‘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

As you might see from the photo, there’s not much let up in the number of day visitors yet, not now the sun is back, and the storms have passed overhead. Yesterday, around midday, the boats were coming in, streams of people were streaming off and following their guides around the harbour and remotely listening to their commentary. Some broke from the pack and wandered off to snuffle around the gift shops, while others made straight for a café, there to watch the rest go by.

The road was just as blocked as in earlier months, as very few seem to appreciate they have arrived at a working island, and it’s not just there for their day-out pleasure. Most local drivers have the patience of a whole communion of saints, taxi drivers and bus drivers in particular, but not everyone is of the same school of discipline and piety, and you hear some choice words now and then. The best, as told to me the other day, is when someone steps into the road, into the path of an oncoming moped, and the driver is forced to point out that someone nearly got themselves maimed. The reply comes from the visitor, ‘This isn’t a road,’ when in fact, dear visitor, it is, and the counter reply communicates as such (including expletives). This does little good when Mr & Mrs Armitage-Shanks are in holiday-visitor mode, where all that counts is seeing the sights: A quick glance up to the church on the hill, ‘Seen that, move on,’ poke a head into a sponge shop display, ‘Seen that, Shirl, move on,’ or a half-heard commentary about the diving industry, ‘I’ll never remember that, where’s the bar?’

When will the season slow down, you ask? To which I reply, I have no idea. Usually, soon. Around the middle of the month, when the taxi boats stop their trade for the winter, but that won’t stop guests coming over from Rhodes, not while that island is still offering tourist accommodation and excursions. Perhaps some of the day boats also end their annual licenses soon; I’m not sure how they operate. Meanwhile, though, we have the Blue Star Diagoras back as the Patmos is undergoing repairs. Our local boats, the Sebecos, are still running back and forth, as are the Skiadeni and the Dodakanisos catamarans, so if you’re planning a late getaway, you still have a good choice of boats across, though check their itineraries, because they may soon start to change.

And so it goes on, and so do I. Back to having ideas about what to write next while waiting to finish releasing my latest story, ‘Journeyman Joe’, a novel suitable for everyone. (I.e., there’s nothing naughty in it). More news soon.

Well, that was the wet weekend that was. Friday and Saturday saw thunderstorms, plural; they came and went and were short. When I woke on Saturday (might have been Friday), all was calm and dry. By the time I walked to work 10 minutes later, the rain had started, and the thunder was close behind. As it only takes me a few paces to walk to work, the brief storm took me by surprise, but there you go. Sunday was infinitely better, weather-wise, but we certainly had some interesting clouds passing overhead. Neil managed to take a shot of the view across the village to Nimos, where you can see the storm, and then, a second later, one just as lightning was happening within the cloud.

The rain came not long after Neil had washed the rust and muck off the flat roof where the old hot water tank had emptied, so it’s no longer the colour of rust, and the next job is to fill the cracks and paint the whole thing. (Note to self: we’re in town this morning, so finally get around to buying a pot of paint and don’t keep putting it off until next time or it will never get done.) I must say, it’s currently very pleasant not to have one’s water pump turning on for no reason, to have hot water, and not to have anyone staying downstairs. How long that will last is anyone’s guess, but for now, I’m enjoying the quiet, though I still start whenever I hear the pump going off, hardly believing that after all these months, it is meant to be happening.

The afternoons at the bar, despite the showers, have been busy, and even when it was raining, only a few people sheltered inside, because it wasn’t that cold and the rain wasn’t that heavy. The weather looks good now until Saturday, when there may be clouds, and there are still plenty of visitors coming over for the day and staying here for longer, even though the end of this summer season is approaching. That hasn’t stopped a film crew from filming a… whatever they are filming. I saw them distantly up at the Pontikokastro (the ‘mouse castle’) the other day, and took a photo on my phone, which shows you nothing unless you can zoom right in. In that case, you can just see a black tent and a few people milling about. More, though, you can see the colour of the sky behind the hill, because they were taking advantage of a break in the rain.

While all this was going on, I was seeing to the layout of my next book, which is now almost ready to go. I am just waiting for the cover to come back finalised before I can upload that and press the button. There will be news about this before long, I hope. Now, I am left with a ‘What next?’ Plenty of ideas, but which one to explore? Let’s see how the week progresses…

As one might have said in an old Kentish dialect, I be somewhat buffle-headed this morning. I just posted this on my other site by mistake. I blame the thunderstorm currently passing overhead. Here’s what I meant to put here…

You know I’ve often talked about water problems on these pages. Well, yesterday, we finally found ourselves with hot water after five weeks without. The water on Symi has long been a problem for many on the island; the lack of it, the condition of it, and, now and then, the colour of it. In our case, water problems have been a combination of corrosiveness and what can only be called dodgy plumbing. In defence of our local plumbers, none of them was involved in the installation of the plumbing in this house, their involvement has been to try and put right the problems caused when the late owner put it in himself during his renovation of the property years ago. It used to be that, to fill the sterna, we had to turn off the pump, turn the blue tap to the left and the red one to the right, and then open the mains for a couple of hours. Once enough water was in the tank beneath the house, we then had to turn the red to the left, open the mains, and turn the blue to the right, and only then turn the pump back on, with no water available during the time it took to fill. Then, the sterna broke, so we had a barrel on the roof instead…

It’s a dull story, and not an unusual one around here, so I’ll spare you the details, but since moving in, we’ve had to replace the water pump six times, we’ve had a sterna, a small barrel and now a larger one, and we are now on our third hot water tank, all within the last 11.5 years. Why? Maybe this photo below will go some way to explain.

The wonderfully patient plumber came on Monday and fitted the new hot water tank; sorted. Not. Once full, the pump kept running, so we still couldn’t use it, but he came back yesterday and fixed the problem (which had something to do with downstairs), and everything was back to normal after a long, cold-showering five weeks. However, not long after he left, we noticed a drip in an unusual place inside, and on investigation, I found that the old, disconnected tank, put aside in the storeroom, wasn’t completely empty, and was leaking. It was also fairly full, so we had to manoeuvre it out onto the flat roof so it could be emptied, and what you see above is the colour of what came out. That’s about five years’ worth of crud, and is the same stuff that gathers at the bottom of the cold water barrel. Nice.

Meanwhile, it could be that we’re in for rain this morning. Thunder is rolling around the hills, but it’s still too dark to see the sky and judge how the day may go. If or when it rains, we’ll probably get rainwater coming through the flat roof and into the bathroom, because we’ve not coated the roof with concrete paint yet. We need to clean that mess off first, then paint when the weather’s good, and fill cracks, and then, hopefully, there will be no more internal showers other than the one we want.

Now, lightning is coming closer, and the thunder is louder, so I best put this up and move on before this potential storm starts to interfere with the electrics and internet. For me, today and the weekend will all be about my final readthrough of my next book, and I will tell you incessantly about it once it’s ready for you to rush to Amazon and order a copy. In the meantime, have a great weekend.