Weather, Symi Spring and Hangover

Time to delve back into Neil’s photo album for some more spring shots from Symi. Yesterday started with rain in the very early morning, and that was a hangover* from the day before when we’d had some showers and a little thunder. Some of the showers were hail, and they came and went with the speed of a passing train—all very sudden. The wind was also blustery, hitting the house from the north-west for a few seconds and then disappearing. Later on Wednesday morning (and ‘later’ for me means around 6.00), the cloud was clearing, and the rain had stopped, leaving the newly-planted chilli seeds a bit waterlogged, but not the inside of the house which stays rain-free, I am pleased to say.

Hangover.* Did you know the origins of this word? Yes, alright, so it could be too much retsina or ouzo that gave you one, but where did the word originate? There are a couple of theories for this, and neither have anything to do with alcohol. That usage has only been around for 100 years or so. One theory is that it came from business meetings in the 19^th century, meaning any unfinished business at the end of one meeting was hung-over until the next. Another theory, and one which I prefer, is that it originated from rope houses, and it’s also 19^th century. (A quick pause for a photo…)

In Victorian times, when you didn’t have a home and couldn’t afford a lodging house, weren’t sent to a workhouse or were fed up with sleeping in a cowshed or sty, you could, for a penny, take a place ‘on the rope.’ These were rooms in lodging houses where a rope was hung taut across a room, and people could pay to lean on it as a place to sleep. Some, the posher ones, offered a bench and a low rope, while others had no seating, and you had to, somehow, sleep standing up and hanging over the rope. It was cut or taken down early in the morning, no doubt sending people face-first onto the flagstones, and that was your night of hanging-over over.

These rope houses were mainly found in cities where populations were higher, but there were other places to sleep if you were short of cash, as many people were. Depending on the place, time in the century and other factors, you could pay 2d or 3d (tuppence or thruppence) for a coffin at an undertaker’s shop. Maybe that’s where the phrase, ‘to sleep the sleep of the dead’ came from? I’m not sure about that one, but it would be interesting to find out. However, sleeping in a tupp’ny coffin wasn’t the origin of the expression, ‘The graveyard shift.’ One theory is that it comes from the Victorian’s fascination with premature burial (and the 18^th century). Someone was employed to stay awake in the graveyard overnight to listen for the bells. That is, bells which were hung above coffins and attached to them with a string that the potentially undead corpse could pull if the poor old sod beneath the sod found themselves buried alive. It’s also one explanation for the origin of the expression, ‘Saved by the bell’, though that is also thought to have come from the boxing ring. There is a school of thought that suggests this scenario also gave rise to the expression, ‘Dead ringer’, but I’m not so sure about that.

I’m also not sure how I got onto this subject as I started off telling you about the weather on Symi. Ah well, such is the wandering mind of someone just about to settle into chapter 17 of a new story at 6.15 in the morning. The sun’s coming up, the clouds are clearing, and it looks like it’s going to be a nice day. Oh, and by the way, I’ve not had a hangover for a year now, not since that night in Vancouver a year ago when we called into an Irish pub next to our hotel to find a forlorn landlord having to close as Canada was going into lockdown. He’d only just put up his St Patrick’s Day bunting and had to take it down and close his business. I wonder if he has been able to reopen yet?

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A twisting tale

I was so lost in my writing yesterday, I nearly forgot to post a blog ready for today. I was also distracted by sending an email to a friend, and when I read it back, I thought I’d share part of it with you as it sums up where I am with my next story. It also saves me having to think of anything else to write here. It sounds more complicated than it is, but all you need to know is that I am working on the tenth book in a series, and it is planned and plotted as the last in that series. Hence, lots of things have to tie up. This is the part I thought might amuse you. If you are following the Clearwater Series, you might not want to read this as it gives away parts of the story. But, I have redacted the twists from what I originally wrote.

Meanwhile, I am battling through Clearwater 10, which is a) going to be a long story, b) be published in two parts or c) need a lot of cutting. It’s all going very well, and although I am checking the word count, I am not curtailing my story because of length. Not yet.

I’m up to about 60k now, and usually, that would be about one third through, but I’m not even at the halfway twist yet. After that, it starts to pace-up towards the finale, but I don’t want to rush that either. I’m currently in Vienna in 1890, at the royal court and inventing Austrian nobility (for a subplot). I have ‘Baron Kubinsky of Judenburg’ turning out to be —. Meanwhile, Andrej — is escorting the young genius piano player, Jasper, to Castle Rasnov to trick their way into the home of the evil cousin to see a piece of music written by Clearwater’s grandfather, which holds the code which directs Clearwater to the location of an entail which will end his troubles and land him the inheritance. (And breathe.)

While that’s going on, the others are searching archives, trying to understand musical codes, breaking into a solicitor’s office to see if there’s a copy of another deed that would also solve the problem, and all this while — are starting to drop like flies because of the pandemic. Oh, and the country house is being wired for electricity (so we can have some near-death experiences later), and Clearwater is laying the foundations for his new academy, which will form the setting for the next series…

As you can see, I don’t do things by halves.

I just got a great review for book five over on a much-followed and vaguely respected site. It includes: “Once again, Marsh delivers an exciting and nerve racking, tale filled with action, and danger. “The Clearwater Mysteries” are some of the most exciting and down to the wire, twisted, tales of suspense in the Victorian 18th century, as the crew head off in different directions and show their expertise in solving the mystery. It always surprises how Marsh’s mysteries end, who will be believed and who will be saved, and how.”

The nice thing about writing these novels is that I don’t know how things will twist or end until I get there. With this new one, I am aware I have promised the breaking of a musical code, but I have no idea yet how I will do that. However, I need to start thinking because, in my next chapter, Jasper will meet Brahms who will unknowingly give him a clue that will unlock the first part of the code. Jasper will realise this on his way to Rasnov, thus making the viewing of the fugue vital. But… the new telegraph machine being installed at Clearwater’s country house isn’t yet working, and its installation has messed up communications. The evil count is on his way to — having, we suspect, already killed —.

I should write for EastEnders.

Off to drown in Australian reality TV now and put my feet up with MasterChef, The Amazing Race and Survivor.

The Clearwater Mysteries

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Rain, Routines and Rates

As you can see, Sunday brought us rain and cloud that was still around on Clean Monday morning. (A couple of these photos are from January, but the view was the same.) I took a stroll along our lane, greeted the sheep down from the hills to finish off whatever grasses there are to be harvested, and a mule that was parked up by the house, and set off up into the village.

It was only a short walk, as I am operating on the principle that half an hour a day (when not raining) is better than ten miles in one go once per week, and my route took me up to the top and Agia Triada. From there, I walked along the newly concreted road where the old wire fence has been replaced with something more sturdy. The edge of the hill, which as crumbling onto the road, is now retained by some excellent stonework. Our onto the main road (very quiet), and down the hill towards the village, I came to Campos and took the slope up to Taverna Zoi. From there, it’s an easy walk home through the main village lane, across the square, and back to the gate. Simple, head-clearing, and set me up nicely for another chapter on the next story.

Later, when the rain started, it was a case of staying in by the fire (electric heater on low as it’s not too cold right now) and watching a few series on streaming TV. Mainly MasterChef, The Amazing Race and Survivor, all from Australia who make reality TV in a more appealing way than the Americans, and certainly better than anything ‘reality’ I’ve seen on British TV. We also watch films and are working our way through a series of biographical ones or those based on real events. On top of that, we are doing things other than sitting on the sofa and watching the box. Apart from the walks, I’ve been tinkering with models and plumbing – that’s plastic models, not catwalk – and Neil has been baking and creating amazing meals in the kitchen. All this, I should add, is after spending six or seven hours at the desk on writing work and books, so we’re not lazy.

We are, though, looking forward to the summer and, hopefully, returning visitors. Not that we’re fed up with our own company, but it would be good to see cafes and restaurants open again and visitors returning. Whether that will happen or not, and when, depends on ‘numbers’ as infection rates are being called. There are parts of the country where people are blatantly flouting the laws and meeting in large groups because either they don’t think this virus is real, or they are so fed up with being at home, they now believe they are being controlled by superior forces. Either way, if numbers rise, tourism won’t happen, more businesses will fail, and we’ll have to stay home longer. Whether you think the virus is a worldwide conspiracy magically organised by over 200 competing countries at some invisible council of control meeting that happened between the Free Masons and aliens, or whether you know it to be real, that’s up to you. Either way, we’re not going to have visitors, and islands and economies will not be saved if we don’t get numbers down.

And here endeth todays’ ramble/lesson, and here I beginneth chapter 15 of The Clearwater Inheritance… once I’ve had breakfast.

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Starting Lent

Today is Clean Monday here in Greece, by tradition a day for flying kites, gathering with families and friends to barbeque seafood and mark the start of Lent. That, as you know, means 40 days until Easter. Of course, the mardi gras didn’t happen this year. There was no gathering in the village square with food, wine and Silly String, and, like last year, carnival time passed by in a mainly silent lockdown. For me, the weekend was a weekend at home with a walk in the morning while I wrote the next part of my next story. I tell myself the chapter, or part of it, as I wander the lanes, and then, once I am back, I try and remember it all. It was perfect in my head when I thought of it, of course, but once I start to write it down, it slips away like a dream after waking.

Still, what comes out is then generally good enough for a first draft, and once I’ve bashed out the 3,000 or 4,000 words, it gives me something to go on when I start on the next draft. That’s my routine before lunch. In the past, I’ve returned to the desk for a couple of hours in the afternoon, but I’ve not been in that habit this last six months or so. The sofa calls me, and there I tend to stay. With the weather now warming, that might change as it feels odd to be watching films where the sun is shining outside, and it’s still light until the early evening. But, like the other day, when it’s wet and thundery outside, the television becomes one’s best friend, especially if you’ve found an old film to watch…

So, to the week ahead. Well, the usual for us, I guess. Working at home, walking not too far away, attending to housework as and when, maybe some more baking for Neil, and another attempt at DIY for me as there’s always something to be done, and while that’s going on, we’re waiting to hear about vaccinations. I believe the 60 + group has or is being done, but I am not sure when us 50 + folk are to be called. I’m not worried, just happy to wait my turn. The weather for the week so far is forecast as cloudy, sunny, and sometimes wet, so a bit of everything, plus some high wind on one day, so that’s all pretty standard for the season.

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Friday Photos, Names and Trains

To end the week, here are a couple of photos I took yesterday while trekking all the way to the bin store about 20 yards away from the house. As you can see, the harbour remains empty, though there are rumours of opening the tourist season not long after Easter.

There are only a few photos today, and I notice that one of them shows some of my reference books. I took this because, while setting up an interview on my other blog, Jenine asked if I had read a book titled ‘The Railways, Nation, Network and people’ by Simon Bradley. You see, one of my Clearwater Mystery series has a scene set at Kings Cross station (in 1888), and she is arranging an interview with a historian of the London underground railway. As part of that, it was suggested she also speak to Simon Bradley, and lo and behold, I have his book. It’s very exciting (for me) to have such names attached to my blog, and handy that I use his book as a reference from time to time. My other great source of historical railways information is Andy, who runs the Symi travel blog. I’m always asking him things like, ‘London to Oban and back to Bodmin, January 1890?’ And he sends me the actual timetables and routes. Again, for me, that’s thrilling, and I owe him several dinners when the tourism season does start, and we can see friends again.

But I digress… Here are a few photos to launch you into the weekend. By the way, the toilet pan box has nothing to do with me, though someone has clearly fitted a new one somewhere., I am still at level one; sink waste pipes. There is a story about how I fitted a new WC pan when I had a flat in Dalston, London, and it does happy a happyish ending, but I will save that thrill for another day. Have a good weekend.

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