Please don’t

I saw this street sign in Split, Croatia last year. Can we have a couple up here in the village, please?

This is just a public service announcement really, and a polite request. I was sitting in the square on Thursday, quietly chatting to Neil and others, while some people were inside watching the tennis and others were outside the bar next door. Then this appeared…

One by one heads turned, and a couple of guys dashed out from inside to take a look, while the rest us exchanged glances and some rolled eyes. It’s not that we’re prudish up in the village, far from it, but we are in a village. We’re not down by the sea, we’re not a hotel foyer or a swimming pool, Horio is not a beach resort (global warming hasn’t reached that level yet), but it is a pretty old-fashioned, unspoiled, traditional and, above all, orthodox place to be. So, please, when you are exploring the village – and I can’t say this any more politely than this – put some f*****g clothes on you shameless hussy and… whatever the male equivalent of a hussy is. (See below.)

That’s got that out of my system. I tell you, I’ve seen worse, and I am referring to the bountifulness of the babe’s-booty here, but all the same… Yes, you think you have a lovely figure, and it’s worth showing off when you’re by the pool, but not when you’re wandering through an historic village street, passing people’s homes and, as you do in Horio, walking through two bars. I know some of the more desperate straight guys next door will probably be dreaming of this for the next few weeks, but for others, it just makes people uncomfortable and, the, um, bottom line is, it’s disrespectful. Now, I know you wouldn’t do this, you’d at least put on a sarong or even a tea towel, but you wouldn’t want your ass to be hanging out for all to see, would you?

[Re: Hussy. I just found out, rather alarmingly, that the origin of the word ‘hussy’ is from the Middle English word for ‘housewife.’ Sorry about that, ladies, but I expect those middle-Englanders still in existence and currently voting for your next yUK leader had something to do with it. And for the men, the urban dictionary equivalent is, excuse my language, a ‘pussbucket’, though at least the chap in the semi-nude parade was wearing decent shorts and didn’t have a belly like mine.]

Anyway, after that polite request to cover up, here are a few more photos of less attention-seeking scenery to see you through the weekend.

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An evening boat trip

We’d like to say a huge thank you to Pat and Hazel for the party on the Poseidon on Wednesday night, and to everyone who made it such a memorable night. Yiannis, Theodoros and the crew had already been out on a full day trip before turning the boat around and welcoming us aboard for an evening at Taviri. Great food, dancing and company – but not great photos, sorry about that.

Taviri is the small bay on Nimos, the island opposite Yialos. There’s not much there apart from a disused house used only by the goats, and a concrete jetty in need of repair, but don’t let that put you off. From there, you can see Turkey all around and over to the right after dark, the lights of Rhodes. The ferry came past after we’d arrived, heading back to Piraeus, but otherwise, there was very little boat activity, just long views of sea and coastline in the distance. The wind had been up to force four or five, but it settled down during the evening, making the trip back after dark much calmer than the one going out at sunset.

After that traditional group photo, we piled off the boat and caught a taxi after a couple of minutes’ wait, which is much easier than walking up the steps. It was, for me, a very late night and I’d been up and about since four in the morning which meant that yesterday, I didn’t wake up until half-five, half the day gone, and I wasn’t much in the mood for doing anything. We did, though, drag ourselves out to get some shopping and stopped for a frappe at Lefteris’ kafeneion on the way home, after which it was back to the desk for me and the final read-through of the latest story. You can book the Poseidon for private parties, just ask at the kiosk in Yialos, and I should also mention the other day-trip boat, the Maria, run by Lakis Travel. I’ve not been on it yet, but I have heard good reports. Perhaps when mother is here in September?

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Another non-morning

I did say I’d try and do more of a written blog today, but, tbh, I can’t get my head around it. I couldn’t even get my head around a walk yesterday morning. I discovered an issue with my Amazon account and book sales, checked and found that there are some payments missing. I had to trawl my Amazon reports and compare them to my bank statement, and then work out what was wrong. By the time I’d figured it all out and written them a long email with all the details of missing payments, my head was, as they say, done in. Which is why today, I am just bunging up a few images before going to sit in front of the fan in a dark room.

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Photos

I completely forgot about putting up a blog post in advance, I suddenly found myself engrossed in an idea for the fourth Saddling novel and everything else slipped my mind. So, today, have a few random images from the past couple of weeks, and I’ll try and think of something to write tomorrow.

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Sounds of Symi

Some of you know, I like to get up early and spend half an hour or so on the balcony with a cup of tea before setting off on the great commute from one side of the house to the other. It’s often quiet out there at that time of day. Sometimes I can hear the sea lapping at the harbour walls, other times, like Monday morning, I can hear the remnants of a party. This one was still going on when I came back from my walk at 6.30, so it must have been a good night. Perhaps people celebrating the change in government, or commiserating about it.

I often hear scratching and clicking noises in the ruined garden next door. Rats, I assume. I’ve seen inquisitive cats creep in there under the streetlamp light and soon come hot tailing it out again. I’ve seen a couple of the beasts (rats) around the neighbourhood, and we even had one come in and use our spare WC one summer. Honestly, apart from dropping its business everywhere else in the laundry, it managed to get some in the toilet. Chickens are another thing. Not as in, using the facilities, but as in being heard in the early hours, usually just before sunrise. There was one squawking so loudly the other morning that I thought it had been surprised roughly from behind; quite outraged she was. The cockerels too add some background outrage and alarm calling, and very occasionally I can hear seagulls, though that’s later on in the morning.

Owls are another more or less constant background sound effect. The beep or screech depending on what owl it is can be heard from a long way off, and I sometimes catch the flash of an underwing as the streetlight catches it swooping over. Cats supply the rest of the cacophony of the small hours, and not the musical. The cats around here don’t have a knocking-off or clocking-on time, they seem to knock each other off whenever they feel like it, and very noisily too. The human neighbours are quiet though. Sometimes the guy next door comes home in the early hours, either from a night out or a long shift at the army base, but even then, all I hear is a shower running, and that’s pretty quiet. Boats clank anchor chains, fishing boats engines chug out across the bay, the rumble and vibration of the Blue Star happen before dawn on some days, and the heavy clunk and grate of the cargo and water boats add their own SFX from time to time. And all that is without the zzz of mosquitoes which, in damper and cooler times, investigate my ears.

By the way, coming down from the mountain at 6.15 yesterday morning, I was passed by three funsters on a moped. I didn’t recognise them, tourists I assumed and ex-party goers. The guy driving had dayglo face paint in stripes and a rather glazed expression, though he did wave and smile (or he was about to be sick, it was hard to tell). On the back, a muscled and topless torso-lad clung on, I guess hoping not to fall off backwards and rip off his sunburnt skin, and between them was crushed a young lady, also dayglo-ed and glowing. I assume these were some of the folk raving it up until at least six in the morning. I was glad that a) I was not among their company and b) I wasn’t living nearby.

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