they had fledged. That someone was a lady called Sylvia, who runs the Sylva Project in Kontokali, on the southern edges of Corfu Town.

We duly went along to drop Alba, Tyto and Barney off to their new foster home, and were not a little surprised to realise that in addition to the birds and other creatures that Sylvia cares for she also runs a project which is helping to save a rare breed from extinction. That breed is the Skyrian horse. A miniature breed, a touch smaller than a Shetland, but a horse, not a pony.

I don't propose to bombard you with details of the breed or all the excellent work that the Project is undertaking. If you would like to know more I have put a link to the project's website under my 'some other good stuff' heading.

However, one of the things that the project does is offer riding lessons, both on Skyrian and other, more standard sized breeds. Unlike the other equestrian establishments I had found on the island, these guys offer year round training rather than lessons during the winter and hacking/trekking in the summer months.

In a moment of madness I decided to forget that the stables are a good hour's drive from home, and uttered the immortal words "do you have any vacancies?"

Brazilian tutor Lucianna, confirmed that she could squeeze both children in on a Sunday morning, and it was just a few minutes later that I realised that the Sunday morning lay-in was soon going to be a thing of the past!

On Sunday last we got up at the crack of 7.15am (I didn't realise Sundays could start that early) and made our way to Kontokali. This was, in fact, the childrens third visit.

Their first visit was for a lesson each, but thankfully added to the 'winter schedule' which allowed us a 10 am start for Jack and 11am for Niamh, meaning my lie in was shortened, rather than lost entirely. Both children loved the session and were delighted to be told they could go again!

The second visit was so that they could take part in a mini gymkhana. After just one lesson Jack managed to jump a low fence - OK, so these were intended to be taken at a trot rather than actually being jumped (I think the title is cavalettes), but he urged his pony on and broke into a canter, jumping it like a pro! He was placed 5th in his class, out of 9 in total, and I admit to suffering 'proud mum syndrome'.

Niamh meanwhile did come in 9th in her class (out of 9), but looking at the faults and time etc when the results were published, this was, as I suspected, only because she took a few seconds longer than her rivals. Still not at all bad after a single lesson.

Last Sunday the summer schedule started. Unfortunately this meant that whilst Niamh's lesson time could remain the same, Jack's, was changed to 9am. This necessitated not only the obscenely early start, but a gap between lessons.

We arrived just a few minutes on the drag, but it is difficult to judge exactly how long the trip would take. Jack had an enjoyable lesson on Rodi, and then we had the 'endless wait' before Niamh could take to the ring.

The interim lesson was for a young Greek girl who was booked in as a 'therapeutic rider'. I watched with interest as her parents brought her round to the stable. She was completely blind.

What I hadn't realised was that Lucianna had specialised in teaching disabled riders back in her native Brazil, and is hugely talented in that direction.

She soon had Jack and Niamh, plus two other helpers, standing mid way along each side of the rectangular schooling ring. Each was given a letter and told that as the horse and rider passed the person on their left they should start repeating the letter clearly and at a constant, quite loud pitch. Once the rider was alongside they should say it once more, this time a little louder, and then let the person on their right take over. Using this method the rider was assured of where she was in the schooling ring.

My kids had a wonderful, and fulfilling, time helping with this lesson. The rider herself looked absolutely exhilarated by the ride. Her father explained that they lived on the mainland but spent time on the island in part so that she could spend time with the horses.

Lucianna's uses her specialise knowledge in teaching able bodied riders too. I remember with much affection riding lessons when I was a child, but, looking back, they tended to be a bit 'samey'. Lucianna not only works on posture, balance and skills, but brings toys and games into her lessons. They were originally designed to assist less able riders, but make the more regular lessons more fun as well!

As for Jack and Niamh. Well their lessons went wonderfully. I now know what to buy for their up and coming birthdays - riding kit.

That's something else that has changed since my days in the saddle. Gone are the cork lined velvet hats and beige jodphurs that I saved my pocket money for. Instead my kids have the choice of lightweight lids (similar to cycle helmets) and brightly coloured attire. At the moment the odds are on Niamh opting for two tone pink and purple, whilst Jack has indicated that he's quite keen on the fatigue patterned jodphurs!

Giving up my Sunday mornings might be hard, but I'm so impressed by the stables and it's staff that found myself considering whether to book an extra hour so that I can relive a little of my childhood too!

All washed out

2009-06-24T08:49:00.004+03:00

Well, I had been intending blogging about my dancing experience last night down at the Lefkimmi Salt Flats - and perhaps I will in a little while - but first I just have to be very British and mention the weather...

The alarm was set for a nice, early wake up call this morning. The children and I were off to Corfu Town to support Judy Quinn, founder of the Corfu Donkey Rescue, who is in court today on charges relating to her running the sanctuary. They have been brought by a neighbour who would rather see elderly and crippled animals wandering the island, uncared for, often in pain, and sometimes wandering into the path of oncoming traffic, than have them looked after.

Judy's heinous crime, it seems, is being guilty of starting the sanctuary in property adjacent to their own (although they actually moved there after the CDR opened). Apparently the smell sometimes offends their senses - or perhaps they simply don't like being reminded that it takes an Englishwoman to care for creatures that their own countrymen have abused.

Anyway, I digress.

The alarm went off and Niamh and I started to get ready (Jack, as normal, was being a nearly teenage boy and refusing to get out of bed, or speak, apart from in grunts). I asked Niamh what the weather was like. A quick check from the patio doors "oh, it's a bit grey mum".

I looked for myself....

... and checked the calendar.

Yes, definitely mid June.

There was thick grey fog so low that I couldn't see the tops of the hills on the other side of the village. I have never, even in the depths of winter, seen the fog come down so low!

Moments later the rain started again. It's being pouring now for a good hour with no sign of abating and the temperatures are down to the low/mid 20s. Not to bad by English standards, but positively cold for a Corfiot June.

As my journey to Town takes me upwards for about 10km before we start our descent, this means that I'd have to drive round switchbacks, on roads that are like grease, in thick fog for around 20km. After much inner debate and soul searching I decided that I didn't want to risk the drive, especially with the children in the car.

I hope and pray that plenty of people will get to the court to show their support for Judy, and I feel hugely guilty at letting her down. However, I have no doubt the court will come to their own decision whether we are there or not - let's just hope that common sense prevails!

And again......

2009-06-19T18:23:00.002+03:00

Yes folks, the phantom lettuce nicker returned last night, yet more of our few remaining lettuces and broccoli plants have been whisked away under cover of darkness to where we know not!

After the incident the other night Tony fitted a gate and padlocked it having listening to the local experts on the subject who stated categorically that nothing would go missing if the thief had to physically break in. It is, apparently, seen as fair game to walk into someone's unlocked garden and help yourself, but another thing entirely to actually force entry into a secured property.

Obviously they were wrong.

This morning Tony discovered that part of the 4ft high fence had been bent down to effect an entry, and a second portion of fence folded over to exit the property into a neighbour's patch of land. We know it was this way round because the thief left a few lettuce leaves that had become caught on the point of exit.

Most of the fencing is already 8ft high, with just a few bits at half that. Tony is now down at the hardware shop purchasing 12 more fence posts and another roll of netting in order to increase the height of the fence to 8ft all round. With the amount it's costing us in precautionary measures it'd probably be cheaper to buy our veggies from the supermarket this winter, but it's now becoming a matter of principle!

What's the betting that next time the culprit visits he'll bring wire cutters..... Anyone got a couple of Rottweillers for rent?

Not everything in the garden is rosy

2009-06-14T16:26:00.004+03:00

A quick moan.

So many visitors say how friendly and kind the local Corfiot people are. I do agree this is normally the case. However, in every barrel you get the odd bad apple and sadly we've come up against one or two of these in the last 24 hours.

Tony has been working extremely hard on our garden - an allotment type piece of ground a few hundred yards away from the house. In addition to a goodly array of fruit trees that were already there he has turned the soil and planted peas, corn, carrots, potatoes, onions, corgettes, beans, cucumber, lettuce, broccoli, tomatoes, endive, cabbage, sprouts etc etc. We'd purchased a freezer so that we could harvest and store things in readiness for the winter months which will probably be long in duration and short in funds.

On the advice of a local friend who warned that open land is seen as a free for all Tony has fenced the area, and taken the precaution of padlocking the chicken run. All that remained to be done was put in a gate.

Last night person or persons unknown went in to the garden, emptied the bag that Tony had been putting rubbish in, and filled it by helping themselves to most of our iceberg lettuces, broccoli and endive - anything that was big enough to transplant they have taken.

It's horrible to know that someone, quite possibly someone that we know or pass in the street each day, has stolen from us. It's not just the loss of the veggies, it's knowing that the thief could be someone we consider a friend. Heaven help them if we find out who the culprit is!

Goblins at teatime

2009-06-08T19:55:00.004+03:00

I was just preparing some tea for the kids earlier this evening, Tony having escaped down to the garden, when there was loud and repetitious hooting of a car horn outside our house.

This being the normal form of doorbell in our street I went out to see if the noise was intended to alert us.

It was.

Akis, engine running noisily, shouted to me in broad Corfiot Greek something that went entirely over my head. Niamh came out and tried to work out what he was saying, then Jack followed. Eventually all three of us must have looked sufficiently bemused for Akis to work out that even if we could understand what he was saying the noise of the engine was drowning out his voice.

He turned off the ignition.

Then he got out of the car and spoke again. This time Jack could hear him, and understood. "He's got those turkeys that Dad ordered" Jack explained to me whilst Akis went around to the back of his vehicle and removed a large cardboard box.

I asked how much they had cost - 15€ came the reply. Not a bad deal at all I thought. They'd have cost a lot more if we'd bought them direct. I thanked him and said I'd get Tony to settle up with him later.

A couple of years ago if someone had pulled up outside my house, produced three live turkeys in a cardboard box and then driven off I think I would have been apoplectic. Today I just took a quick look ascertained that they were more smelly even than baby Barn Owls, and popped them into the bathroom whilst we had tea.

(PS. Don't go ringing the animal welfare people to dob me in. I didn't leave them there for long - Jack took them down to his father in the garden where our chicken run is as soon as we'd eaten).

No great snakes

2009-06-07T13:25:00.007+03:00

We went to yet another birthday party yesterday. This time it was held at the taverna of the birthday girl's grandparents, who have a large garden area adjacent where the children were playing and looking at the various livestock kept there. Around the perimeter of the garden is other open land that isn't maintained and as a result is home to some less domesticated creatures.

Tony and I were in the taverna enjoying a drink and chat when Jack came charging in with a worried expression on his face. "What's up lad?" we enquired.

"I was nearly bitten by a snake" came the earnest reply. "It was about this long", indicating a fisherman's measurement that varied between 45 and 90cm, "with a yellow stomach and grey back".

"Oh dear" I said with slightly mock concern (after all we have drilled into both our kids the need to stay well clear of snakes. It's normally the case that you're less scared of them than they are of you and they won't attack unless provoked). "I hope you didn't get too close to it. Did it rear up and go for you".

For a moment there was silence.

"Well, no, not exactly..... but it would have done if it had been alive!"

Capatoes

2009-06-05T21:37:00.003+03:00

Oh dear, I have been sadly neglecting my blog recently. Sorry!

Lots of things have been happening - not all of them blogworthy, but I shall try to impart a some of them over the next few days.

Three things that do spring to mind are children's parties, potatoes and cats. In no particular order...

I have often pontificated as to what local people do when they are winding down towards the end of the holiday season - I think I've worked it out now! The number of children's birthday parties that my kids have been invited to recently have cost me a small fortune in gifts! We have our third party in a fortnight tomorrow.

The parties here are very different to the ones we experienced in the UK. In England we would drop our little ones off at front doors or purpose build party play areas, sound in the knowledge that we had precisely 2 hours to wander around Tesco without the constant "I wants" before going to pick them up again, stuffed with e-numbers, fizzy pop and carrying goodie bags.

Here in Corfu the parents are expected to stay with the children, and enjoy what is often a 4 or 5 hour party event. The largest we've been to recently was for a little girl's 8th birthday. It was held at a local bar that has a large soft play area. The cost per head is, apparently 6€, including food. That's not too bad until you add in the fact that in this case 50 children were invited, it is normal for the siblings of invited children to also attend, and, as previously mentioned, their parents are expected to be there too. The hosts of this party were also hugely generous in buying drinks for all the adult guests. By the time we sat down to eat there must have been at least 100 guests. I shudder to think what the total cost was!

The other thing that kept running through my mind is that in Greece birthdays are not so important as namedays - in essence the day a child is christened and given a name. Ergo, if this very normal, not overtly wealthy couple were happy to splash out on such a big celebration for their daughter's birthday, what on earth will happen on her nameday?!

- There's no doubt that the Greek community love to socialise and enjoy a good party!

Moving swiftly on - the early potato harvest has started! We enjoyed new potatoes from our own garden yesterday for the first time this year. The taste of these little gems was wonderful. Organic produce most definitely much better than anything else.

And last, but not least, we have Biscquit. Yes, Biscquit, not biscuits (although we have a few chocolate chip ones lurking in the cupboard). Biscquit joined us a couple of days ago, brought over by Graham and Angela from the Agni Animal Welfare Fund.

Biscquit is a pretty little tortoiseshell cat who has had a bad time of things recently. Before coming to us she had extensive dental surgery, was spayed and also diagnosed with ovarian cancer (thankfully removed at the same time as spaying). She had been a street cat who desperately needed some tlc. The AAWF were happy to provide the necessary care to get her back to some sort of health, but needed someone to look after her in the longer term.

With the sad demise of Zoe I had felt that our home was lacking somehow, so when Angela asked if we might consider taking this little girl on I agreed. She nearly fell at the first hurdle though, spending her first night with us howling and yowling until nearly 5am, by which time Tony was saying "that's enough, she can go back once it gets light" - and to be honest I was so tired I felt that I agreed.

However, she managed to redeem herself the following day by not only letting Tony pet her, but by rolling onto her back, asking for a tummy tickle and then playing catch the fingertips too! Last night after a slightly shaky start she was much less vocal, and today she has spent most of the time watching the world go past from our veranda.

She's a bit nervous, but a friendly little thing if you give her a chance - I guess she's been used to being around the holiday makers who tend to be a good source of food. Fingers crossed that she'll make a full recovery and settle down with us. Once she is more familiar with her surroundings we'll let her go out and about, but hopefully she will see our house as home and will do much as Zoe did, spending her life twixt gardens and house.

So that's it for now Ca(ts) pa(rties) (pota)toes - in case you hadn't worked out the title!

A few little surprises

2009-05-28T21:04:00.003+03:00

I was sitting at my pc a few minutes ago when a small child wearing a big grin clambered up the stairs to my room holding her hands suspiciously behind her back.

She had just been down to the garden with her father to water the veggies and put our new chickens in their roost for the night.

"Close your eyes and hold out your hands, I have a surprise for you" she said. I duly did as I was told.... and when I opened them again found 4 pristine white eggs in a bag on my outstretched palms, laid by our own hens.

Small pleasures, but definitely worth blogging about!

More feathered friends!

2009-05-17T15:25:00.003+03:00

After the incident of the Nanies in the bathroom I had thought we might get back to some sort of normality..... how wrong can one be?!

The Nanies, now 5 of them after we were given another hen bird a couple of days ago, are safely ensconced in their new home. We did have a small panic a few nights ago when Tony went to shut them up, and one appeared to be missing. He eventually found her roosting on the branch of the Kumquat tree in the middle of their run.

Meanwhile, the bathroom briefly became home to nothing more unusual than a few smelly socks and some shampoo. That was until Thursday afternoon.

We now have Barnie, Tito and Alba living there.

We were visiting a Greek friend on Thursday when I was asked whether I knew anything about what to feed wild birds. It seems they had been blocking a hole in the eaves of their house and had dislodged a nest. They had managed to save some of the young, but the little mites weren't eating much. I suggested they ask Tony instead as he is far more knowledgeable than I on the subject.

Tony went to have a look at what we both assumed to be baby House Martins or Swallows. He came back a few minutes later looking somewhat incredulous. "They're owls" he said, shaking his head. No wonder they weren't eating - our friends had been trying to feed them on courgette and sweetcorn!

We gently explained that owls were raptors, and generally were more keen on mice and young chicks than a nice healthy salad. Our friends looked positively forlorn. Did we know of a vet or anyone else who would take them away, they enquired? I said I'd heard of a wildlife charity on one of the Ionian islands and would see if I could get some more details.

Later that afternoon, back at home, Tony suddenly looked at me and said "cat food". "What?" I replied. "Cat food", said he. "I used to know someone years ago who raised orphaned owls, I'm sure he fed them on cat food".

Now, since the sad demise of Zoe we have found ourselves with several cans of surplus cat food. With those in mind I shot back over to our friends and suggested that we take on the owlets and see if we could get them to eat. They agreed and moments later I was driving one quite vocal and two very unhappy looking owlets back to our place. To be honest I thought we just might be able to save the largest of the three, but the other two looked quite pitiful.

Back at home Tony played mother and helped them to eat a dinner of beef Kitekat. They managed half a tin between them, along with a few mil of water each. Within the hour they were all looking, and sounding, much better.

Later that evening I went on line to try and a) identify which species of owl they were, b) find out how to feed them properly, and c) discover what to do with them in the longer term.

I now know that they are Barn Owls or Tyto Alba to give them their Latin name. I also know that they shouldn't ever be given cat food (or any processed meat); they're about 5-5 1/2 weeks old; that they are very smelly though have a bad sense of smell themselves (not surprising really!) and they hiss a lot.

After a conversation with the 24 hour emergency helpline run by the Barn Owl Trust in Devon (expensive phone call, but worth it for the information provided) I also now know that in the absence of mice or chicks I can feed them fresh chicken or beef ground up with feathers or fur for roughage. We must also be trying to get them into a nesting box in the next few days. Apparently we'll need to feed them for about a month, but in order to re-integrate them into the wild successfully they need to be out there as soon as possible.

Where on earth was I going to get fur or feathers from? Thank heavens for budgerigars I say! We have 3, all of whom shed feathers on a daily basis. I've had the children gainfully employed collecting their tiny fallen feathers and separating them from the inevitable detritus of seed that they get mixed with. Heaven only knows what colour their pellets will be, what with the yellow and blue roughage they're getting, but at least it's better than cat food and courgette.

The other big problem with Barn Owls, and come to that any owl, is that they're nocturnal. The first night they lodged with us they were in a makeshift cardboard box 'nest' in the kitchen. They spent most of the night hissing loudly, the noise giving me some extremely strange dreams that I'd rather forget.

Hence their removal to the bathroom, the only room with a door on our ground floor! I've also found another way of keeping them quiet. A bit like human babies they seem to be transfixed by the washing machine. Their box is a little in front of our machine, and when I turned it on earlier today three little heads popped up from the box and watched intently for the best part of an hour!

Meanwhile, I do have a plea... Is there is anyone out there reading this who lives in Corfu and could help with the construction of the nest box? We have the plans for one but need materials and if possibly some technical assistance. We would be most grateful for any help we can get. We either need ply and lengths of 2" x 1.5" (or thereabouts) or a large barrel - plastic or wooden. Any offers gratefully appreciated as I really would like my bathroom back in the not tooooo distant future :)

Moving to Corfu

2009-05-13T16:31:00.003+03:00

It's not unusual to go on holiday and say "I wouldn't mind living here". Normally it's just the sunshine, sangria, and lazy days talking, but once in a while some fool will remember their comment when they get home to reality and decide to have a go at living the dream.

Of course, I'm allowed to say 'some fool' as I am amongst them, and from time to time I meet other likeminded souls who have decided to give it a go. Trouble is, before you can begin a new life you have to pack up your old one. This should never be underestimated. I spent around 3 weeks prior to moving living on 4hrs of sleep a night, milk chocolate and strong coffee and developed various nervous tics. By the time I boarded the plane I was so shell-shocked I had no idea whether I thought the move was a good idea or not!

Having been there, done it, eaten the book and read the pie I do sometimes try to warn others that the preparation for moving can be a long, difficult one - especially if you're working to a budget. Now I would normally never publish a personal letter or email, but I received the following e-mail earlier today (with the title "blogworthy") from a friend of mine who is in the final thro's of a 3 year plan to move to Corfu. Technically he should have arrived today.....

Hi Bill,

Dont know where to start!!!!

Spent all day last Thursday loading the lorry we bought. Three straping blokes from my mates courier company and I. By four o'clock the driver who's bringing the lorry over said that before we left he wanted to take lorry to a weigh bridge. I'd been so busy cramming stuff in to it I hadn't thought about the weight! My heart sank a bit when the brand new tyres put on the day before looked two thirds inflated.

Well off he crawled with at least three quarters of a ton of our belongings still left at our place. 45 minutes later my phone rang. It didn't sound good, "well mate you're over loaded by 1.8 tons!!!!"

My men are shattered, in fact two of them had to have the next day off!

The lorry only just made it ten miles up the road. Today its having new fuel pump fitted and on my birthday tomorrow I'm having to un-load and re-load the whole thing, and load another big van as well which takes 2 tonnes. I'm driving it. In total we've got nearly 6 tonnes of stuff we own and can't leave.

I've got one of Jane's socks on and one of mine that I found under the sofa when moved it. All our belongings are in the lorry!!! Meanwhile we're sleeping on a very doggy mattress on the floor in a caravan. No cooker etc etc.

Hope to be leaving Saturday morning. Basically every thing that could go wrong has, but hopefully we'll complete on the new house (in Corfu) today, so thats one good thing. My mate brought another vehicle because we needed 2 and one of his staff blew it up bringing it back yesterday!! We have had to do some laughing over last five days. It was that or cry!

Both of us feeling absolutely shattered. Jane is on antibiotics, suffering with tonsilitis, I feel like I've been hit by a car! All the fun of the fair! Jay x

Need I say more! Good luck chaps - see you..... umm...... eventually?!?!

Nanies ... yes Nanies

2009-05-10T22:30:00.003+03:00

Last night I had visitors in my bathroom....

Mad Max, Snowy, Joe and Matilda.

They should have been moving into to their new house yesterday, but had arrived quite late last night and found the place inaccessible until this morning. Under the circumstances we had to accommodate them temporarily, but knowing how youngsters can behave when they're left together without parental control I thought if safest to lock them in the bathroom overnight. At least there they couldn't do too much damage if they decided to go on the razz!

In the event they behaved pretty well. There was initially a bit of bickering between Snowy and Joe, but we soon nipped that in the bud and they slept soundly until I woke them about 9am.

Niamh and Tony showed them to their new pad and gave them some breakfast. They seemed to be relatively impressed by it, and by the time we called in on them later in the afternoon they were busy making the place their own.

Oh, sorry, I forgot to mention... these aren't the stars of some futuristic Hollywood blockbuster, they're our long awaited chickens (called Nanies - they look rather like curly feathered bantams) who at last have arrived!

Zoe

2009-05-07T13:47:00.004+03:00

I took our cat Zoe to the vet's today for an operation.

She'd been off her food for some time and previous visits to the vet and radiologist had identified a lump, which the vet diagnosed as a cancer in her bladder.

When I went to pick her up the vet invited me to take a look at the tumour. It was, she said, the largest she had ever taken from a cat, and had probably been there for several years. She did assure me that we hadn't failed in our duty of care, and that no one could have known about it until Zoe showed some outward sign of difficulties - in this case the loss of appetite.

I brought our dozing puss home, armed with a large bag of medicines and special foods to help build her up again over the next few days. I popped her upstairs in a warm shady spot as instructed by the vet and left her to sleep off the anesthetic.

Returning 45 minutes later to see how she was, I realised that it had all been too much for my little darling and she had opted for feline heaven.

The vet had warned that she may suffer a lot of pain once she had come round, and also that there were many other tiny tumours that she couldn't remove that would have to be treated with drugs for several weeks to come. The practical side of me, when thinking of what she had said, and looking at the plethora of pills and potions, knows that Zoe is in the best place she could be now.

But my heart is heavy and my eyes full of tears. We took Zoe from a rehoming centre as a youngster. She and Niamh particularly were very close and there is no doubt that she was an integral part of our family, and had been for around 6 years. She was the only one of our pets who made the move from England with us and even Tony, not the most demonstrative of people, had a soft spot for her.

Zoe climbed on Niamh's bed this morning and had a quick cuddle before school - something that she hadn't done for a while as the illness had left her very lethargic. Perhaps she was saying goodbye.

Sleep tight sweetheart. God bless. xxxx

The things we do for our kids!

2009-05-05T12:35:00.004+03:00

I've been a little quiet on my blog recently as I've been a bit busy with other things. My writing work is starting to pick up nicely, the children have been enjoying their Pascha holiday and in addition my parents have been visiting.

I did feel so sorry for them. On their previous two visits to Corfu my Mum has been bitten by something very unpleasant, leaving her in a great deal of pain, with huge sores around her ankles. Definitely not your average mozzie bites and at a guess something that she is allergic to. So for this visit they decided to come a little earlier and hopefully avoid the biting nasties! They did... just about (squashed that mozzie for you Dad!)... and instead enjoyed incessant rainfall, grey skies and were generally chilly for a week.

Hopefully the inclement weather was made up for, to some extent anyway, by the opportunity to spend time with their fast growing grandchildren, and perhaps also with Tony and I.

From my own point of view it was lovely to see them, (talking via Skype, even with a webcam, isn't quite the same as being there in the flesh). And they were very kind in bringing over all manner of odds and ends that are either expensive or impossible to find on Corfu.

No sooner had they arrived than Mum was busy gathering together the Terry Pratchett books, jigsaw blades for ceramics, Atora suet, anti-perspirant for extra sensitive skin (Tony, bless - gets a nasty rash with anything other than Vaseline intensive care!!), mega size boxes of Oxo cubes and football magazines. I was soon weighed down with all the bits and pieces, and was wondering where they had found the room in their luggage for their own essentials such as clothes and toiletries.

But all too soon their visit came to an end and last week they flew off to the sunnier climes that are England. That is apart from the plane being delayed due to ice and fog at Gatwick....

The children went back to school and me, well I suddenly found I had a little time on my hands.

I was pondering what to do with a couple of 'free' hours. Scanning around the kitchen my eyes alighted on the fruit bowl, currently overflowing with citrus fruits. It suddenly dawned on me - I could make good use of a special something that Mum had brought over for me.

Please do not ask how, or even why, a lady of slightly advancing years, though still in full command of all her marbles, decided to pack a full sized preserving pan amongst her luggage - but she did!

OK, I had been saying for a long time that I wanted one. And about 18 months ago Mum did mention that she had one which she didn't use any longer - but I was certainly a tad surprised to find one materialise alongside the less cumbersome objects brought over for us.

It would have been churlish of me not to use it at the first opportunity really - so I now have several jars of very pleasant lemon jelly marmalade, which, for a first attempt, really isn't too bad at all.

I also understand that the two skateboards which I sent back with Mum and Dad to fill the void left by the preserving pan reached their destination (my young nephews) safely!

A smashing girly night out

2009-04-26T20:26:00.006+03:00

A couple of weeks ago the ladies of our village folk dancing group decided to have a knees up - as we ladies do from time to time. Deciding to get Easter out of the way first, we set a date for April 25th, (last night), after class.

Because my Greek is, as you know, quite atrocious, apart from knowing the basic details of meal I had no real idea what to expect. I went to class dressed a little more smartly than my normal jeans, but not too o.t.t., in case we were going straight out afterwards.

I'm obviously out of practice at this sort of thing! It's years since I've been on a girls night out and had forgotten just how long it takes to get glammed up, slap on the slap and generally try to look as though you're going to step out of a limo onto the red carpet.

Dancing finished at 9pm, table booked for 10.30pm. I managed to get home, do the day's washing up, feed the cat, get washed, changed, made up, and walk back to my car which was parked a 5 minute walk away, by 10pm.

I met up with a friend and we travelled to the restaurant together. By the time we arrived the place was already buzzing with activity and a duo were playing Greek music. Apart from our group of ladies, eventually about 25 in total, there were several other tables in use, although there were only 4 or 5 men in the place.

By about midnight we had all enjoyed our meals and the drink was flowing fairly freely, although I don't think anyone had really had huge amounts, and soft drinks were as prevalent as carafes of wine on the table. The music played on and it was time for some dancing.

We wound our way in a snake like path around the tables, into a spiral, doubling back again - it felt great to be part of things. At the end of the dance we returned to our tables and the music struck up again.

A lady from one of the other tables got up and began to dance a solo piece very dramatically, with much swinging of arms, bending of knees and flicking of long wavy hair. At the end of her dance several of our group got up. One started to dance whilst the others knelt around her, as she tired she knelt and another took her place.

Half an hour later someone cleared a space and started banging on the table. A bit of cajoling went on and then one normally sensible middle aged lady climbed up and began to stamp, stomp and dance. A moment later another joined her, and then a third. Whilst some of us busily moved plates glasses and condiments out of their way someone else brought over a huge pack of paper napkins which were used as giant sized confetti and thrown over the table dancers.

This set the pace for the following hour or so. Different people intermittently took to the floor and tables, the songs were obviously well known because the choral accompaniment was large, and yet more napkins magically appeared.

And then, at about 1.30am there was a smash, then a crash.... The plate smashing had started! As the ladies wheeled around in their elaborate performances the side plates remaining on the tables started to find their way onto the floor around the dancers feet, sending shards of china all over the place.

I know Greece is famous for plate smashing as a part of the dancing spectacle. However, I'd thought that apart from some thin plates designed specifically for the purpose, and normally used to delight tourists at 'Greek evenings', the practice had all but died out some years ago.

Obviously not.

We eventually headed for home around 2am, picking our way across the floor strewn with thousands of napkins, crunching china underfoot. It had been the most exhilarating evening - and I've discovered the ultimate in entertainment when it comes to the disposal of dirty dishes!

To be or not to be...

2009-04-20T15:09:00.003+03:00

I find it hard to believe, but it's true! We've just celebrated our third consecutive Easter here in Corfu.

Sometimes, my 'old' life in the UK feels like a distant memory, and gradually being in Corfu is becoming the norm, rather than feeling like a hugely extended holiday. Little things make me realise that our lives really are changing, and gradually the feeling of being strangers in a strange land is subsiding.

Most of the time those feelings are very reassuring. My life had for a long while felt somewhat transient. This feeling was not only down to moving here, other things beyond my control happened during my adulthood that turned my world upside down, leaving me in a sort of limbo for several years. At long last I am beginning to have a feeling of constancy and permanency once more. But even this sensation, whilst very gratifying, isn't always completely positive one.

A few days ago Niamh was showing me a little game that she plays in the school playground. It involved squeezing first fingertips and then knuckles, making a wish and then shaking hands to see whether or not the wish would come true. She was explaining the whole thing in some depth until she came to the wish-making bit. At which point she said "now you need to make an..." she thought for a moment... "make an... efchee". "An efchee Niamh, what's that?" I asked. "Ooooh, you know mum, a....... prayer...... No, not a prayer, umm...." The conversation went on in that vein for a moment until eventually I asked if she meant a wish, to which she replied "Yes, that's it. I knew what it was in Greek but I just couldn't remember the English."

Momentarily I felt a huge mixture of emotions. On the one side I was very pleased that her Greek skills are beginning to come along so well, but I was also a little sad to realise that by bringing my children here to live, and encouraging their essential bilingual skills, I was inevitably diluting their 'Britishness'!

Maybe it's very selfish of me, or indeed hypocritical, to feel that way. But it is little things like that which make me realise that in pursuing my own goals some things that we have gained along life's road will either be lost or set aside.

I have always been proud of my English birth. Whilst I have no regrets of any consequence about my choice to move to Greece, I still think of myself as English - which indeed I am! Even if I spend the rest of my days living in Corfu, integrating entirely, becoming fluent in the language and understanding of the culture, I'll still be an Englishwoman living abroad.

However, my children may well become far more Greek than English. They've already lived a significant proportion of their short lives outside Britain. They're educated using the Greek language, most of their friends are Greek, quite possibly they will eventually have Greek spouses, and perhaps even take dual nationality.

I had always been aware that this was something we would encounter if we succeeded in truly relocating, but there is a world of difference between pontificating about it and actually experiencing the reality. There is a little bit of me that sometimes feels rather guilty and maybe even a little bit sad that I may be depriving my children of their British heritage.

However, on Friday night the children and I went to church, and Niamh then joined the other young girls who 'mourned' the epitaph as it was carried around the village in a candlelit procession, emulating the death of Christ. Jack followed too, but not tagging along with me, rather meeting up with his friends who, after the procession was over, went to the platia for a game of floodlit football at around 11pm!

On Saturday night we returned to the church a little before midnight to celebrate the Resurrection. 'Christos Anesti' came the priest's call to the sound of singing and frantically clanging bells, with a backdrop of fireworks that illuminated the sky - altogether a very moving experience. We then returned home where I had a total of 10 around the table for a very late dinner, before eventually getting to bed around 4am.

Yesterday we went to an Easter barbecue at a friend's home. About 25 mainly British guests, with an eclectic mix of backgrounds, brought together by a shared love of Corfu. We sat around the poolside, enjoying the warm spring sunshine, with chilled drinks and a fabulous spread of food. We chatted amiably and watched indulgently as the children scoured the manicured gardens for Easter eggs, before allowing them to persuade us to let them go swimming.

How lucky am I? We have absolutely the best of both worlds! We are able to integrate and live in this wonderful society which still enjoys moral values, respect and community spirit. Where my kids can enjoy their childhood. Where my blood pressure and stress levels are now back where they should be, and where I am able to pursue the writing career that had been another dream for so many years. And on top of all that, if I need an occasional fix of Britishness, just to remind me of my roots, then that is available as well!

Far more important than my children growing up to be English, Greek or a mixture of the two, is that they can grow up gradually, happily and safely. It is only in my self-pitying moments that I think I may be depriving them - I really must get someone to give me a quick shake when that happens!!

Dropping a clanger.

2009-04-12T18:39:00.003+03:00

Well, that didn't really have much of a response did it. Thank you for the replies though, they made me smile :)

Other friends who saw the photo thought it was a Darlek or a large fishing buoy - neither of which were right! If you were thinking it's a church bell, as I did when I saw it, you wouldn't be entirely accurate either.

When I saw it my first reaction was sacrilege! Swiftly followed by, that's a very big bell, even for the churches around here - in fact it's disproportionately large.

Closer investigation proved conclusively that it is actually a prop - perhaps for a stage production or maybe a carnival float. Yes, it's a bell, but made out of polystyrene, and definitely no clanger inside!

As with many things left at the side of wheelie bins over here I don't think it actually made the dustman's cart. It is a form of basic recycling to leave unwanted 'stuff' that may be useful to someone else by the side of the bins, and new homes are often found. So as little bruvver suggests, it may now be taking centre stage in someones veggie patch as a most excellent cover for their rhubarb!

Binned

2009-04-06T10:54:00.004+03:00

I saw this yesterday, it made me smile and couldn't resist taking a few photos.

Then I thought - competition time!

So, for nothing more than the glory of winning and getting you name mentioned in dispatches, here are no less than 3 competitions all based on the photo above:

1. Guess what it is.

2. Captions please.

3. Beat it! What is the best thing you've ever seen dumped at the side of a Greek wheelie bin?

Answers via the comments boxes please :) ....... I'll give it a week and then confirm what it is!

Party tweets

2009-04-05T22:14:00.003+03:00

Niamh was invited to a birthday party yesterday.

With all the best Greek children's parties the idea seems to be invite loads of children, feed them lots of sugary food and then watch them run riot for up to 8 hours! It is also usual for the parents to stay for at least part of the marathon, partaking of vast quantities of cake and other delicacies.

This party was definitely of that ilk. It started, very loosely, at 6pm. From past experience of being very English and turning up 'on the dot' only to find that no one else arrived for a good half hour we were fashionably late by a good 20 minutes, and Niamh was still the second guest there.

After a coffee and obligatory chocolate cake I was able to make my excuses and leave as I had to get back to cook for Tony who had been out all day.

I returned a little over 2 hours later and the place was heaving! Parents everywhere... but no sign of the children. Or at least, there was plenty of evidence, just no visible physical presence. The stereo that was being pumped at full volume and copious screaming coming from the birthday girl's bedroom suggested that this was the hub of the party. I ventured a quick peek around the door and was met by some 20 children aged between 3 and 16 wreaking havoc in the room. The bed was being used as a trampoline, toys strewn everywhere, and the children appeared to be having some sort of impromptu dance competition.

I retired swiftly and was handed an incredibly large slice of cake and a glass of sugary lemonade. (Diet, what diet??)

Seating myself between two other mums, Sophia and Christina, I tried to make some sense of their conversation. Not easy due to the excess background noise and the fact that is was being held in fast and furious Greek. I made out a few words, and when there was a lull in conversation I commented to Sophia, who speaks some English, that I found it very frustrating that whilst I understood some of the conversation, I still didn't know enough Greek to make sense of what they were saying.

'Ah' smiled Sophia. 'Christina was just telling me about the machine she has that makes birds' .

I looked rather blankly at Sophia. 'Umm, machine that makes birds?' 'Yes' she replied earnestly, 'that is right'.

Bemused, I thought briefly of the film title Lost in Translation, and then it suddenly dawned on me. Christina and her husband run the local animal supplies and hunting shop. Of course....

An incubator!

Just for the record, I eventually hauled Niamh out of the disco bedroom extraordinaire at around 10.15pm, making her only the second or third child to depart. I estimate that the final guests didn't leave until well into the small wee hours.

Mad Dogs and Englishmen 2

2009-04-01T08:38:00.005+03:00

Today there is a school trip to the theatre to see a shadow puppet show. Attendance was optional and Jack decided he didn't want to go, leaving me to walk young Niamh up to the school bus stop at around 7.30am this morning whilst he languished in his bed. (Plenty of time for that in the long summer holidays I say!!)

Not far from home we bumped into a rather bemused looking Englishman (we'll call him Pete) who moved to the village last year. Although pretty much retired, he has, for the last couple of weeks, been helping another English chap (we'll call him Ted), who has lived here for several years, with a decorating job. Pete was looking for Ted's motor as they travel together each morning, but the jeep was no where to be seen.

I saw Niamh safely to the bus and then returned home, now walking with Pete who was wandering somewhat aimlessly looking for an invisible motor.

15 minutes later Tony and I were enjoying a cup of Tetley's and there was a knock on the door. It was Ted.

I noticed he was sporting a somewhat worried expression. "Pete's looking for you" I said. "I know," came the dour reply... "but I've got a little problem".

We invited Ted in and asked what the little problem might be. It turned out that it wasn't so much a little problem as one small and another much larger one. The reason his motor, a small 4x4, was no where to be seen was because he'd decided to get up bright and early and take his dogs for a walk.

Now me, I'd have put the dogs on a lead and walked, but Ted had put them in the back of the jeep, driven out of the village and then let them loose in the olive groves so they could have a run. Two had disappeared without trace. That, in Ted's view, was a small problem as they would surely find their way home soon enough (I hoped without stopping at any chicken coups en route). However, there was also the bigger problem.

Ted had driven out of the village and deep into the groves. He'd found what looked like quite a serviceable track so had decided to have a small adventure and see where it led. For a while it remained good, then suddenly dipped steeply for quite a way and.... well, and nothing really, it just stopped.

Ted had driven to the end and let the dogs out. After giving them their run and losing a couple he'd returned to the motor to go home and get ready for work. There being nowhere to turn the jeep he knew he was going to have to reverse up the steep track. He spent some considerable time trying to effect this manoeuvre, but found for every 10m he reversed he'd then slip uncontrollably at good 5m forward again, and eventually realised that he was absolutely stuck.

After a long walk back, he'd deposited the remaining dogs at home before knocking on our door to see if Tony, who knows many more of the local chaps than he, could help broker the use of a tractor to retrieve the stranded jeep. Unfortunately, although we know several heavy plant drivers/owners in the village by this time they would be out at work so there is no way of helping until much later in the afternoon.

Eventually we suggested Ted go and speak to a neighbour of his who we knew would be at one of the olive presses and also owns a large tractor. Perhaps when he finishes work he'll be able to recover the stranded jeep.

Who would have thought that such a simple act as walking the dogs could have turned into such an epic... and on All Fools Day as well - someone upstairs is obviously enjoying the joke!

Exit Stage Left

2009-03-25T17:47:00.005+02:00

Phew! I'm shattered.

Thursday night - dance rehearsals as mentioned in my previous blog entry.

Friday night - dance rehearsals at the theatre in Corfu Town. Turned up drenched, thanks to a heavy and prolonged downpour that managed to outwit no less than 3 of my umbrellas between leaving home and getting to the venue.

Rehearsal due to commence at 8.30pm, actually started at 10pm, leaving I and several others shivering and wet through in a none to warm environment for rather too long. The children danced first and then we went through out routine briefly before having to leave the stage at 10.45pm to allow the people who had been rehearsing from 8.30pm to 10pm back on to give it another go.

Eventually got home a little after midnight, sound in the knowledge that a great way to quick-dry jeans in the absence of a tumble drier is by wearing them whilst Greek dancing under stage lighting.

Saturday night - rehearsal in the village. We actually did well and Katerina, out tutor, has agreed that we should all perform the whole routine. She had previously had some reservations about some of the troupe doing one of the dances, but tonight we got it right!

Sunday - a day off. We had friends round for lunch and I admit that I broke my golden rule... and had rather too much red wine. It was a pleasant day, and I think the evening was probably very nice too, although I'm having problems remembering exactly how the conversation went!

Monday - woke up with a terrific hangover. That'll teach me! Our own wine is fine, but I had also drunk some of that commercially produced stuff that isn't quite so chemical free. Combined with having imbibed rather more than I would normally do it's not entirely surprising that my brain spent the day 2 seconds behind the rest of me.

Rehearsals in the evening were at a friend's hotel as the hall was in use. Rehearsals were a bit fuzzy and somewhat automated, for me anyway, and I had some few problems trying to lift my feet off the ground in time to the music. Thankfully much of the evening was given over to last minute instructions, plans and discussions about costume so I didn't have to move too much.

Tuesday - still had the last lingering remnants of the hangover, but did feel rather better than I had on Monday.

Number one son was in the school play - giving the opening speech in fact - which he had been rather worried about. Strangely, given the far larger anticipated audience, he was more concerned about this than dancing in the theatre... Still, he acquitted himself admirably. He was perhaps slightly quiet in places, but I wouldn't have wanted to read out a whole page of Greek poetry to anyone, let alone a hall full of parents and school friends.

The play finished at 11am and the children excused school for the remainder of the day. A great chance to make sure we'd got everything we needed for the evening's performance....

Have you ever tried to purchase ladies knee length white socks in Corfu? No? Well, it's possible but not easy. It took visits to 5 shops to find some. Girls plain black shoes? Again, 5 shops to find any at all. When we did find some, thankfully in the sale, prices started at 20€ for a pair of flat 'pumps' that you'd have paid a fiver for in George at Asda! Black hairband... surely this would be simple to find. 8 shops later we settled for American Tan. No trouble in finding a pink one with bows and diamante decor, but plain black (needed to keep Jack's hair under his hat during dancing), no chance!

We eventually got home at around 2.30pm. Time to cook some lunch, get children bathed, pack all the necessary costumes and associated paraphernalia before walking up to catch the bus at 5.15pm.

At 5.05pm I decided there was no way I could carry all that lot through the village to the platia where the bus was waiting. It might only be about 800m, but that was 799 too far.

We drove to the platia.

We arrived at the theatre without any adventures. The performances, collectively known as the Greek Folk Dancing Festival, were already in full swing. First children's dance groups from all over the island, then presentations to their instructors and leaders before the adults performed.

Where were the children to get changed? We were directed to the dressing rooms, but stopped in the corridor leading to the back of the stage. No parents, children only. Oh come on! There was no chance that all little dears, aged between 7 and 12, were all going to be able to tie their own scarves, pantaloon drawstrings (that do up at the back) etc. We were offered option B. Get the children changed in the circle foyer instead, where we could help them but would be on public display. It seemed the lesser of two evils.

With only one exception, a mum who in her panic to get everything ready for herself and her daughter whilst simultaneously juggling her 3 other children, had forgotten her daughter's head and waist scarves, the first change was trouble free.

All of a sudden the children were herded down to the wings - no parents allowed. Niamh apparently had her waist scarf on incorrectly and was momentarily delayed. She and her friend, now wearing some scarves borrowed from elsewhere were near to tears as they chased after the disappearing backs of their dance partners. But no need to worry, they had to wait in the wings for nearly half an hour before going on.

The children were brilliant. Their practice and hard work was rewarded with a near perfect performance and plenty of applause from the admiring audience. I've since had several people tell me that Jack in particular is an excellent dancer - it must be all that football training!

After the first set of presentations we ladies, all 25 of us, had a mad dash to get the youngsters changed back into civvies before being shown our own changing room - 4m x 4m room with views out over the main road! Still, something is better than nothing and we were soon all getting into our layers of costume, aprons, brass buckled belts and amazing headgear.

A nip of scotch to steady the nerves as we were called out to the stage... Only to find we had a 40 minute wait in the wings before we went on.

Eventually we took our places and, as our music struck up, we danced sedately, taking our tiny steps, onto the stage. We received a rapturous round of applause as we came on - not to mention a goodly number of wolf whistles! (Thank you, men and boys of Nymfes).

In total we danced five pieces, all I believe of Macedonian origin. For perhaps the first time we all seemed to truly get them all right. No one slipped, tripped, forgot which way to turn, and we managed to give a pretty decent display, though I say it myself.

As we eventually left the stage, again to more whistles and thunderous applause, the dancers from one of the other groups watching from the wings applauded us, saying "bravo Nymfes", so I guess we did OK!

In the last week or so I've said "never again", more times than I care to remember. I was in a way looking forward to the experience, though I had severe (and valid) concerns about the heat under the stage lighting in such heavy costumes. By the time the big day came I just wanted to be able to say, that's it, I've done it, finished.

Now I have done it - well, I'm looking forward to the next show! Yessss!

Spa dancing

2009-03-20T10:05:00.003+02:00

What a different week it's been so far... Winter must be well and truly over as 'things' have started happening again!

Some of my family and friends will know that I've spend an inordinate amount of time in the last few weeks sitting in my very chilly loft, trying to keep my fingers from getting so cold they won't work, writing articles for websites, all on the subject of spas. Health spas, mobile spas, day spas, spa retreats, men only spas, medical spas, spa treatments, swim spas, spa invitations - and that's without the spa reviews.

In total I've written 50 articles on the subject. Most of which were for a man calling himself ADRIAN WRIGHT who might live in Wandsworth, London. This 'gentleman', having paid me a few peanuts for the first 10 articles, commissioned 30 more, published half of them on his website, then forgot to pay me for them. After a bit of an email battle I managed to get those he hadn't paid for removed from his site (which now appears to have crashed), and offered them for sale elsewhere on a writing sales website. Another customer came along, bought a few of them, and commissioned a further 10 articles. I wrote those and submitted them via the site. The site owners have confirmed receipt of funds for some of these, but 3 weeks after receiving that confirmation I'm still waiting for them to pay me...

Probably the worst part of it all from my point of view was having researched and written about all these luxury spas, even if I had been paid I would barely have been able to afford a 90 minute hot stone massage with my earnings from the lot!

I'm not after any sympathy, but there are lessons for any budding writer to learn from this tale. 1. Always get at least part payment up front. 2. Don't trust everyone you meet even so-called professionals. 3. If reliant on internet job adverts, only use reputable websites such as Elance for sourcing work.

You can imagine then that I was slightly suspicious when I received an email last weekend from someone claiming to be the owner of a spa who wanted to know whether I'd be interested in helping them with text for their new website. It seemed just too coincidental, and my initial reaction was that it was a friend playing a not too funny joke on me.

Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction though. 5 phone calls, numerous emails and a fabulous visit to a luxury spa where I had a facial (including the fabled hot stone massage) that made me feel 20 years younger, I am now convinced that this time it's for real!! My name had been put forward from an entirely different source, and the fact that the subject is again a spa is entirely a coincidence.

I shall say no more at the moment as I don't want to jinx this opportunity. But suffice to say, if you fancy a day of pampering during your next visit to Corfu just send me a note and I'll tell you exactly where to head for! I'm planning my next visit already :-)

Meanwhile, the dancing has been taken up a notch, or 10. We will be performing on Tuesday 24th and our teacher is going into meltdown with all the preparations! I'd missed Saturday night's rehearsal because of our dinner party, but went along on Wednesday evening for the next class.

In fact there was no class as it clashed with a parochial meeting in the same hall. Instead we crowded into the small bar area where discussions about the performance were both voluble and heated. I understood little of it, but was rather excited to discover that some of the costumes, including my own, had arrived.

Excitement turned to disbelief and concern when I saw exactly what it comprises. I had envisaged a skirt and loose blouse, perhaps an apron and some sort of white hanky arrangement on my head. In reality I have an outfit comprising 5 layers including a quilted coat, a huge brass buckled belt and a headdress that looks reminiscent of a large triangle, set a a jaunty angle and covered with a tablecloth that's had coins sown into it. Total weight 7kgs. Mix that with being overweight, in a hot theatre under stage lighting and I'm wondering quite seriously whether I'll be able to move, let alone dance!

Meanwhile rehearsals were rescheduled for Thursday evening. When we arrived we were presented with our new dancing shoes - with heels. We put them on, then danced for 2 hours solid. I could hardly walk by the time I got home. Katerina, our teacher, spent the evening veering between encouragement and screaming fits (at one point she threatened to cut our legs off at the knees) - it was very much like recruits square bashing with the sergeant major barking instructions.

We were also given the children's costumes. Niamh's is beautiful, a silk dress over white cotton blouse, with a dark blue velvet jacket, embroidered in gold thread. Jack though is a little concerned about the red hat with tassel and the extremely baggy pantaloons... I will take photographs!

Meanwhile, tonight we have rehearsals in the Theatre. Tomorrow evening back to the hall. Sunday we might possibly have a day off, then Monday rehearsals at the hall again before the big night on Tuesday. Even that will be fraught though, as the children are dancing at 7.30pm and we ladies are the finale, expected on stage at around 10.45pm. A long time to keep young, sleepy children interested, whilst fretting about our own performances, costumes etc.

Well, I had better stop now. I have spa articles to write, headgear to adjust, and a hot Radox bath with my name on it, waiting to ease those still tired feet!

Where's my lifejacket??

2009-03-18T22:24:00.003+02:00

Well I did say I'd blog further about our dinner party on Saturday evening, so I guess I should put a few lines on screen...

We've been invited for dinner 3 times now by Nicos and his family. On each occasion we've been treated to what can only be described as feasts! Heaving tables laden with home made food and wine - delicious and seemingly never ending. Our last visit was to celebrate Nicos son Theo's name day. At one point I counted 30 guests crammed onto every dining chair, sofa, armchair, stool etc that could be found, eating their fill, yet the table still didn't seem to be emptying.

In return we did invite them to Tony's birthday meal, but that was at the local taverna so doesn't really count. A couple of weeks ago I thought we should redress the balance a little. I took a very deep breath, plus a not insignificant glug of krasi, and invited them round for a meal on Saturday night.

The invitation was accepted by all, with various guides as to what I should prepare food wise. I asked if they might consider trying English food. Theo was keen and asked that I make a curry - his favourite apparently. I didn't bother trying to explain that Britain isn't quite the spiritual home of the dish. Nicos, on the other hand, stated that he only eats Greek food...

So last Friday morning I made a shopping list. Not only did I make the list, I remembered to take it with me - complete with a pen, with ink in it, so that I could cross items off as I got them. I then drove into Town where I remembered to take the list into the supermarket with me, and use it. There's a first time for everything!

Saturday morning I arose bright and early. After abluting and dressing I found my pinny, tied my hair back, wrote my menu and got to work. 7 hours later I had prepared:

Moussaka
Corgette and cheese pie
Chicken Korma (from scratch)
Chicken in Ouzo cream
Greek salad
Winter salad
Tzatziki
Russian salad
Pilau rice
Pasta with tomato and herb sauce

oh... and apple crumble!

Generally I think the evening went well. The curry was a hit - it transpires that the whole family like it. The only let down was that Matoula, Nicos wife, said how nice it was to have chicken for a change, as Nicos only eats red meat! (Not entirely true as he did have some of the curry). However, she redeemed herself by saying that my chicken in Ouzo was better than Theos - and he's a chef in an upmarket hotel!!

I admit I was something between worried and petrified about cooking for a family who are all involved in the catering profession. Still, there's nothing like jumping in at the deep end, and I think I managed to at least doggy paddle along until I could reach the bottom again. Clean plates and not a great deal of food left on the table, I must have done something right!

Language is no barrier

2009-03-14T23:53:00.004+02:00

We've just said goodnight to our Greek friends who came round for dinner this evening. After having been to their house 3 times for a meal I felt it was about time I returned the invitation, so today I spend a full 8 hours cooking.

I'll blog about the evening more fully in the next few days, but I wanted to share one moment that I found wonderful.

Our friends, Nicos, his wife Matoula, son Theo and his fiancee Elenor have English skills that are roughly similar to our combined Greek acumen, so a Greek/English dictionary had found it's way on to the table in case of emergencies.

We were discussing children, our own having escaped the rigours of the dining table and retired upstairs to watch TV, and we asked how many children Theo and Elenor were hoping to have eventually. Jokingly Tony suggested 16 might be a good amount. At this Elenor grabbed the dictionary and started searching frantically.

A few minutes later, when the conversation had turned to more mundane topics, Elenor suddenly said AH! and showed me an entry in said tome.

The word she'd been looking for?.... Rabbit.

There's nowt t' shout till a lizard's about

2009-03-11T10:49:00.005+02:00

Last night, just after 8pm, I was sitting at my computer wandering through my emails. The children were getting ready for bed, or so I thought.

All of a sudden a shrill scream made me jump. It was Niamh, very close to the open doorway to my little office cum storage cupboard. In one apparent bound she went from the floor to her bed, a couple of metres away.

I went to investigate and found her on the bed with feet tucked firmly beneath her. She was pointing across the floor and, in a very agitated tone, kept repeating the word 'lizard'.

'Where?' I asked. 'There' she retaliated, pointing with a wobbly finger. 'Apart from it's tail, which is there'. She moved the wobbly finger to point at her new rug.

There was indeed a small tail nestling in the shag pile. Glancing across to where she had initially pointed I just saw a dark creature, around 8cm long, lurking beneath a discarded picture that Niamh had been drawing earlier.

I looked around for a reasonable sized receptacle to put over the lizard, figuring that it would be much the same as disposing of a spider or insect - cup over, paper slid underneath, take creature safely outside and release, without having to touch.

Eventually, armed with an empty waste bin and a laminated sheet of A4 I went on a lizard hunt.

Ever tried catching a frightened lizard in a child's bedroom with a waste paper basket? No? Neither had I. An interesting experience, though not necessarily recommended as a fun evening's entertainment.

The trouble I found was that, as with many young children, Niamh fills her bedroom with tat. Toys, books, bits and pieces - you name it, you'll find it in her room.

The lizard made a dash for the dolls house, which is liberally stuffed with Barbie paraphernalia and old drawings. From there he went under the dolls cot, absolutely no chance of getting the bin beneath that, nor of moving it without the lizard making a break for cover. Chances are the next place it would find shelter would be under Niamh's bed. End result would be one daughter refusing point blank to go to sleep, and one mum getting stuck under the bed trying to remove petrified lizard.

I stopped moving things around and regrouped my thoughts. Niamh's room is a mezzanine and the dolls cot is near the balustrade that overlooks the staircase. Aha! If I go onto the stairs with my bin maybe I can encourage the lizard to come towards me and get it to jump in.

OK, I know it sounded like a foolish plan, but... with the help of a pink velvet slipper that I managed to get behind the lizard that is exactly what happened. In an attempt to get away from the pink flappy thing behind him Mr L make a leap for freedom, straight into my waiting bin. Laminated lid on I quickly transported him outside and found him a nice flower bed to retreat into.

The moral of the tale (or should that read tail) is this - Find a lizard in your bedroom and you'll know that spring'll be here soon.

What I want to know is - how did it get in? The doors and windows are normally shut. If we do open them the mozzie nets are in place; and if Zoe (the cat) had brought it in it would have been a very dead lizard.

And moreover, how did it lose it's tail? I have a sneaking suspicion that Niamh probably knelt on it just before it shot across her room, but I'm not going tell her as I have no doubt she'll be apoplectic for weeks if I do!

Weather update

2009-03-07T15:40:00.002+02:00

Just thought I'd mention that it's raining here. It started last Monday and has rained pretty much ever since - that is apart from when it's been hailing... or sleeting... or snowing (just a few flakes on Thursday).

The wind has been quite ferocious too on several occasions. I woke up in the wee small hours a couple of nights back thinking 'if those tiles stay on the roof tonight I'll know they chaps did a good job of fitting them'. We don't seem to have lost any, but I did see a rather wobbly looking Englishman who lives down the road perched precariously on his rooftop earlier today - obviously had a different roofer when his roof was done :(

Off out for a meal at friends tonight. I do hope the rain will ease up as we've got to walk to their house - the car won't make it up the slope, it's too steep!

Karnivale and more...

2009-03-02T18:27:00.003+02:00

What a wonderful weekend!

In the run up to the beginning of Lent Corfu, and I guess the rest of Greece, turns into the biggest party in Europe, and possibly beyond!

From the smallest village to the largest conurbation on the island, Corfu Town, the carnivals and parties are in full swing, and we have had a great taste of both large and small over the last 3 days.

Saturday was children's party day at the village school.

Ingredients needed:

One large gymnasium/assembly hall
One clown, complete with painted cheeks, large buttons and three young lady helpers.
One extremely loud stereo system.
Six boxes of crisps - plain and oregano varieties.
100 cartons of fruit juice.
90 children in fancy dress who appear to have been eating blue smarties for a week.
Associated parents to be seated around the perimeter of the auditorium, trying vainly to chat over the Motorhead-like volume of the sound system.
One slightly agitated looking headmaster.

Put them all together and it makes for 3 hours of mayhem and entertainment for the under 13s of the locale.

I take my hat off to the clown, she did a spectacular job. Simon Says, Blind Man's Buff, Musical Chairs. All the good old staple favourites came out of the cupboard. In the most recent issue of Nisea I wrote my monthly "A day in the life of..." as a party clown after seeing this lady at a friend's daughters party. I extolled her virtues then, but to keep so many children happy for such a prolonged period of time without resorting to prizes and bribery - I shall put her name up for the next New Year's Honours list for services to children!

Moving swiftly on though. Sunday is Carnival day. There are parties and processions in many places throughout Corfu, but none bigger than the one in the Polis (Town). Niamh and I went with our friends Joanne, Spiros and Lily. We'd tried the same trip last year but had arrived an hour early and in torrential rain, leaving saturated before the parade started!

This time we got it right. It felt as though the populace of the island was all there. The streets were lined 5 or 6 deep in places. The parade itself was colourful and happy. There were several hundred dancers aged between 2 and 90, dressed as everything from butterflies to devils, witches to police ladies (did you realise their uniform comprises micro mini skirts and fishnets?? No, I don't think Spiros did either!!). There were a handful of motorised floats too, though from what I'm told perhaps less than have been enjoyed in previous years. Perhaps a sign of the increasing global recession.

After watching the parade go past we followed it down to the Liston, which was absolutely heaving with people - Corfu, all done up in it's Sunday best.

Our two young ladies spied a children's playground on the far side of the Liston, overlooking the old fortress, harbour and sea beyond, so we allowed our princess and popstar (oh yes, the public, especially the younger generations, also don fancy dress for the event) to have an hour on the swings and seesaws.

Whilst there we eventually met up with new friends Piotr and Natasha, whom I'd met on line via this blog. We'd agreed to get together after the parade had finished. Easier said than done. It took an arduous series of phone calls during which we tried to shout over the all pervading noise and work out exactly where the other was, not made easier as we had little idea what the other looked like!

Still persistence paid off and we eventually met up and enjoyed an hour in each other's company over a wonderful cup of hot chocolate in a waterside taverna - just right to take the chill out of bones that had arrived with the setting sun.

We eventually got back to the village at about 9pm, only to find that Jack was still out with friends. They'd spent the day building a replica of an old 1940's bus out of a flatbed truck, some olive sacks, angle iron and a large quantity of paint. It's a long story but if my understanding is correct an old charrabang that used to ferry the villagers to and from the local town was either sold or stolen recently. The lads had been 'commissioned' by some of the village men to make a spoof replica to use in our own village celebrations that evening.

A few minutes after we got home Jack turned up. "The bus is up at the old platia (square) come and see. They're dancing up there and there's still plenty of food and drink."

We donned our coats again and went off, winding our way through the back alleys and up steep steps to the old platia at the top of the village. The bus had gone! Stolen away down to Acharavi!

Meanwhile the fun wasn't over. Two of the village gents, wearing dresses and headscarves, sat up high on neighbouring balconies and acted out a sketch mimicking two elderly village gossips, working their way through all the comings and goings of the past year in the village.

Finally a third man, hidden from public view, read out the last will and testament of 'Karnovoulos' a sort of wickerman who is burned at the end of the evening, Guy Fawkes style. I loved the part where Karnovoulos bequeathed all his Christmas decorations to some residents in the upper village who, in March, still have coloured lights in the shape of a Christmas tree lighting up the side of their house each night!

A new script is written each year, and all in rhyme. Very cleverly done.

After a couple of souvlakis the cold night air started to get too much for us so we retired to the taverna for a nightcap before heading for home around midnight.

This morning we were up relatively bright and early for Clean Monday. A day where the Corfiot people fly kites and clear out the cupboards in readiness for Lent - these days equating to enjoying a meal out - and who were we to baulk with tradition.

Our friends Thothorou and his fiance Helena called at 10.30 promptly and off we headed to Almiros where, hopefully, the wind would be up. Standing on the site of an old beach side windmill we did our best and managed to get 2 out of 3 kites airborne - Niamh's to the entire length of it's string, whilst Thothorou's crashed into the water and not inconsiderable time had to be spent removing weed from the soaking wet string!

Then the wind dropped and the rain started. Time for a quick retreat to the Sunset restaurant where we enjoyed pasta, calamari and beers alongside the stunning views across the Acharavi and beyond, despite the rolling clouds that obliterated the Albanian mountains.

Replete, we followed our friends back down the hillside and off to Ice Dreams... arguably the best Gelatia on the island. Knowing that their ice cream, whilst delicious, is not the cheapest, Tony and I bought single scoop cones for the family before we could be drawn into the 'I want 2 scoops' argument. We offered to buy similarly for Thothorou and Helena, but they declined, saying they'd wait a while.

About 10 minutes after finishing our cones Helen looked at the menu of dessert waffles. A conversation in Greek, translated by Jack, ensued, going along the lines of "OK, which one do you want, we are treating you all".

I won't go into the pros and cons of the next few minutes, but suffice to say our friends ordered a "Fantasia" waffle each. 8.50€ at time and comprising three scoops of chocolate based ice cream, crushed biscuits, whipped cream and chocolate sauce sat on the biggest waffle you've ever seen! They also ordered one for Jack. Niamh then demanded one for herself at all and wasn't at all happy when I insisted she and I share one. In the event I did get away with a slightly smaller 2 scooper, with all the trimmings.

Thank heavens Tony was able to decline. I have never seen so much ice cream in my life, nor have I ever heard either of my children admit defeat when it comes to eating it! Jack had gone green by the time we left ;-)

I am a happy bunny though. I managed to have a chat with the Gelatia's owner, who agreed that I could spend a while at his factory next month in order to get the necessary information to write "A day in the life of an ice cream maker". - Perhaps I'll get to test a few samples as well.

Well, on that note, my family is now calling for me to make pizzas for tea so I shall sign off. And there was me thinking that they wouldn't want to eat again until at least the end of the week.

Storm in a teacup, or carnivale...

2009-02-23T20:24:00.002+02:00

Well... Last night was a real eye opener!

Carnivale is upon us. I'm still not 100% certain what we are celebrating, or why, but it has something to do with the run up to Clean Monday and the beginning of Lent. Some people tell me it's the Greek equivalent of Halloween, others say that it has far more Orthodox significance, but in any event it's an excuse for a party or 5.

Last night was the village children's carnivale. The ladies group of which I am a part organises a huge party in the local Demos building (roughly akin to village hall, though far more important). I had been told that it:

a) started at 6pm.
b) started at 6pm and all the food would be gone by 6.30pm
c) started at 6.30pm.
d) started at 7pm
e) started at 7.30pm
f) started about 8pm.

From last year's experience I was pretty sure the food wouldn't have gone before midnight - all the ladies cook for the buffet, and all try to outdo each other. However, I, plus friend, friend's daughter and own children made our way up to the Demos building around 6.15pm. It was closed. Doors locked, no lights on.

We, including large tray of chocolate crispy cakes and flapjacks, retired to the taverna for cappuccino and a warm by the fire before giving it another go at around 7pm.

By then the doors had been opened and around 80 people were in the hall. the majority were under 12, in fancy dress, had been let loose with an immoral amount of confetti, paper streamers, silly string and adrenalin. A reasonable smattering of adults were also around, mainly ladies from the group and mainly involved in setting up the buffet, which seemed to be even larger than last years.

As we made our way across the hall to a vacant table I noticed an altercation going on.

Ooo, talk about handbags at dawn. There was a female village elder, 70 if she's a day, hanging onto the hair of a younger lady, swinging her bag for all it was worth across the younger woman's face, whilst her opponent was taking swings at her! Wow, what a catfight!

It took around half a dozen of the ladies group members to break the fracas up, and in true Hollywood fashion, the moment the perpetrators were unhanded they started taking swings at each other again.

Eventually the elder lady was left sitting, looking I have to say incredibly smug, whilst the younger woman left with her offspring. The rumours had it that the argument had been over a child's princess crown that the elder lady had grabbed, breaking it.

A couple of hours later I noticed dad had come in with the youngsters who seemed none worse for witnessing the fracas, but mum was noticeable by her absence.

As for the elderly champ. She gave me a big grin and clapped me on the shoulder during the evening when our paths crossed at the bar. I smiled sweetly but will think twice before I give her a lift again; that left hook looked lethal!

Wheely annoying.

2009-02-21T18:21:00.004+02:00

The overpriced Citroen, as I might have mentioned previously, has been giving me cause for concern for some time now. A nasty noise coming from the rear wheels suggesting that a bearing was on it's way out.

After innumerable excuses as to why not to have it fixed, I ran out of ideas and, as the noise had been getting worse, booked it in on Monday last to have the fault diagnosed...

I was right - wheel bearing. Repair cost 35€ plus one hour's labour. That was the good news. Then came the bad. The half shaft front nearside also needs replacing. Oh bother (or words to the effect of)! Thankfully it wasn't going to cost me the 300€ + that I thought it might do but still a tidy sum that could have fed the family for a fortnight or more.

Parts were duly ordered and on Thursday I returned to the garage to have them fitted. Having no where to go I sat in the draughty repair shop (corrugated tin roof, front doors wide open) reading Captain Corelli's Mandolin and watching whilst it hailed, sleeted and eventually snowed, until the car was eventually fixed - at which point the sun came out. With Fingers so cold I was hardly able to undo my purse I eventually managed to extract the necessaries, paid the mechanic and went on my way.

As I drove out I thought, hmmm, I can hear a noise. I dismissed it, thinking it was just me being pessimistic, but then again... I was sure I could hear something, not loud, but a definite scuffing noise coming from the same wheel as the bearing had just been replaced on. Perhaps it was just bedding in.

I went to pick the children up from school. 'Mum', said Jack, 'the noise is a bit better, but it's still there isn't it'. Ooo, there's times when I just hate being right!

Over the next 24 hours the noise got worse again. So this morning I took a deep breath and went back to the garage. I hate confrontation. 'Sorry, you haven't fixed it properly, it's still making a noise'. I expected a volley of Greek protestation. But no. He waved me into the garage, got out the trolley jack and checked the wheel again. No obvious problem he checked the other side. Again, nothing. He returned the jack to the first wheel. A moment later he called Adonis over and the pair of them started laughing.

What ever is the matter? It seems my scuffing noise was down to a missing stud from the rear bumper. A small piece of plastic was hanging loose, rubbing on the wheel as it turned. Three minutes, two spanners and one stud later - problem solved. And free of charge!

Of course it's now in the back of my mind that perhaps the bearing was OK in the first place. But better safe than sorry!

For he's a jolly good fellow!

2009-02-18T19:17:00.004+02:00

One of the good bits of having my own blog is that I can write whatever I want on it - irrespective of whether it really has anything to do with what I'm supposed to be writing about !

Today I'm going to indulge myself and, rather than writing about wind, rain, chapped hands and gardening exploits - all of which I've experienced in the last few days - instead I just want to say, CONGRATULATIONS SIR TERRY!

If you've looked at my profile you'll see that under the heading of 'favourite book' is the reply 'everything by Terry Pratchett'. His work is like Marmite, you either love it or hate it. (It doesn't take much to work out which camp I am in). But with 50 million sales to his credit I'm clearly not alone in my passion for his work.

The man himself if an inspiration. An amazingly talented writer, just over a year ago, aged 58 he was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's.

Today he received a knighthood from the Queen. Richly deserved. Not only has he entertained millions of us for the last 20+ years with his wonderful Discworld and other novels, but when the sh*t hit the fan for him, instead of saying "poor me" he turned his attentions and used his profile to raise awareness of this hugely debilitating disease and raise funds into research.

My father in law, Bob, suffers dementia. In a way we are selfishly lucky living in Corfu, many miles from him, as we don't have to witness the gradual deterioration that has turned him from a country lad who enjoyed gardening and keeping hens, into someone who is often unsure where he is or who his family are. Conversely, when we do see him the differences in his demeanour are all the more apparent to us.

But however distant geographically we may be from Bob, his is my first, and I pray only, up close and personal experience with this type of illness. Sadly, I have seen loved ones lose their lives to cancer and heart disease, both of which are callous and vicious diseases, but dementia is in a class of it's own. You lose the person, but the body remains, causing huge distress to the sufferer and taunting those closest to them.

Tragically it's too late for Bob, but if Sir Terry can use his fame to raise awareness and funding perhaps in a few years time a cure, or at least something to slow the pace of this vile condition, will be found.

Meanwhile I am also delighted to see that he is still finding time to write a few more Discworld novels. I still have a little space left on the bookshelves and am so pleased to be able to fill them with his work.

Once again, CONGRATULATIONS SIR TERRY!

Health and safety?

2009-02-08T11:54:00.003+02:00

It's been a week of opposites! Lots of rain and then unexpected warm sunshine, interspersed with the nearest thing to snow that I've seen in over a year (though it turned out to be sleety rain).

In fact, we woke up to brilliant sunshine this morning, but by the time I'd got the washing out of the machine it was raining. Minutes later the rain had stopped but there was crashing thunder overhead. Within half an hour the sun was back and I hung the washing out before I turned my pc on. But now I'm sitting at my screen with hailstones the size of marbles crashing down on the roof and the thunder again rolling across the hills behind us.

But it's not just the weather that's been contrary, life has been too. Worries one minute followed by funnies the next. Take for instance the saga of the overpriced Citroen...

Around the end of January I said to Tony - "don't forget, your car will need it's MOT" (or KTOE as it is known here) "in a couple of months." "What about yours" he replied, "we got that at the beginning of February". I grinned. I remember clearly the dealer telling me that as it had been registered in Athens it wouldn't need an KTOE for 3 years, rather than the bi-annual test required on Corfu. Tony argued the toss and referred me to a small circular sticker on my rear number plate that indicates the year the next test is due in. I had to concede, mine said 2009.

After seeking advice from Greek friends I ascertained where on my various car related documents the renewal date for my KTOE could be found. And so one evening in early February I eventually discovered that the test had been due at the end of January. I'd also ascertained a) where the test centre was, b) that car owners were given 7 days grace and c) the test cost around 50€ but double that if you went over the grace period.

I went to bed troubled. Winter in Corfu isn't the most affluent of times, and money is tight right now. I could ill afford 100€. But wait! I used my fingers to work out how many days overdue the test was... 7 days tomorrow! I still had time to get it done. Elation soon turned to concern again though. I've had a noisy rear wheel bearing for a while now. I'd arranged for a local mechanic to sort it out a week previously, but he'd forgotten, so the bearing still hadn't been fixed. In England of course, that would be an instant MOT failure.

But Tony said I should take it anyway. We'd heard that the test in Greece wasn't so thorough as the UK version so perhaps it would be alright. Next morning I got up bright and early. I emptied the car of rubbish (two children, too many sweet wrappers), returned the spare wheel to the bracket beneath the car (it'd been in the boot for weeks), hoovered the upholstery and washed the exterior (it started to rain as I poured the last of the water down the drain), took a deep breath and set off for the testing station.

I'd been warned that it was normally chocka with cars, and was also advised that I might not be able to get it done without an appointment, so I was a bit surprised to find the place deserted.

I went into the office and found a man behind a cashiers desk. He indicated I should go into another office and submit my papers. Registration papers and last certificate duly submitted. 40€ please. I paid willingly. Already I'd saved 10€ on the anticipated costs. I was then given my papers back along with 2x20€ coupons and told to go to the cashier's desk.

The cashier helped me to fill in the coupons and completed a new certificate before directing me outside, saying I should drive my car to the rear of the garage in readiness for the test.

As I went to the car I started to panic again. If it failed I'd already paid 40€ and would then have to pay a further 80€ for the retest as I'd be out of time. I silently berated myself. I'm no gambler and I should have played it safe, had the bearing done first and then paid the extra test fee, it would have saved time in return trips (the test centre is a good hour's drive away), angst and ultimately money.

Too late now though. I was beckoned in and invited to drive over the inspection pit. By now the cashier had metamorphosised into the tester. Down in the pit he barked an instruction to depress my brakes. I did, hard. Turn off the engine. I did. Wiggle the steering wheel, I did. Sit still whilst the judder platforms that my front wheels were on did their stuff so my front suspension could be checked, I did. Turn engine on again, drive out of the garage and stop. I did. Turn off ignition and pop the bonnet, I did. The cashier/tester frowned and looked under the bonnet - oh dear, it is rather grubby, I thought. OK, put the bonnet down and wait. I did.

Not a word as to the condition of my car. He went off into the office building again.

A couple of minutes later I was summonsed into another yet office, to the administrator... aka the cashier, aka the vehicle tester - certainly a man of many hats.

Here is your new certificate and here is your little pink circular sticker with 2011 on it for your rear number plate.

The paperwork had taken longer than the test. I am making no observation whatsoever about the process, I'm just exceedingly grateful that my car is legal again, and that for once the gamble paid off. My shoulders felt considerably lighter :) But I really must get that bearing sorted out very soon.

Another smile was raised as we watched a local at work yesterday afternoon. We heard a low rumbling out on the street close to our house. Tony poked his head out of the door to see the local garage owner making a delivery of heating oil to a neighbour. He stood at the side of the truck supervising the pumping of several 100 litres of fuel into the tank, right next to the large"warning, flammable" sticker, with a smoking ciggie hanging out of his mouth.

Only in Greece!

Squeaks and thanks

2009-01-29T13:08:00.003+02:00

Firstly, many thanks to all those kind people who've left comments! I was probably just having one of those ever increasing number of middle aged moments, as I know people do visit 'life up the hill' from time to time, but it's lovely to hear from you all and I feel far less lonely now, sat up here in the back of beyond!

Secondly, I want to address the subject of mouse droppings. Yes, that's right, those unpleasant little black things that we always hope we won't find under the sink (no stopcock there Mike?!) or in any other oft unvisited corner of our homes.

Yesterday morning, as normal and before it was properly light, I had to get up and get the children ready for school. Not entirely awake I fed the cat, who'd been whinging at the door; made lunches; fed number one daughter chocolate spread sarnies for breakfast (number one son is more civilised, he had cornflakes), then nagged the under 12s in my household to ensure teeth were cleaned, wellies were on, hoods were up and bags were packed.

After waving goodbye I made Tony and I a cup of tea and made my way back upstairs with the two cups. I vaguely noticed some little black things on the bottom couple of stairs, but as I've already said, it was still quite dark and I wasn't completely awake, so I didn't take a great deal of notice of them.

Half an hour later, with better light and with a more awakened attitude I went back down stairs. Again I noticed a couple of little black things on the stairs. I looked more carefully. In fact it wasn't one or two little black things, it was nearer 20 or 30. Further inspection revealed more little black things on several of the higher stairs too.

Oh NO! The occasional summertime cockroach is bad enough, but mice - aaaggghhh!!

Fuming, I went to do the washing up.

Now I don't know about you but I find washing up quite cathartic (though I loathe drying the dishes). Standing with your hands in a bowl of warm soapy water, cleaning crockery, removing the bits out from between the teeth of a fork - it's a great time for lateral thinking and getting your head around those unpleasant thoughts that otherwise get put away in a cupboard at the back of you mind. This time I concentrated on the mouse doo-das. Think logically woman. You've seen no other evidence of infestation. No chewed paper, nothing in the food cupboards. Why are they running up and down your stairs, pooing?

Then I realised the answer... Football.

Take one 11 year old goalie, one new season of training, one pair of slightly too big boots and one all weather pitch liberally covered with tiny black rubber chippings.

Goalie gets home, sits on stairs, removes boots and... you've got it now haven't you? Out of the boots falls half a pitch full of tiny black rubber chippings that bear an uncanny resemblance to mouse droppings!

See, I said washing up was cathartic ;-)

Water, water, everywhere but not a drop to drink.

2009-01-26T10:32:00.006+02:00

Early last week signs went up around the village warning of an impending water loss on Thursday 22nd Jan whilst maintenance work was undertaken. We might expect to be without until around 2pm.

Armed with that knowledge I made sure I had several bottles filled and that all the washing up had been done the previous evening. Sure enough, just after midnight the water stopped flowing. The following morning dawned showery and overcast. All was fine at home though, although getting kids to clean their teeth properly using just a cup of water, rather than leaving the tap on, wasn't completed successful.

Then just after 9am we heard a gurgling. Lo and behold we had water again! A bit sporadic for a couple of hours but enough to fill cisterns and wash hands.

Last night I went to my dance class. It was bucketing down. I did spy a notice in one of the kafenion windows which referred to 26th January, but given the downpour I didn't bother stopping to try and translate it in my faltering Greek.

This morning Niamh got up. It was only just getting light but outside the sky had the makings of a fine day at last - we've had constant rain for a week.

Niamh went to the bathroom. "Mummmeeee, there's no water!"

Oh *&!"! This time I was completely unprepared. The sink was full of greasy dishes, the kettle empty barring enough to get the kids teeth cleaned using 2cm in a cup, and I had a pile of washing to get done.

I got the kids off to school, found a carton of orange juice to substitute my morning tea, got dressed (I hate getting dressed when I haven't first washed), found half a dozen empty plastic bottles and made my way to the village square.

En route I stop at Shandros' kafenion to see if the electricity bills had arrived. They hadn't, but the water bills were in. Grudgingly I found ours and went on my way.

Why, you might ask, was I taking 6 empty bottles for a walk to the square? Simple. We have a most wonderful natural spring located there. Arguably it supplies the purest water on the island, and people come from miles around to fill bottles and barrels of the stuff. Even Edward Lear tried a drop when he visited the village way back in 1863, and thought enough of it to write about the fact!

I rinsed and filled my bottles. I had expected the water would be icy cold, but strangely it wasn't, it was just cool. The 800m walk back to the house was slightly harder going than the walk up had been. 10 litres of water can get quite heavy after a little while.

Once home I prioritised. First a cup of tea. Then boil a kettle and get rid of the greasy pans, quickly followed by another kettle so I could wash.

Now that I'm refreshed and cleansed I can write about my day!

I now know the reason the water was cut off in the first place was so that the tank which supplies the village could be emptied and cleaned. It was emptied last week but cleaning couldn't take place then as it was raining..... you work that one out, it's beyond me!! ;-) A part of me is sure there must have been a good reason for being unable to clean in the rain, but the rest of me is fairly certain it's got more to do with no-one doing anything outdoors here if a grey cloud is within 50km!

So now that we have a glorious sunny day where I could probably have got 3 loads of washing done and dried, instead I am compacting the contents of the washing basket still further.

And whilst I'm on the subject of water, last Tuesday I went to the Water Board and asked them to come and move the water meter to the outside of Carobina Cottage, it's current location being 2m along the internal wall.

After much discussion about access as we don't actually live in the cottage it was agreed that the men would phone me before going, to ensure I could let them in. With strict instructions to wait at home and make myself available, I was assured the work would be done on either Wednesday or Thursday of last week. I'm still waiting by the phone, but if there is no joy today I'm back to the Water Board again tomorrow.

But then again, should I be complaining too much? At least we normally do have running water - and the Municipality ensure that it's clean, fresh and perfectly safe to drink from the tap. Also, when I opened my water bill I was rather pleased. When I last paid a water bill in the UK two years ago it cost me £37 for a month. My bill for the last 4 months here? 15 euros - and I can have as much spring water as I can carry, for free!

*************************************************************

PS, nothing to do with water... Is there anybody out there?

I know that this blog does get read from time to time, my site meter tells me that, but I haven't had a comment on it in months! I'm not looking for compliments, please feel free to say that what I'm writing is rubbish if you want to, but I would be grateful to receive the occasional message. It's beginning to get just a tiny bit lonely up here on the hill - especially with all this rain about - I don't get out much!

Do you remember a time when ...

2009-01-22T09:45:00.003+02:00

This morning I received one of those ‘pass them around’ emails, entitled Nostalgia. It was a series of statements, complete with pictures, that were designed to make the recipient think back to an age when life was easier, freer and less stressful. As I read though them, initially smiling at the memories of my childhood, I suddenly realised that many of them still remain, for my family and I, true today.

I’ve taken out the photos but replicate below the questions, complete with my responses. It’s things like this that cement my occasionally wavering belief that we made the right decision in moving here. Our prime motives were to reduce the stress in our lives and to give our children a real opportunity to be kids and enjoy a childhood… I think we might be succeeding!

Do you remember a time when…

All the girls had ugly gym slips - A Greek schoolgirl wouldn’t know a gym slip if it jumped up and shook it’s pleats at her! Definitely changed.

It took five minutes for the TV to warm up - When the power isn’t off entirely (3 times last night) the TV does come on pretty quickly, so I guess this has changed.

Nearly everyone's Mum was at home when the kids got home from school - I am, or even better I go and collect them.

Nobody owned a thoroughbred dog -The only people here who own pure bred dogs are a few ex-pats, all the locals have thoroughbred mongrels.

When 3d was a decent allowance - What’s an allowance? My kids get change from their father's pocket for sweets and earn a few lepta for doing little jobs around the house.

You'd reach into a muddy gutter for a penny - My children will do for 5 lepta (about 4p).

Your Mother wore nylons that came in two pieces - Well I don’t wear ‘em, more of a jeans person myself, but most of the over 60s do in Nymfes (often without the benefit of suspender belts either, very fetching! Norah Batty eat your heart out!)

All your male teachers wore ties and female teachers had their hair done every day and wore high heels - Granted we don’t see ties very often, apart from on open days, but no self respecting female teacher would be seen dead without high heels and perfectly teased hair.

You got your windscreen cleaned, oil checked, and petrol served, without asking, all for free, every time. And you didn't pay for air. And, you got trading stamps to boot - apart from the oil check and trading stamps we still get the rest - including free air.

Washing Powder had free glasses, dishes or towels hidden inside the box - I’ve recently got two sets of coasters and a pair of spaghetti tongs with washing up liquid, and an electric frappe maker with coffee.

It was considered a great privilege to be taken out to dinner at a real restaurant with your parents - Definitely still is.

They threatened to keep children back a year if they failed. . . and they did it! - And still do.

When a Ford Zephyr was everyone's dream car... - Well… OK, probably not any more, but I bet there are still a few around here!

And people went steady - Pretty much still do. There don’t seem to be many one night stands here apart from those enjoying a little holiday romance!

No one ever asked where the car keys were because they were always in the car, in the ignition, and the doors were never locked - Absolutely still the same.

Lying on your back in the grass with your friends and saying things like, 'That cloud looks like a... ' - We last did that just a few weeks ago - found teddy bears, dragons and a strange looking ship.

Playing cricket with no adults to help the children with the rules of the game - Yes, Jack does regularly, and footie too. Causes a few arguments because of the constantly changing rule book to benefit whichever side is losing, but they're soon forgotten.

Bottles came from the corner shop without safety caps and hermetic seals because no one had yet tried to poison a perfect stranger - OK, that has changed, but safety caps are a sensible precaution to stop small children taking tablets having mistaken them for sweets (that used to happen quite a bit when I was little).

And with all our progress, don't you wish, just once, you could slip back in time and savour the slower pace, and share it with the children of today. - That’s what we wished for, we wished hard enough and had the wish granted.

When being sent to the head's study was nothing compared to the fate that awaited the student at home - Still pretty much true.

Basically we were in fear for our lives, but it wasn't because of drive-by shootings, drugs, gangs, etc.. Our parents and grandparents were a much bigger threat! But we survived because their love was greater than the threat. - Absolutely still the case.

As well as summers filled with bike rides, cricket, Hula Hoops, skate hockey and visits to the pool, and eating lemonade powder or liquorice sticks. Apart from the skate hockey - instead read roller skating, and liquorice sticks (as the kids don’t like them) summer was pretty much like that for Jack and Niamh last year.

Decisions were made by going 'eeny-meeny-miney-moe'? - They still are, although Jack and Niamh say, eeny meeny miney moe catch a ticket by it’s toe…

'Race issue' meant arguing about who ran the fastest? - Still does.

Catching tiddlers could happily occupy an entire day? - Still does.

It wasn't odd to have two or three 'Best Friends'? - My kids do.

The worst thing you could catch from the opposite sex was 'chickenpox'? - Thinking of my own children, at their age I do hope this is the full extent of potential! I don't think we'll have too many problems at the moment. Niamh's response to a couple 'snogging' on TV is yuk - grossss.

Having a Weapon in School meant being caught with a catapult? - I don’t even remember hearing of a child being caught with a cattie here. Certainly no other weapons. The boys do like BB guns (available in all dodgy souvenir shops), but definitely NEVER taken into school.

Saturday morning television wasn't 30-minute commercials for action figures? - Well, OK, some things do change. Watching a Greek aired film a few weeks ago, there were 29 advertisements shown during one break!

Spinning around, getting dizzy, and falling down was cause for giggles? - Still is, we call it dizzy sticks.

The Worst Embarrassment was being picked last for a team? - Still is.

War was a card game? - Don’ t remember that one.

Cigarette cards in the spokes transformed any bike into a motorcycle? - The kids still do this all the time, but use any small piece of card or a twig.

Taking drugs meant orange - flavored chewable aspirin? - It still does here. I’m not saying there are no drugs issues, but certainly very few.

Water balloons were the ultimate weapon? - You should have seen the street outside Bambers after Niamh’s 8th birthday party - it was covered with water splats and brightly coloured bits of rubber.

If you can remember most or all of these, Then You Have Lived!!!!!!! - Above there are 35 statements that describe a slower, less stressful time that for most of us petered out in the 1960s or 70s. I can remember them all bar one, and am glad that, as the final statement says, I have lived! I am also incredibly glad that of those 35 statements in our current lives only 6 are no longer true, and one of those is a card game that I didn’t remember anyway!

Politics... a very occasional foray for me.

2009-01-20T20:12:00.004+02:00

Precious little to do with daily life in a Corfiot hill village....

I've just watched on live TV the inauguration of Barack Obama as the 44th President of the United States. Loved the way he fluffed his lines during the actual inauguration - it made him human. Loved more the speech he gave. Inspiring, honest, conciliatory and far reaching. I hope and pray that he can walk the walk as well as he can talk the talk! If he can achieve even 50% of what he is setting out to do the world has got to become a better place.

I'm not a huge fan of American politics in any shape or form, but am a believer in equality worldwide. I live in a country other than my own and expect my neighbours to treat me as an equal. I am lucky to be treated as such in the main, though not foolish enough to believe that this is always the case for us. But whatever small disparities I might experience I am also very aware that huge inequality due to skin colour, race, creed, sex or age is rife worldwide. Any steps that can be taken towards an less inequitable life for each and every one of us has to be a positive one.

I add my good wishes to the millions of others that I hope will reach Mr Obama. A lot is resting on his shoulders. Let's hope that they are very broad, and that he is true to his word.

Men!

2009-01-15T17:30:00.003+02:00

Can't live with them, can't live without 'em (or maybe we can, eh girls?!)

This morning having bid hubby 'have a good day' as he want off to do some work on Carabina Cottage (which is now called Rafio Cottage, but that's another story), I settled down to a morning in front of the computer intending to write some articles.

I'd just got stuck into the piece I was working on when the phone rang. Hello. It was Paul who had been on his way to help Tony at the cottage when his van decided to give up the ghost. I promised to go and tell Tony, with the intention of getting him to rescue Paul. Article set aside, I pulled on jeans and trainers and set off for the cottage.

By the time I'd explained to Tony what had happened, locked up the cottage and got back to the our place Paul had arrived. After a bit of inventive repair work using a length of garden hose, and the advent of the blackest sooty belch to be expelled from the rear end of a Fiat in many a long year, he'd managed to get going again and had limped the van up the hill.

I offered coffee which was gratefully accepted.

No sooner had I put the kettle on than we heard the burring of a small bike engine outside. Tony looked out - 'hello Nikos'. I took another cup down and topped the kettle up.

I'd just served up the coffees when there was a knock on the door. Hello Lakis.

By 10.15am there were 4 men sitting round my kitchen table. My no smoking in the house rule had flown, so I'd given up and put an ashtray in the middle of them. I sat back (after finding another chair, I had to give mine up for our final guest) and observed. 2 Greeks, 2 English, each with differing levels of understanding of the others' language, simultaneously discussing car repairs, electricity supplies, how to move water meters (get the Water Board in) and where best to find information on old Greek coinage.... What a racket!

Eventually, coffee cups drained and ciggies stubbed out, they left to go back to the cottage, allegedly to check the water meter. I had to smile. It was the sort of scene that you'll find in many Greek homes every day of the week - without the language barriers of course - but this was the first time I'd witnessed such an intense, masculine orientated conversation around my own kitchen table.

If the morning's visitation had made me smile though, my helpful husband infuriated me this afternoon!

Having been held up with the article writing I wanted to sort out something quick and easy for our evening meal before getting back to the computer. A quick check in the freezer revealed some mince, so meatballs it'd be. I was just about to start making the tomato sauce when Tony came back. Plonking himself down at the kitchen table he proceeded to regale me with the various updates on van repairs, water meters and electricity supplies whilst I made up a roux. I added beef stock, tomato paste, tomatoes, onion, a few herbs... yuk! It tasted dreadful!

Ever the expert, Mr 'I don't know how to put the cooker on, can you do it for me' (that had been the plaintive cry last week when he tried to cook his very own pizza from frozen) tasted it. 'Hmm, try putting more herbs in it'. I tried, but still the taste wasn't good.

He checked again. 'try putting lemon juice in it, it's too tomatoey'. I tried, and it did improve things, but still not brilliant. 'Put more lemon juice in' he commanded. I did, but thought it was now tasting sour.

I added an Oxo cube, a dash of hickory smoked barbeque sauce and half a teaspoon of sugar. 'What are you doing that for?' 'Because it's sour', 'that'll be because of the Oxo cube you put in'. I could feel my temper rising just a tiny bit. 'Couldn't be because I put too much lemon juice in then, that being sour whereas Oxo is savoury?'... 'No, of course not. I tasted it after you put the lemon juice in and it was fine then'.

Oh I give up, I'm not going to argue the toss on that one. I did go to catering college for 3 years, and did get numerous bits of paper called certificates which acknowledged I had achieved a certain level of expertise in the food preparation department, but hey, that was a long time ago. Who am I to say whether lemon juice is sour?

Instead I added a little garlic powder. I heard a muttering coming from the table behind me. 'What?' I asked. 'It's rude to mutter, what are you going on about?' 'You shouldn't have used powdered garlic, use the fresh stuff instead.'

I won't tell you what I said in response, but it had an 'off' in it! ;-)

New Year's snow?

2009-01-01T14:02:00.003+02:00

We eventually had a large number of carol singers yesterday, but managed to avoid them. I don't think we were alone in having enjoyed just a little to much doorstep entertainment from the number of doors that we heard being knocked on, but with no singing to follow!

Midnight brought a plethora of gunfire this year. I went just outside our door to better experience the event and was quickly VERY thankful to be standing beneath our arcade. Guns were fired into the air, then a moment silence, followed by what sounded like hail but was of course pellets hammering down on tiles, tarmac and car roofs. This was repeated for around 7 minutes before the village became quite eerily quiet.

Meanwhile, no snow yet... but the skies are still threatening, and my fingertips are very chilly!