Early morning thoughts
(With moody sky photos from this year.) Yesterday, after an effective campaign from our mayor, the Hellenic navy brought a boat to take a large number of refugees from the island. Some of these people, I am told, had been waiting here for several weeks, and from video footage I’ve seen, were very happy to be moving on. I only hope they find safety and success, though I fear it will be a long time before they find an end to their travels and tribulation. I did see some comments on antisocial media along the lines of, ‘Notice how they all have mobile phones and money’, said is a derisory manner. To which I would reply, of course. I mean, when you can’t carry your furniture, possessions and livelihood with you in a plastic bag or a rucksack, what are the things that you need to survive? Money and communication. How do you find out what’s going on with those you’ve left behind, those who are relying on you to succeed and save them, without money or a phone? Mobiles are not that costly, they are totally portable, and these days they hold your life. Treasured photos, bank account access, verbal communication, world news, GPS, a way of calling for help… Of course you’re going to take a mobile phone with you, at any cost. I would.
Which brings me onto another subject that appears to be heading our way at any cost, the dreaded B-word. I bring this up now as I am preparing myself to read a ‘newspaper’ that someone left behind for me, ‘The Brexiteer.’ This was left for me in typical Brexshitter fashion, i.e. by passing it to someone to bass to me once the donator was off the island. I assume he didn’t want to risk an intellectual discussion about our opposing views, or a sensible debate. Or maybe he just wasn’t able to bring it 30 yards around the corner and hand it to Neil or me, knowing where we usually are at certain times of the day. Whatever, I assume it’s been left for me in the hopeful manner of a Jehovah’s Witness (no offence) leaving a copy of the Watchtower in my letterbox in the deluded assumption that one read and it will change my life forever. Who knows? It’s here, and I intend to at least try and see what’s in it. You can expect some comment soon. I just have to prepare myself a little like one does when about to have a tooth extraction without anaesthetic, or take a teenager to a rap concert. As they would say in Saddling, I will approach the task ‘like a ram going to its wethering.’
Which brings me on to the next topic of the day, The Saddling series and book four, the final instalment of what started out as a solo mystery and has ended up as a popular four-parter. Well, three so far, but four is now plotted, very roughly, and after posting this, I am getting straight back to it. After a break of several months, when I have been writing the Clearwater, Victorian mystery series, ‘The Needling’ has been on my mind but refusing to leave it. Yesterday, I went for a walk up to the monastery, as you saw from the photos, came home, sat at the computer and hammered out some ideas. I now have 4,000 words of plot and notes to go over again and improve, add to and edit before I can get started, and there are a few details from the earlier books I need to double-check first, but all being well, I shall start on chapter one in a day or so.
And those are my thoughts this Tuesday morning. I am writing this yesterday, as is my way. I woke at three to rain and clouds lit by lightning over Turkey and perhaps Rhodes. I looked at the harbour and thought it was a good job those refugees were to be taken off before the rain came in. Let’s hope those remaining, and others who will inevitably come this way, find shelter.
