Something of a windy day yesterday. The open shutters battling against the rocks that hold them open, kitchen windows, even when closed, rattling unless a stone pestle and mortar is pushed up against them and even then, not always successful. A variety of foliage blowing in from the Windy City; dead vine leaves scuttling across the floor, bougainvillea flowers, unspecified pieces of someone else’s garden, even the odd plastic big bag coming in over the wall. V-shaped twigs from the tree next door. In the shape of divining rods, they cling to the broom bristles, and fox the vacuum cleaner, and appear in tedious abundance all year round, it seems.

Below in the bay, white tops to the waves, the sea a dark blue, as it often is when windy, but day boats coming in, the Stavros arriving at the clock tower, presumably due to wind. Ferry announcements and horn blares being carried up on the gusts, which slam open windows without warning and manage to enter from the north and south at the same time.

Collard doves perched precariously on the electricity cables, fluffed up more than usual, fewer sparrows foraging in the courtyard, but plenty of bugs caught in the updraft, mosquitoes included.

Inside, there’s no need to put on the fan, not with the window open at the front and the door at the back, creating a wind tunnel that Airbus could test in. Television up in volume a little so it can be heard, roof tiles rattling now and then, the unused air con unit up on the tower vibrating, and the trundling truck, now into its second year, back and forth, dumping rocks into an ever-increasing pile, recently so high, I expected to see ‘Winnie’ buried up to her waste in it, and being direct by Samuel Beckett. Interestingly, that play is called ‘Happy Days’, and the days are happy, despite the wind. I am sure sailors were loving the challenge.

Ironically, as I was working in the afternoon, I had to have the window shut and the fan on, because the workhouse was too warm otherwise, and when I opened the window, everything else slammed, the lightbulb swung, and my map of London (1894) took flight from the music stand.

All this, and we were out to dinner at the Kali Strata so Sam could celebrate his 23rd birthday by cooking for us. Lovely.