Well, that was a weekend of lovely weather, not too much wind, a little more humidity, but nothing too unbearable. I popped down to the dentist on Friday as arranged, but things were not to go according to plan. We were to start on a root canal in the upper right quadrant, but for a day or two I’d had an ache in the down stage left area which, on Friday, had developed into a full-blown rage, lump and inability to open my mouth very far, so there was to be no drilling that day. Instead, it’s been a case of antibiotics and waiting while the stage left infraction is dealt with ahead of the upper right issue, and when that’s done, it’ll be back to stage left for drilling and rooting out down there. I woke up on Saturday looking rather like Joseph Merrick, unable to speak, and suddenly, after all these years, understanding what Michael Crawford was on about. Still, we had a lovely morning view over the weekend…

The Michael Crawford thing? Well… When he created the role of the Phantom for Lloyd-Webber’s musical, he insisted the mask be made for one side of his face only (so he wasn’t, um, masked by it when facing a certain direction), and that the lyricist should remove from his lyrics as many words beginning with P as possible. That was because, with a fat lip, prosthetic or otherwise, it is very hard to say words beginning with P without ‘popping’, or if not using a mic, without spraying, or… Well, it’s just a hard letter to use when you’ve got a lip like you’ve been slugged in the Dog & Duck during a dispute over a pint of mild.

Tablets, thankfully, were on hand, and today, although I still have the painful lump around the gum and chin stage left, I am able to say P words, albeit with a slight wince. Back to the chair tomorrow morning to see what’s what, what can be drilled and begun, and if I am not rushing, to take some photos for these pages along the way.

Other than that… The Symi Festival started with a concert in the main square on Saturday, and there are some videos from Symi TV, though I can’t find a way to embed one here as I did last week, but I’ll keep trying. The harbour continues to be busy during the day with Insta-pouts aplenty, wannabe ‘influencers’ having their pouts photographed in front of statues they care nothing about, and only occasionally do intrepid explorers make it up to the real beauty of the island, the village and its history. I caught a taxi back up on Friday, and

the driver told me we had to wait a few minutes before setting off. There was no point trying to drive around the south of the harbour when a day boat had just arrived there. ‘We lose about two hours a day because of this,’ he said, as a matter of fact rather than complaint. He meant, two hours lost to waiting. Waiting for the meandering gobsmacked to filter out thinly enough to make it safe and possible to drive on the road. As many have said, tourists leave their brains in Rhodes, and think roads are paths and churches are nightclubs, what with some of the clothes they’re hardly wearing as they approach hallowed ground… And so on.

We finally set off, weaving through, watching out for, and avoiding. I could never be a taxi driver down there, not at that time of day. I’d be hollering out the window, squashing feet beneath the wheels to teach a lesson and lessen frustration, and who knows what else. Symi taxi drivers, though, are of a more relaxed, Greek nature, and simply smile at it all.

Things are slightly eased at these times when the port police get on their two-way radios and become human traffic lights, one near the bus stop, the other at the bottom of the hill. This ensures no-one gets bumped into the sea on the narrowest part of the road. (Why has that not been widened? It’s only a car’s width across. Would making it safer encourage even more cars? Probably. The debate goes on.) I foresee permanent traffic lights at these places soon becoming a Symi fixture – and that would be a first for the island. Another sign of its rising status among the top over-touristed Greek islands to visit.

Anyway… at the end of this dull story, I got home and muddled through the weekend unable to eat either stage left or upper right, but only down the central line, and here we are; bright-eyed enough to start the week, a little doped up still from the painkillers and anti-this-and-that tablets, but all is made well, because Neil bought me flowers to cheer me up. Here’s to a great week ahead.