The last time we were together on this page, it was May 1st, and Greece was having its coldest Mayday on record. We’re still under the tail end of some winds strong enough to ban shipping, and I can’t help wondering if this storm has a name.
Then, I can’t help also wondering why storms have names these days? Perhaps it’s to help us remember what is battering the roof, rattling the shutters and driving rain under our doors.
‘What is that noise?’
‘Why, don’t you remember, love? That’s Boukephalas.’
‘I thought you had tablets for that.’
Maybe it’s so the howling winds sound more cosy as they rip scaffolding from buildings, and tear up trees.
‘Oh, bless. Saoirse has come to stay for the weekend. I’ll just pop out and say hello.’
I tell you what, Toto, we’ve not been in Kansas this weekend. The sea’s been grey and white, the heater has been back on (for a measured one hour, or as we like to call it, €15.00’s worth), and my first job this morning was to stick my head out of the window and find the heavy rocks that usually hold the shutters open. Very unseasonal, but when we as a species are intent on ruining our planet to keep ourselves in riches, luxury and ‘celebrity’ TV, what do we expect?
Talking of celebrity TV, we watched Gogglebox on YouTube on Saturday night because we know how to live, and I couldn’t help thinking, if this is the height of civilisation, it’s no wonder we’re a dying breed. Not that programme itself, for there is nothing wrong with watching people watch TV (ahem), but all these cheap ‘celebrity’ programmes which I might find more amusing if I had a bleedin’ clue who anyone was. It seems these days, all you have to do to win hallowed celebrity status is to appear on a naff sofa in a TV studio at seven in the morning and talk about how you once baked the largest barn cake in Sniffersdale. Bang! There you are appearing on ‘I’m a Celebrity – Someone Please Notice Me’ (jungle edition), or ‘Mystery Celebrity Soprano’, where you prove your worth by debasing yourself in a gorilla costume and where the only mystery is why? Or even on more worthy attempts at making money from a sow’s ear, shows like ‘Strictly Pointless’ or ‘The Great British Jerk Off.’ Has the world not learnt that when you award celebrity status to the hopelessly narcissistic, they end up being elected to run important countries? And look where that’s got the world.
Anyway…
It’s a stormy May morning here on Symi, where the contents of the courtyard have now blown into the porch, and where there may or may not be boats sailing today. (The Poseidon was due to do its first day trip about now, but I am not sure of the current situation there.) Yes, the temperature has dropped a little (13° today), but it is set to rise again by Wednesday (19°), and onwards and upwards to over 20° by this time next week.
Having spent the weekend finishing painting up an old chest of drawers for the kitchen, and spring cleaning the bedroom, I locked myself in the sitting room on Sunday afternoon with a god old comedy thriller, The Old Dark House, 1963, Robert Morely, Joyce Grenfell and Fenella Fielding, and fell asleep halfway through. Perfect. Today, if this wintery weather persists, I might do something with Farley Granger – Ooh, Matron!
But now, I can put off chapter 21 no longer, and so, must return to work. All I can sensibly add to this Monday morning wash-out of my brain, is that if you are coming to Symi over the next few days, fabulous! Can’t wait to see you, but check that the boat you need will be able to sail.
