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.

As we know, many people ask us what we do in the winter when the beaches are closed, and the sun is in hiding, when the weather is unpredictable, most tavernas and summer cafés are closed, and it’s not suitable to sit outside watching the world go by. The truth is, for me, I do the same in winter as I do in the summer; thus, the list of things I don’t do is also the same. I don’t go on boat trips, spend time at the beach, nip out for lunch, hang out with friends (for more than an hour a day), or spend the days making our home as much like a Greek holiday fairytale as possible, tend the courtyard and sit by the shore painting, or any of those things invented in dreams of ‘If I lived on a Greek island.’ I get up early, go straight to my writing room, get on with emails, post a quick blog to warm up my brain, do the admin, publicity, pay bills, research and write, and I do this in the storms of winter and the hot days of summer. So, for me, the end of the season brings little change. I wear more clothes to keep warm, and often work in the afternoons now that it’s cooler. I also sometimes get up late (4.35 this morning; half the day gone), but I rarely take a day off.

Why? Because I have to write, and that’s what I have been doing for the last several years. Each time I release one of my stories, I aim to make it better than the last, and some of the earlier ones could certainly do with being made better! Despite the shoulder aches, back aches, dodgy chairs, and word blindness, I get on with it and beaver away until something is as good as I can make it, and then I set about the other things necessary to self-publish a book: engage a proof reader, layout artists, cover artists and then, somehow, find some free publicity. This is, these days, all while avoiding and ignoring the 10 or so spam messages I get from spurious ‘professionals’ wanting me to pay to be a part of their non-existent book groups, Goodreads review groups, and so on, and those purporting to be editors from everyone from Pan Macmillan to Penguin. At the end of all of this early morning malarkey, I am left with a few hours of the day for the job of writing, but, after a few months of six or seven hours a day, I come up with a story that I would like to read told as I would like to write it.

Today’s piece of unashamed publicity, therefore, should come as no surprise, but this one is different. I am sure many people who read Symi Dream are only interested in knowing what they are missing on Symi, and that’s fine. Many others, though, take an interest in my books, and that’s wonderful, but not everyone knows when a new one has come out. So, today’s image is of the cover of the latest story, which I released yesterday in Kindle format. The paperback version will be available in a few days; it often takes a little longer to get right.

This story is slightly different from the others I have been writing of late. After three series of Victorian mystery novels (30 in total), I have lessened the mystery element and upped what you might call the human element. Yes, it’s set in Victorian times, but not London. This one is set in a small village in Kent at the same time as the first two of three court cases involving Oscar Wilde, although he has nothing to do with the story, and his trials only form part of the background. This is also a story that’s suitable for everyone (there’s romance, but it’s neither sloppy nor bodice-ripping, neither steamy nor, I hope, cliché). So, the hope is that those who have wondered what it is I do in the winter (spring, summer and autumn) now have a chance to find out, which you can do for under €5.00 or other currency, by downloading a copy to your Kindle app, or reading it in Kindle Unlimited, or, in a few days, buying a paperback copy. It’s a safe read for anyone, with no ‘naughty bits’ or anything horrible. In fact, there are a few laughs along the way, and plenty about blacksmithing, village life, some Kent traditions, such as the opening scene which takes place on Hoddening Night, and there’s nothing nasty to put you off your tea.

So, now at the end of today’s lesson, I’ll leave you with the cover and a universal link to where you can find out more and, if you’d like to support an indie author who hasn’t been to a beach for over three years and has never sat in an olive grove sketching, you know what to do.

PS. My books are only on sale on Amazon, under the penname Jackson Marsh or, for the older ones, under James Collins.

https://mybook.to/JourneymanJoe