We’ve enjoyed a quiet, calm, blue-sky, sunny kind of weekend, with the temperature in the sitting room on Saturday evening reaching a balmy 13° after having a heater on most of the day, and the office staying at 10° no matter what. Morning routine: Windows and door open for an hour or so while we go about starting the day – it blows the damp out of the house, and saves trying to heat the whole place to dry it out. Obviously, weather permitting, but it’s been lovely, if chilly.

A slight downside. The young soldier who lives downstairs has gone on leave, and we miss hearing him laughing and singing on his phone every night, but, unfortunately, he went away and left a tap dripping. This means the shared water pump on our bathroom roof is kicking in every 14 minutes. Yes, I timed it. It’s not using any water to speak off, because it only takes a couple of drips and the pressure falls, so the pump reacts, but it’s always the same sound at the same pitch. I can hear it from anywhere in the house, and it does it all day and night. So, I thought I’d do something about that…

For a long-story reason, our pump is plugged into a wall socket in the storeroom above the kitchen. This was a temporary measure put in place by our late landlord about seven years ago, and it works just fine. It also means, I can isolate the pump by unplugging it when not needed, but this means going outside, up a spiral staircase and up a huge step into the storeroom – each time. So, when this drip thing happens, we plug the pump into an extension cable which runs down to the bathroom, where we can unplug it when we don’t need it.

However, the door to the storeroom had swollen in the rain, so there was no way I was getting in there without a fight and some skullduggery… But I managed it, plugged in the new, controllable arrangement, and then couldn’t get the door shut again. Not without more banging with this and grumbling about that. Trying to move a snib 2 mm so the door will close is not as easy as it sounds, not when you only have one multi-purpose tool and no idea. Still, I got it to lock, and blissfully, I only hear the pump running when I know it is being used. The chap below will be back eventually and hopefully, he’ll give that naughty tap down here one last twist and shut it off. He’s moving out at the end of this month, by which time he will have just got the hang of it, only to be replaced by someone else, who may not.

Anyway, that’s how the week is starting here, and here’s what it looked like over the weekend.

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Before I forget. If odd things happen to this blog in the next couple of weeks, panic ye not! I will be moving the site to a new host, and this may go surprisingly smoothly… or not.

Even at this young age, I occasionally get up during the night for reasons of easement, and last night was no exception. During the day, I had drunk a fair few cups of tea, a fruit juice and over three litres of water, which is about normal for us, and no wine, which isn’t. Even though it is attached to the house, our bathroom at 04.00 hours in February, in the dark, is not the most hospitable place on the island. I can’t imagine what it’s like for those who still have an outside inconvenience. A Gazunder under the bed, I guess, and if you were wondering why ‘in the dark,’ it’s because I don’t turn the light on in case it wakes up the cat we no longer have. Old habits. The garderobe business seen to if not seen, it was back to bed to resist the temptation to get up and start work, and to try and sleep.

It was around that time, either before or after, that I became aware of an unusual sound beyond my earplugs. I started wearing them when the cat first became an alarm cat about 20 years ago, and now I can’t sleep without them. Last night, I heard what, at first, I thought was a small truck or a bike approaching on the lane, but it continued at the same pitch for a while, and I wondered if it was a boat. Now, it’s the early hours, I’m trying to sleep, and I’m thinking through boat timetables. When is the Stavros due? Has there been bad weather…? Maybe it’s a navy ship going in or out, or the wind’s changed direction and it’s the coast guard… In the end, I had to take the earplugs out, and I discovered it was a helicopter. Unusual, but not unheard of. The helipad is used for some civic, church and military arrivals, pilot training, and emergency evacuations. Mostly, though, it’s not in use at that time of night. Let’s hope it wasn’t an emergency.

[Edit. 06.35. As I publish, I hear the helicopter coming back…]

Still, I managed to get back to sleep, despite the chatter of the cockerels who debate the time of day on all night, and was up and about by six. So, here I am, doing my usual ‘direct from my waking thoughts to you’ slot on early morning scrolling, and heading into another cold but hopefully sunny winter day.

Here’s the bit you’ve all been waiting for: Yesterday, while I was pottering about in 1894, Neil was pottering about the village with his new phone, having a get-to-know-you session with its camera and taking photos for these pages. He came home with quite a crop, and I’ll show them to you when I am back next week. Here, though, is a small gallery to get us started.

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I have a couple of photos today that Neil took yesterday when he was in Yialos. As you can see, all was calm on the southeastern front. Cold, but calm. There’s a breeze from the north which is possibly to become a force five wind later, with the temperature being forecast as between 10° and a high of 14° over the weekend.

That’s the weather report done, and now… I was thinking about Temu, that online Chinese shopping experience that people either love or hate. I am waiting for a delivery from them, and the site tells me it is, as we speak, ‘being handed over by customs.’ Strange to think that this packet of bits and pieces is now among thousands of others working its way around a massive warehouse somewhere around Athens or Thessaloniki, and will, somehow, escape from there and find its way to a neoclassical building at the back of the town square, where the lovely folks at ACS will send me a message or call me to let me know it has arrived, as will an app. All this will be followed by 101 adverts all over my social media (and probably yours) because I have dared mention the name on line. These adverts will, invariably, be for the things I have just bought, or for items from any other online outlet that I might have browsed in the past ten minutes.

Some people are scared of Temu, some don’t know what it is, and others currently swear by it. There’s a great debate about how to pronounce the word, too. Is it ‘Temu’ as it would be in ‘tempo’? Or is it ‘Temu’ as it would be in ‘teamu’? I suppose one could refer to it as ‘T’mou’ and attempt to pass as French, or you could pronounce it with a deep southern twang, and say ‘Tay-mou,’ in which case everyone will assume you are Dolly Parton. However you say it, you can find some handy things on there. Things you never knew you needed, such as a Pop-Up Bubble/Transparent PVC Round Tent. We all need one of those for the courtyard this summer. Or even for when you next go camping. Suitable for exhibitionists and those wishing a home sauna in August.

I’m not knocking it. I am enjoying my self-warming, USB charged fingerless gloves (apart from the trailing wires), and the side-winding, retractable, thermal body belt. It’s not all plastic roses in the garden, though. The rain macs I ordered for our winter trip around Europe (think ‘As worn on The Maid of the Mist’) were as useful as rice paper condoms, and created for Chinese schoolchildren, not grown men packed out with layers of thermals from Guangzhou. On the other hand, the fabric sofa throw looks like it has come from Habitat, when, in fact, it came by camel train overland across the Hindu Kush (free delivery). It’s a bit hit and miss, but some stuff is good and affordable, while other stuff is Christmas stocking fodder, and who cares?

If I can find the thing I want on the island, via Skroutz or from somewhere else within Greece/Europe, I’ll buy that, but if not, then I’ll look for it here. Along the way, I’ll collect a random collection of things I could live without until I saw them. I am, for example, waiting for the delivery of one ten-hour ergonomic Memory Foam Office Chair Cushion, a home screwdriver set, Portable Oil Sprayer and Dispenser, 2-in-1 Olive Oil Sprayer and Pourer, an air fryer rack accessory, five pairs of socks, 8-Colour Liquid Chalk Markers, Fine Tip, Washable Window Chalkboard Glass Pens, and a pair of slippers. No sign of what I intend to buy, but they should arrive in a neoclassical building at the back of the square within the next wee,k or I get a €5.00 credit for when I am next bored and fancy a browse.

On which note, this ramble has woken me up, so I shall now get on with my day.

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A morning of cold, damp air awaits anyone else who is getting up right now. Judging by the ghostly wake left by a departing ship, the Blue Star has been and gone, and that explains the rush of mopeds that passed the house about five minutes before departure. Funny that, ain’t it? He asks, his mind already turning to characters in 1894, currently waiting for him to release them from where he left them suspended in the imagination. I mean, it’s funny how different people deal with vehicular departures.

There are those who, when flying, like to be at the airport at least two days before check-in just in case there is a problem (Neil), and those who roll up at boarding time, walk calmly through and on, and wonder what the fuss was about. There are those who, when taking a train, arrive at a station, identify the platform, check the time, locate the café, have a picnic, hold a conversation with everyone in the café, unpack three bags, repack three bags, buy onboard supplies, including another picnic, and then calculate exactly where to stand on the platform to be in the right place when the doors open, and there, wait for the next 40 minutes (Jenine). Then, there are those who arrive at the railway station, stop, look at a board, scan the area, walk to the platform, and two minutes later, board the train. (Harry.)

As for boats, well, living on an island, it’s vital to know when and where, and to be there so as not to miss. Yet there are some, like me, who know the boat won’t leave until the time on the ticket, so work back 30 minutes from departure and allow 20 minutes to walk down, therefore arriving with 10 to spare. Others play a game where you wait at home until the boat pulls in, and then you race down the road on your moped and drive straight on. I dare say there are yet more who think, ‘It won’t go without me’, only to find themselves stranded, but there you are.

A good ol’ morning observation of no consequence, and now, it’s onto my other blog, and then onto releasing the characters from wherever I have left them – it will have something to do with hansom cabs, steam trains and/or horses. Here’s another random gallery of Neil’s Symi photos.

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It’s a morning for the self-warming, USB-plug-in fingerless gloves that can become mittens. It’s a cold one this morning, with a slight breeze and a cold blue sky. No doubt it will be warm in the sun later, but for now, I’m straight from my bed to my desk, by way of the tea urn, and on with the gloves. They should start to warm my hands soon, and thus, my fingers. In the meantime, the wires and connections are clunking around beneath my wrists, and I’m typing more clumsily than usual with my random striking of keys, but otherwise, the page still looks like a red-underline mess.

I saw a sailing boat yesterday. I saw it while I was standing at my bower-eaves with a cup of tea, watching the long fields of barley and rye on either side of the river, and hoping to glimpse my own Lancelot skimming down to Camelot (read your Tennyson), and all the while, thinking it was a good day for sailing.

Maybe not so much of a good day for exploring shops and such like, as it was Clean Monday and much was closed during the day. (Apart from our water. Thank you, George!) Still, I hope they enjoyed the dry day, as we did. Today, it’s back to what constitutes normal around here, except today, I am doing it in a pair of clunky gloves that are wired into my laptop. I have a problem now, because I want to go and make another cup of tea, but I’ll have to keep the PC with me, and carry it around the house like a drip on a stand. Or I could unplug and dive straight back into chapter sixteen of the current story. I am sure my bold Sir Lancelot with his blazon’d baldrick slung will soon appear singing ‘Tirra lirra, tirra lirra’ and bearing a cup of tea. Then, the curse will be lifted from me, and the mirror will remain intact. (Sup.)

Which reminds me, my current work in progress uses superstitions as its background. The thing starts at a dinner of the Thirteen Club on 13th Jan 1894 in London, where they used to debunk superstitions by, for example, smashing mirrors and spilling salt. If you have any unusual superstitions, let me know, and I might be able to squeeze one or two into the story.

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