I woke up in the night, and the time was 0.13. I woke up this morning and the time was 0.13. It was only then I realised I was relying on the microwave, which had been paused at 13 seconds, so I’ve no idea what time I was up the first time, but I know what time it was the second time. However, the first time, I was woken by the overflow from the pitched roof, which the building designer thoughtfully thought to leave as a pipe hanging halfway across the narrow lane right beside the bedroom window. Had I suitable skills and a ladder, I’d stick an extension on the thing and let the runoff land in the ruin over the wall, rather than two feet away from my head, but hey, one day…

There was also thunder and lightning, some water through the roof in the porch and bathroom, but nothing major. We were going to fill the cracks and apply the concrete paint the other day, but the weather turned, and luckily we didn’t get to it; had we, it would have all been washed away overnight. And there is more to come, they say. (I am in danger of becoming a weather channel here, but it gives me something to whittle about). It’s either going to be heavy all day, in which case I might have to change my dentist appointment because the kayak is in the shop, and I’m not attempting the rapids of the Kali Strata without it, or it’s going to be on and off and not too heavy. These days, the weather depends on which forecast app you use, and everyone uses a different one. This, it seems, can lead to all manner of misinformation and entertainment.

You’re sitting in a café listening to other people’s conversations, and hear a game of one-upmanship as people defend their weather apps. Such conversations can easily descend into chaos.
‘We’re going to have rain today.’
‘Nay. Mine shows it as only patchy cloud. We’ll be reet.’
‘Mine’s always accurate. See? There’s a typhoon blowing in from Kalymnos.’
‘Typhoon? In the Med?’
‘That’s what it says, and it’s never wrong.’
‘You only get typhoons in the Northwestern Pacific Basin.’ (This is the ‘me’ of the conversation, the pedant, but the others are so keen to be heard and affirmed, they take no notice of reason.)
‘Aye, well, we’re northwest of somewhere, aren’t we? You can’t go wrong with Sneeze.’
‘Wi’ what?’
‘Sneeze. It’s me new weather app.’
‘Nay, mate. You want Accu-Rabbit. It’s run be A-One.’
‘Be what?’ Looks. ‘That’s AI, you cabbage. Can’t trust that. Wife asked it why I was getting these headaches every night ’round bedtime. It told her I had a tuba on me brain.’
‘But you play the euphonium.’
‘Aye, that’s what I said, but it insisted it were a tuba, then it asked her if she’d like to know more about who invented it, when, and why.’
‘Oh, aye?’
‘Eighteen thirty-five.’
‘Is it? We’ve missed the boat.’
‘Can’t leave now anyroad. It’s raining.’
‘See? Told you. You can’t go wrong with Sneeze.’

And so on. If I want to know what the elements have in store, I look up, make up my own mind, and get on with it. If it’s too dangerous to go out at ten, I’ll change my appointment. If it looks reasonable, I’ll take my brolly and off I’ll go. One thing it does give me, though, is plenty of opportunity to show some of Neil’s dramatic shots of the skies we’re currently, if temporarily, living under.
Have a [<insert > Good ~ Pleasant ~ Wet ~ *random* >end>] day.

PS: It’s now 05.25, and it’s chucking it down.

We’re expecting a wet playtime for the next couple of days, with the worst rain coming on Wednesday. I saw a couple of videos of Rhodes airport yesterday, with the road flooded and heavy downpours generally, and tried to look on the local news this morning for news about how it might have affected travel, but all I could find in one Rhodes newspaper were stories about football teams, and the other I found didn’t mention it, so I assume it was nothing to out of the ordinary. Here, after rumbling but dry skies in the morning, we had a few drops, and that was it.

It was during this that I decided it was time I made enquiries about having the kitchen tap fixed before it got worse. (A small dribble from the wrong place when it was in use.) Then, I thought about the tap in the laundry sink which we hadn’t used for three years because it had blocked up with crud, and added that to the list. I’m very good at saving these jobs for a rainy day, and as it promised to be just that, that’s what I did. I called our friendly handyman to see when he could take a look, and like the genie from the lamp, he was at the gate fifteen minutes later, because he happened to be finishing a job nearby. A quick inspection, a quick quote, and he was back in twenty minutes with two new taps. Half an hour after that, they were both on and working, but as happens, we then found a leak on one of the overflows, so that piece of pipe needed fixing, and off to the other side of the harbour he goes to find the part. A short while later: both taps fixed and working and no drips. Having congratulated myself on a job well done and a very reasonable bill paid, I started thinking about fixing the feed to the spare WC which hasn’t worked for a short while. (A ‘short while’ in this case being about four years.) However, I thought ‘one thing at a time’ and as we don’t use it, decided that could wait until I feel another bout of home maintenance coming on; probably another year or so.

Before all this, I’d done some work on a plot and a chapter, and some research into London in 1904, as you do. Later, we met up with friends we’ve not seen for six or seven years, which was lovely, so that rounded of a successful day in a very pleasant way. All this time, the day boats continued to arrive below, with no let-up despite the grey. I expect people were glad to have missed the deluge taking place in Rhodes, though I doubt many spent their time lazing on a beach. At some point during the day, I booked an appointment with the dentist. (It’s not an addiction, just the time of life.) So that’s an event for tomorrow when we’re supposed to be receiving the deluge. We shall see.

We’re approaching the time when the season usually starts to slow down, but with at least 12 day-trip boats arriving on Saturday, new arrivals taking up accommodation bookings, and just about all businesses still open, it doesn’t look as if ‘the end is nigh.’ Not yet. We were down in Yialos for a while on Saturday, and it was still necessary for cars to wait behind the herd wandering gobsmacked in the middle of the road gawping at the architecture and wondering, ‘Why haven’t I been here before?’

Mind you, a change in the weather is predicted; we might see some rain later today and a lot more later in the week. That is, unless the weather changes its mind, which it often does, but then again, it might not. Yesterday, there were fewer yachts lining the part of the harbour we can see from up here, fewer school children are manning parents’ businesses because they are back at school, and visitors are, in the evenings, more warmly dressed. On the other hand, we’ve had the front windows open all day and night, and the courtyard thermometer read 25° in the early hours of this morning (though it doesn’t feel like it). I did manage to sort my summer clothes from my winter ones, and restock my two shelves in the wardrobe, and my one drawer beside the bed. (Note to self: invest in some more clothes.) It’s interesting to note that where I have only three summer shirts, for the winter I have about seven different jumpers, plus hoodies and an old faithful sweatshirt that was once dark grey and is now an unknown shade of something else — but it’s still going, and feels homely, even though it’s now too big for me. I’m bound to have a day in Rhodes before too long, so I may go shopping then. Thinking about it, I’ve not been to Rhodes since March.

But as you can see, a sunny and reasonably warm weekend during which I started on another writing project, because that’s what I do, usually from four to eleven each morning. We also began preparing the flat roof for its winter weatherproofing (thanks for the mud and tips, Steve), dug out the duvet, ‘slanket’ and long socks, and checked the whereabouts of the umbrella and my waterproofs, only to remember I don’t have any.

So, is it a time for watching the season change and the tourist season fade? The holiday season for Rhodes seems to run later and start earlier these days, and I’m not sure how long the day-trip boats keep their licenses for, so, it’s a time of wait and see.

As we are obliged to point out these days, ‘No filters were used in the harming of this photograph.’

That was the colour of the landscape yesterday towards sunset. I took the picture through the window, but although that might have been a little dusty, it wasn’t in any way pink. We also see the sea a different kind of red from time to time. Mainly, after we’ve had a heavy rainstorm and the surface earth gets washed down the hills and ends up in the sea. In those cases, the sea becomes a muddy, reddish-brown colour. When there’s a daytime storm, it becomes the grey of a battleship, darker in places, and highlighted with white wave tops. In better weather, it can be anywhere from dark blue to grey depending on the cloud cover, and on very rainy days, you can’t see it at all.

Yesterday was a sunny and calm day, so the sea was its regular blue and silver, as you can see.

The guys are working on the roof of a house that’s stood empty ever since I can remember noticing it many years ago. It’s a building that is on its way to becoming a classic Symi ruin, but isn’t quite there yet. The doors were open but hanging off, the place empty apart from a few rotting pieces of furniture, the windows and shutters long past their usefulness days, and the whole building is grey. It also has some very fine skeletons of trees around it, an overgrown terrace on the steep hillside, and an atmosphere worthy of a chilling suspense novel. It hangs off the hill above the harbour below, facing north and open to the elements on all sides, so couldn’t have been a pleasant winter house to occupy, and yet, it’s so romantic in a black-and-white Universal horror film way that it’s irresistible. I was interested to see work being carried out on it yesterday, and have to wonder if it’s about to be brought back into life, or if the roof was simply being weatherproofed to help keep it in limbo for longer. I will watch with interest because I’ve always admired the house, and next time I can, I’ll try and get another photo or two before it loses its mystery and charm.

That’s for another day. For this weekend, though, what’s planned? Not a lot, to be honest. I am passing out news about my latest story, which is now available in paperback form, and the link to here you can find it on Amazon UK is right here: Journeyman Joe. ‘Is it any good?’ Well, I am sure I don’t know. I know what it isn’t, though. It’s not an action adventure, mystery-driven story like the last lot. It’s quieter, calmer, more descriptive and slower, yet, I hope, still entertaining. You’ll have to be the judge.

So this weekend will be about thinking and plotting, and wondering whether I shouldn’t revert to vaguely plausible mysteries based on true events and a load of What if?, or try another village tale from the past. Maybe I’ll have a think when I take a stroll later. Perhaps the dilapidated house at the end of the lane will be the inspiration…

Have a good weekend.

‘There’s nothing worse.’ How many times do we say that as a throwaway line of sympathy? It always makes me laugh when I hear someone say it, and I thought of it this morning while I was making a cup of tea. More precisely, while opening a carton of milk, and cutting my finger on the plastic stopper, which refused to part from the carton unless it came away in various unintended pieces. It was so stuck closed, I had to force it open, thereby denting the carton to such a shape that, when I did get the top off — mangled — I then couldn’t get it closed. At some point along this pointless, first-thing-in-the-morning debacle, I managed to cut my finger, which meant finding a plaster, which then involved a tussle with the plastic strips, and the sticky side not going where I wanted it, while blood was dripping into the sink, and my tea was stewing beyond its taste-by time. But I got there in the end, muttering, ‘Nothing worse.’

Well, having your eyeballs burnt out by the Spanish Inquisition was probably a little more inconvenient, but there you go. It’s one of those things we say.

I also wondered, while trying to get the lid of the milk carton back on, that there are levels of this ‘worse’ situation. Last night, for example, I heard that one of the boats was going to be delayed, and instead of arriving in the early evening, and wasn’t going to get in until two in the morning. ‘Oh. There’s nothing worse.’

There probably isn’t when you’re keen to get somewhere, but that’s one thing. What I was wondering about was all the people affected by this delay. There are the people who work on the boat, for a start, and the port authorities who’d have to come back in the middle of the night to see it off, plus those called in to repair it (it had broken down, I believe). Then I wondered, what about people waiting to greet it at the other end? We can assume that some of the passengers were trying to get home from a simple day out shopping, but they then had to reach home, and who knew who was meeting them there for dinner, now to be held in the early hours? Then, what about accommodation hosts who were due to meet their guests at eight, but had to turn out at two instead? The taxis that had been booked, the transfer drivers, minibus drivers, and show-in greeters who would have to get out of bed at 1.30 to meet, carry luggage, and deposit new guests? Then, of course, there might be first-time visitors and guests on the boat. What about those who booked a quick and allegedly cheap Airbnb where all you get is a map and a code for the key box? Imagine arriving here at two in the morning after a six-hour delay, and not having anyone to meet you? Take your map, point it the right way (always helps), trudge up 400 steps in the dark, with luggage, and then try and find your cosy studio in the back lanes of Horio, when there’s no-one around to ask directions, and your Google Maps is directing you to the main road (ie., the Kali Strata), or to the ‘Symi Cycle Route’ (the what now?), or to some other spurious landmark.

Imagine the hassle some people went through last night all because of a blown gasket or a failed rubber flange, or whatever it was. There’s nothing worse. Except, of course, dripping blood into your only pint of milk at 3.45 in the morning, and over-steeping your first cup of tea. I don’t know how I survived.