Not much in my head this morning apart from a recipe for gigantes, aka ‘big beans’ or butter beans in tomato sauce. Usually, I wake up with a random song going around my head, but today, it was a recipe. Not that I intend to make any today, but then, you never know; I might. I made a walnut cake yesterday, so anything can happen, particularly as I baked it in the air fryer. (The oven has been used twice since about May, and we’ve only put the heater on three or four times so far this autumn.) I’ve not even got a photo of my big beans to show you, but it’s a very simple recipe:

Soak dried big beans overnight, change water, and half cook them. Meanwhile, make a tomato sauce, and when that’s started but not cooked, put drained beans and sauce in a slow cooker, turn on to low and leave it alone all day. Check to make sure they don’t go mushy, but when they’re just about done, add in some last-minute dill, and there you are. I don’t do weights and measures unless it’s a cake recipe, which this isn’t; you just have to feel your way along by taste and instinct. This isn’t a traditional Greek recipe either, but my own simple version, and as you can tell, I’m never going to write a cookbook. If you do have a go at them and make a batch and then freeze them, be careful how you defrost and reheat, because they can go mushy. Otherwise, they’re fine. You can knock up a decent shared dish with them as well, another simple concoction. Baking tin, tinned tuna down the middle (out of its tins), beans around the edge, cover in cheese and some oil for the tuna, and then bake.

I can’t stop and pass on other handy household tips right now because Neil’s about to set off on his journey to Scotland, and we’ve yet to do that thing that goes like: ‘Got your passport? Yes. Got your wallet? Yes. Tickets? Yes. Got your passport? I know I have, but I’ll have to check again now you’ve said that. Tickets? Where they were two minutes ago. Phone charger? Where’s the boat? On its way. Passports? Yes!’ and so on…

I must away to see to all that unnecessary reminding, but will I then go and think about shopping and cooking and big beans? Probably not. It’ll be microwave baked potatoes and baked beans for the next two weeks. Yay!

The quiet days are starting to settle in, to be followed by quieter evenings, although last night we went out and painted the town red. Well, four of us went to Taverna George & Maria for dinner, and that’s about as red as you can get right now. The film club was also showing a film, I believe, and Lefteris kafeneion was open, and on the way back, there was a lad playing football in the square, underneath the streetlight, alone. The quiet times are upon us. The ferry came in the early morning and passed through again on its way to Athens, taking weekend and longer-stay visitors away, and, as we know, Neil’s off to start his trip tomorrow.

The packing was done days ago and didn’t take long. The speed of it reminded me of a time when I went to visit Marks and Spencer in Rhodes to buy a pack of socks. Having been there before, I knew where the men’s department was, so I walked in, climbed to the top floor, found what I needed, brought them down to the ground floor where the tills are, and paid for them. ‘You men are so fast with your shopping,’ the assistant said, apparently in awe. ‘How do you do it?’
It’s quite simple. You see what you need, buy it, and go. None of this trying things on, comparing colours, and standing before mirrors wondering how it will look from the side, and does it make my bum look big? Maybe I’ll try a smaller size, because it will fit one day… And then not liking it and starting on the next thing. A man’s thought process: I need clothes. There are clothes. I buy clothes. I go.

There’s another reason I don’t hang around these things called clothes shops, and that’s air conditioning running 24/7/365 (every day of the year). In the summer, you enter from 39° to an environment kept at a constant 39°, and walk up several flights of stairs with the temperature rising to 40°+, because men’s departments are always upstairs or hidden in the basement like they are in H&M (though that one comes with part of an ancient monument running through it, which lessens the blow). You’re faced with choices in a varied sea of colours (for men, these are grey, black, and white with a hint of drab), you know your t-shirt size, so drop one of them into your basket, but you might go for a new pair of jeans… Except that means having to try them on, and that means getting undressed behind a curtain, shoes unlaced, shoes off, and now you’re sweating a little more, and although it’s 43°, you pull on the potential new garment and don’t like it or, more likely, you’re not as slim as you thought you were, so you change it, which means putting on clothes, drying yourself down with a towel and continuing the hunt in 45°. More sweating as you repeat the process until you give up on that idea, and you’re just heading outside for cooler air when you think you should have a new and decent shirt to expand your wardrobe by 100%. But you don’t, because you’re now sweating like a blacksmith’s armpit, and if you try on a shirt, you’re going to have to wring it out before putting it back on the rack, and that’s not fair on the next chap who comes along. So you leave empty-handed, and go for a cup of tea instead. It’s just as hot in these shops in winter as it is in summer, so there’s no escape.
I dislike shopping for this, and other reasons, so I’m happier taking a gamble and buying ‘sight unseen’ and if it doesn’t fit when I get it home, I’ll give it to someone else.

Expect more of these odd thoughts as the winter months go on, because other than my writing, I’m not going to have much to talk about. Fear not, though, I shall think of something.

’Twas a busy weekend for the island for sure. The ferries leaving the island today and in the next few days will be full of passengers, pilgrims, and their transport, and hopefully, people who had a good time at the Panormitis festival that took place this weekend. The photos and videos doing the rounds show hundreds of people celebrating and worshipping under clear blue skies, with the island’s churches that are dedicated to St Michael hosting services and gatherings, food and feasting.

We did some of that ourselves, though at this end of the island. Godson Harry came for lunch on Friday, and the three of us spent several hours chatting and catching up with news and hearing of his adventures working at a hotel in Rhodes for the summer season. Fun times, hard work, seven months of relentless routine with only a little time off, difficult guests, flooding (during the recent storms), driving lessons, driving test, first car purchase, now back to college and the offer of a second year in a higher position at the same hotel for next season, and then… his future plans, but no point getting into all that now. A lovely afternoon and followed by another one the next day, when the whole ‘family’ met for lunch in Yialos.

The harbour cafes were doing a roaring trade, with some having their tables and chairs out on the quayside, the roads filled with pedestrians, and the tavernas that were open also looked to be doing good business. We had booked into O Liris on the town square, another place that was non-stop and turning around tables, and serving wonderful food. I can recommend the spetsofai, a sausage and pepper stew, just as I can recommend everything else we had to share on the table, which included chicken with ouzo, calamari, beetroot dip and… Well, next time you’re here, go there.

When here, you might hear some people, mainly Brits, referring to an eatery in Yialos called O’Leary’s. They’re talking about O Liris, and often call the place ‘The Irish bar.’ That description couldn’t be further from the truth, as it’s 100% Greek, but the warm welcome and friendly hosting are, in my experience, similar in both. There was more time for catching up and discussing future plans around the dining table, and we, although now older, reverted to the mayhem of our traditional family meals of the past, but without the boys squabbling when not staring at their phones, and without Neil dressing up in something outrageous, doing his best to embarrass them, and poking his tongue in people’s ears. We’re all grown up now, or on our way there, but that didn’t stop us having a good time. The event came with the added attraction of a lift home in Harry’s new car, and you don’t get a much better treat than that. (Because you’re able to reassure yourself that the young’un is a safe driver, and willing to turn the rap music down to a less thumping level when he has ‘elderly’ passengers.)

Sunday was, by comparison, a very quiet day at home with writing and household things to see to (which are still waiting to be seen to, of course), and with getting things in order for Neil’s Scotland trip which starts with the early morning Blue Star on Wednesday. This was made possible by the free airline tickets we won on New Year’s Day, though I am not going and gave my ticket to Jenine, who is also off on an adventure shortly. I shall be here, probably doing very little other than writing and trying to promote books, and keeping a promise: to do some sorting out and throwing away in the mousandra. If it’s been up there for more than five years without being used, it’s finally leaving the house. Though maybe not the speakers I bought back in 1983 which have been up there for 12 years, or the amp I’ve not used for all that time but can’t throw away because it was a good one, nor any of the other clutter that’s gathered there waiting to be of use one day. All that’s to come later this week, and I’ll keep you posted.

It’s the end of the blogging week for me, and it’s been a varied one. Rainstorms, new leaks to investigate and plug, some online Christmas shopping, some more local, the bar finally closing after 40 or so years, extending the house rental contract for a year, cutting back the vine, and now, the Panormitis Festival starting tomorrow. We also have Harry coming for lunch today, which means catching up on news and admiring his first car. (Which, in time, should result in free pickups from Rhodes Airport and generally having someone to run us around when over there. I mean, apart from the obvious duties, there’s got to be a point to being a godfather, hasn’t there?)

While all that has been going on, I’ve desperately been trying to sell books, but run into problems with social media, in that Facebook no longer allows you to put up more than two external links a month. This means I can’t point people to my latest books or a promotion in which they are shown. I can only link into Facebook, which is why those who use it can still see notifications about my blog posts, but let’s not get into that. We’re now also competing against the thousands of AI-written ‘novels’ coming online every day, drenching the market with stuff that reads like wallpaper paste. And that’s while batting off more than ten spam emails from book promoters per day. I just counted, and I had 14 overnight. All deleted after being marked as spam. Among them was one for the Symi Dream calendar, so they’ve got their little computer programmes scouring for calendars now too: Dear Neil, I noticed your Symi Dream Calendar 2027 and appreciate the work behind…  

Meanwhile, in another inbox: “I came across your book and wanted to reach out with a quick idea.” That’s a common opening gambit. I ignore anything with ‘reach out’ used in this way. “Our network reaches more than 400,000 book lovers…” As a mate from Keighley used to say, ‘Does it ’ell as like.’ Here’s a good one: “Mi nombre es DulceM digital y me pongo en contacto…” No idea, love, sorry. Something about a digital pongo? What’s that then? Here’s my favourite of the week, and it’s 100% true. It started with: Hello Marigold, which had me laughing but not hooked. It then went on: i came across Deadly Library Late Fees and the tagline caught me before I even reached the plot.  Didn’t even reach the title, did you? Assuming this was to make me reply with indignation, I marked it as spam and deleted it.

Anyway, I didn’t come here for that, but to wish you a good weekend ahead. Enjoy the festival if you are here for it, and watch out for Symi TV videos (YouTube and elsewhere) if you’re not; I am sure there will be many.

There is a character in my recent series of Victorian detective novels who has the ability, through logical thinking, to answer questions before someone asks them. He’ll often meet a client of the detective agency not with a greeting, but with an answer. So, in the style of Will Merrit, here’s the same from me: No, I don’t know what will happen next. There are other answers ready for you too, and the next one is: Yes, he’s fine. Now, here’s what will cause the questions:

The Rainbow Bar in the village has closed. Not just for the winter, but for good. After something like 40 years in the business, Yiannis has officially retired, and the bar won’t be opening again. This has nothing to do with health, that I know of, so yes, he’s fine, and in answer to the net one: We had an inkling, but chose to wait until he told us himself rather than speculate and cause gossip. No, we don’t know what he has planned; a quiet time not working from nine until midnight at the age of seventy-something, I expect. And: He’s not sure, is the answer to what will Neil do for work next year? Apart from being customers in the late 90s, our association with the bar began in 2004, and between us, we have worked there for 22 years. The siesta shift won’t be the same again, and Neil’s four o’clock club that replaced the social gathering point that was our shop’s wine nights, won’t happen in the future. Not there, at least. Who knows? We shall have to wait and see.

I know what will come next too; suggestions, both meant and flippant, so here are the responses to those. No, we will not take it over. Because, for one thing, the rent was around 2K per month, 12 months of the year, and we don’t want to start another business, nor do we have funds to do so. And then: No, I still have no idea what will happen to the building. No, Yiannis doesn’t own it and never has, and, yes, I know you have all manner of helpful ideas about someone revamping and carrying it on, about a younger person taking it on and updating it and making it into this or that, and, again, who knows? Already, in recent years of speculation, the place has been destined to become a hotel, a set of Airbnb apartments, another kafeneion, a piano bar, a taverna, and yes, it would make a great [insert your own idea], but to make that work, you’ll have to come and do it yourself. Oh, and then there are these: He said he didn’t want to suffer endless goodbyes from his loyal regulars, so that’s why he didn’t say anything until it was closed, not even to Neil. Yes, he is very grateful for your custom, and yes, he will miss you too, and no, I can’t pass on your individual thanks and best wishes except in the manner of a class action and say, ‘Everyone wishes you well.’ So, there you are. That’s that, and on we go.

A photo I’ve nicked from Anne (thanks, luv) and which seems to sum up today’s post rather well.