Let’s start with some confusion:

Shenanigans. Although “shenanigan,” meaning trickery or mischief, is often attributed to the Irish Gaelic “sionnachuighim,” meaning “I play the fox,” others claim it derives from an American Indian word.

Or: Shenanigans. Earliest records of it are in California (San Francisco and Sacramento). Suggestions include Spanish chanada, a shortened form of charranada “trick, deceit;” or, less likely, German Schenigelei, peddler’s argot for “work, craft,” or the related German slang verb schinäglen.

Whatever, it’s the wrong word anyway because there was no trickery or deceit over the weekend. It started with us having the urge to scrub the bathroom walls. Having been away for only one week during this humid time, we returned to find the black mould had grown worse in places, and thought it was high time we did something about it. Here’s a handy tip: if you have a hob scraper for a ceramic hob, they’re also very good at scraping off limescale and dripped paint, as long as you’re scraping tiles, which are, after all, ceramic.

In the evening, we had dinner with the godboys which they cooked, followed by a game of cards with their mother that Neil won. (The cards, not the mother.) Saturday was a quieter, calmer day at home with me writing (of course) and Neil pottering around. I went for a short walk, I think, I can’t remember, and that reminds me that we’ve had some interesting coloured skies of late.

On Sunday, after more writing and so on, we popped out to the Rainbow to say hello to Yiannis who offered us an omelette, but we had a sandwich planned for later, and we sat there watching the news while listening to the radio, and planning a dinner party. One of those evenings.

And that leaves us free to wander into this week and see what will happen. There’s a shipping ban at the moment following bad weather yesterday, but Neil’s aiming to get to Rhodes on Friday to sort out his wayward phone contract. I’ve got a couple of piano lessons to give and some model to build, a few chapters to write and blogs to do, but otherwise, nothing major is planned. So, as things stand, you can expect a week of no-news news.

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Here we are at the end of the week. Almost. The end of my blog week at any rate, and what a lovely week it’s been. Yesterday, after a very satisfactory hour at the piano with my more than satisfactory student, we sat and modelled for two hours; H building a Toyota Something-Flash and me wrestling with the delicate Cutty Sark. I managed to lose a wheel and another thing that goes somewhere in the bow simply by cutting the tiny pieces from the frames only to hear a ping and… Well, that was that. No amount of floor searching with torches and phones could reveal the whereabouts of these two pieces. All our search showed us was how much I need to clean the kitchen floor, which I will do once I have found my wheel and the other thing. If I ever do.

Still, it was a nice way to spend a couple of hours, talking about nothing, occasionally answering questions about colours, wheels and pipes, and whether that should be chrome or matt black, and me mumbling under my breath about having fat fingers and very small pieces of plastic to stick to the boat and not to myself.

I didn’t get out for a walk yesterday, because one can’t have too much fun in one go, but I’ll be going for a wander later today as long as it doesn’t rain. I need to set the next chapter in my head. The next chapter of the current book, not my life or anything; that’s already set. I’m halfway through a third novel in the new series, and because it’s been a bit novelus interruptus it’s been hard to get it back on track, but I’m getting there. I have a new detective searching for a missing (no spoilers) item, which takes him into the world of the West End and East End music halls of the late 19th century, and he’s just about to meet a very famous artiste who originally shared a name with a much loved, but much later, English comedienne. Without giving away the name, I’ll just say, ‘Is it on the trolley?’ You either know it or you don’t.

If you don’t, then I’ll tell you. Marie Lloyd was originally called Matilda Alice Victoria Wood, born in 1870 in Hoxton, not far from where I used to live, and who was a stage star by the age of 15/16 when she called herself Bella Delmere. Her first appearance outside of Hoxton was at the Collins Music Hall in Islington. So, there are a few coincidences to ponder there, one being the name of the series I am writing, ‘The Delamere Files’ and her first stage naming being Delmere, something I only discovered once I’d started writing the book.

None of which has anything to do with Symi, but there you are. Early morning thoughts after a not-so-good sleep, and with another day to look forward to because this afternoon/evening, our godsons are cooking us dinner, and that’s always something to look forward to.

For parish notices, I’ve heard that the weekend boat schedule might be up the waterspout again because of the weather. From the front window I can tell you the new road and water treatment plant plot of land is being worked on, and from my walk the other day, I can tell you the council men have started taking down the Christmas lights from the trees that lean across the village square. That’s about as local as my local news gets, so I’ll wish you a good weekend and carry on pottering.

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I took a gentle stroll into the top part of the Pedi Valley yesterday, attracted by the greenery. What with the warm winter and recent rains, everything’s coming up roses. There were other plants growing too, and blossom on some trees already, and yes, there were some roses. ‘Everything’s Coming up Roses’ is a song from the Styne and Sondheim musical, Gypsy. Apparently, they were having trouble finding a title for the number, or an idea for it, when inspiration struck one of the team (I can’t remember the exact story, I read it in a book age ago). So, someone comes up to Sondheim and says, ‘We have a song: Everything’s coming up Roses.’ Sondheim replies, ‘Rose’s what?’

It may not have been him and it might be apocryphal, but it always makes me laugh, because I’m a bit touched like that. Meanwhile, back in the valley…

It was around 17 degrees yesterday and according to our new Chinese-shop garden thermometer we were in the red zone for humidity, which explains why the courtyard was soaking wet even though it hadn’t rained. Still, a lovely morning for taking a wander and admiring the green, and I’ll shut up now and leave you with some photos so you too can admire how green Symi looks right now.

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I have two parish notices this morning, and you’re probably aware of both by now. First of all, for those of us who lost the right to vote in our home country because of the 15-year rule, you can now register again and vote again. The full details are on this electoral commission page.

If you want more info, then the Gov.uk site has a page, ‘Register to Vote’ which tells you where to apply. Once I’ve got back to Brighton & Hove and put myself back on the list, I shall have a vote somewhere in the world for something meaningful. Since Brexit, I’ve only been able to vote of things like Cover of the Month competitions, and since leaving the yUK after 15 years, I’ve not been able to vote there. I can’t vote in Greek elections as I’m not Greek, nor in my local island elections or European ones because I’m an against-my-will non-European. And to all those who whinge, ‘Why should you be able to vote in the yUk when you call it the yUk and don’t live there…’ blah, blah, heard it before, the answer is, because I can, so I will. Also, some people have interests there like house, tax liabilities, finances, families, history, birthplaces, an inbuilt affection for the country, and living abroad gives you a less skewed perspective, because we’re not swayed by daytime TV and the brain-numbingness of UK news and newspapers.

Anyway… The second parish notice has to do with boat timetables for the summer.
There aren’t any.

I’ve noticed the winter/spring posts on various Facebook groups and pages where people say things like, ‘I’ve booked my flights for July but there are no boats! How can I get across to Symi? Will I have to stay in Rhodes?’ and so on. The current answer is: you won’t know the boat schedules until at least April, possibly later, and it will change around Easter time anyway, so there’s not a lot you can do. At best, you can assume/hope the timetables are the same this year as they were last year, but that’s not definite. So, book your holls, but don’t fuss about boats yet. There either will be or there won’t be boats to suit your arrival time, and if there isn’t one, yes, you have to stay in Rhodes or Kos overnight before travelling on.

Such is Symi life. Be grateful you’re not doing it in winter where it’s possible to visit Rhodes on a Monday for an appointment on Tuesday because there’s no Tuesday boat, and have to stay until Wednesday for the same reason, and then find the weather’s tuned and you can’t get back until Friday. We got stuck in Rhodes for six days back in 2013 after being in Romania for a week. Had we known there would be no boats for the second week, we would have stayed in Transylvania; far cheaper.

So that’s that, and I’m getting on with my day which will see the usual round of morning writing and walking, followed by a fun afternoon at the piano.

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We enjoyed a fabulously wet day yesterday, but luckily, the rain stayed outside – apart from the porch where the roof leaks although we can find no cracks for the rain to come through. One of those mysteries.

It was a case of staying inside for me, getting some typing done in the morning, and then looking forward to a piano lesson in the afternoon. Yesterday was the best I’d felt since New Year’s Day, and the lesson went so well I was buoyed by it, and even happier when my pupil said he’d like to stay and do some more modelling. This isn’t catwalk parade-type modelling, but building a Toyota in his case, and the Cutty Sark in my case.

So, after an hour of scales and new pieces, some discussion about practice, technique and how far he’s come (grade four in 4.5 years), we spent two hours at the kitchen table painting tiny parts, huffing now and then, letting loose the occasional expletive (because my Airfix doesn’t fix very well in places), and trying to work out Chinese instructions. While we were doing that, Neil pottered around the kitchen and threw a cake in the oven, and it was all very homely and perfect for a wet Monday afternoon.

I fancied a wild night out after that, so we popped down to Rainbow to watch the news on one TV while listening to the radio from the other. Yiannis has got into the habit of feeding us an omelette when we’re there in the evening, but we declined last night as we were coming home to eat, so he gave us four fresh eggs instead, straight out of a neighbour’s chickens. There’s no getting away from Greek hospitality.

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