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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Spring Shots

After all the plumbing news excitement yesterday, I thought we’d calm things down a little with some general photos of the island. Neil took these recently, and they give you an idea of what spring can be like on Symi. This year has been unusually calm and warm so far. We’re usually battening hatches, rain-proofing rooves and staying home more. Apart from a few cold snaps, it’s been glorious weather, and I’ve only once had to wear fingerless gloves to work. I think I’ve only worn my jacket twice since last April, and I’ve not had a chance to wear my posh overcoat or leather jacket because a) the weather’s been so good, and b) there’s been nowhere open to wear them to. Ah well, not complaining. Here are your photos.

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Plumbing Challenge part two

You know that scene in Cast Away, where Tom Hanks finally manages to light a fire? He’s beating his chest and doing the victory dance, it’s all very tribal and a little cringeworthy? Well, that was me yesterday morning, and my rite of passage involved the same torture, but without the plane crash and bad tooth. I would illustrate today’s chat with photos of my plumbing, but no-one likes to see the underside of someone else’s scabby sink, so I thought we’d have some random Symi shots instead, just to break up the tension.

So, after doing my morning work routine and trying to write a chapter that just wasn’t coming for a reason I couldn’t understand, I took the bull by the horns, collected my trusty adjustable spanner and headed to the bathroom. Bucket at the ready, I removed the waste pipe from the sink with ease because it had never been sealed into the wall, and emptied the pipe into the bucket. Thinking it was just clogged, I found a cane from one of the courtyard plants and an old toothbrush that I knew would come in handy one day and joined the two with some cure-all gaffer tape. I was now armed with ‘the spear of cleaning’, the kind of thing you win at level three of ‘Scrolls’ or other fantasy role-playing video game.

A few scrapes and dig-abouts later, and it was clear the pipe wasn’t blocked by gunk at the parts I could reach, and so I tried bending it a bit to free things up. It was one of those concertina pipes which allow you to do that; I wasn’t bending iron or copper. However, I was bending old plastic, and it broke into pieces, so that pipe was now unusable, and it wasn’t blocked anyway. Taking my screwdriver (I have three!), I unscrewed the plug guard in the sink to reveal the after-effects of X years’ worth of who knows what and used my spear of cleaning to clean up what lay beneath. That was where the blockage had occurred, but now the water was free to flow… directly onto the floor. ‘Okay,’ I thought, ‘I need a new pipe.’

But… How to remove the old pipe from the sink? It seemed attached to the ceramic by some invisible force, and the plastic end of the bendy tube wouldn’t come free. Neil had a go, and hey presto! The whole contraption came away, leaving a pristine ceramic bowl with no discernible way of attaching a new pipe. A quick call to big-sis Jenine up the hill and she explained to a dumbfounded fledgeling that what lies beneath is held in place by what happens above, and everything made sense. Armed thus with knowledge gifted from the high priestess (it’s a ‘writer’s journey’ stage in the classic Hero’s Journey structure of storytelling and comes in the third act), I set off to B&Q.

That’s is what I lovingly call Nellie’s Hardware Store up here in the village, the nearest place to me for DIY bits. I took the old contraption pieces with me so I could compare, but Nellie knew exactly what I wanted and found exactly the right thing. She even told me how to attach it. I also wanted a cap for the dripping washing machine inlet, and she gave me something which appeared to be the right size, telling me to try it before I bought it and bring it back if it didn’t fit. (It doesn’t by about 2mm, which is annoying, so I’m off there later to see if there’s a replacement.) Back home, I did a dry run putting the contraption together to make sure it fitted. My non-existent gymnastic skills came in handy as I contorted myself into all manner of positions to fit into the six-inch gap between pedestal and wall. Pipe fitted, U-bended, and plugged into the wall, and all was well. Except it wasn’t because it leaked at the top. I took it apart, shaved off some excess plastic with my modelling tools, and fitted it again, but still, the pipe was wobbly where it shouldn’t be, and another internal operation revealed it needed a washer… Found the old one, a bit manky but still intact and attached that… Still a drip, though less than before… Found my handy ‘fix everything’ mastic, bunged some of that around the washer and screwed the contraception together through the plug hole… Held my breath… Turned on the tap and… Bob’s your uncle, Fanny’s your aunt, and everyone’s as happy as a pig in sh… It worked! Thus, followed the victory dance with the unneeded adjustable spanner in hand, and all is right with the bathroom world (apart from the dripping washing machine tap, which can wait for the sequel). It will take me a while before I stop checking under the sink every time I run the tap, but I will learn to accept my new-found skill in time, and meanwhile, the water drains away so well I could stand and watch it for hours.

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