Yesterday, after some morning rain, the skies cleared and the sun was back; the temperature outside crept back up to the low 20s, though remains stubbornly lower than that in the house, and in my ‘office’, first thing in the morning in particular. Because of the rain, I’ve had my shutters closed, so when I get to work, usually around 03.30 when it’s dark, I still think it’s nighttime when I emerge for a leg-stretch and tea-refresh a few hours later, only to realise it’s light. Keeping the shutters closed helps keep the cold out, and walking back into the real world takes me from the past (I’m currently in 1904) and back into the present.

Because Neil’s off to visit the grandchildren in a couple of weeks, and because he’ll be in Scotland, some additional and new clothing was called for, and that meant, for reasons of low finance and lower expectations, we popped into Mr Chan’s Emporium of Affordable Delights. This is housed in the building that was once the village social (and, apparently, gambling) club, later a taverna with a good reputation for its chicken with prunes and a back terrace with a view of the telegraph poles all the way to Pedi, and which now sits above the private paediatrician’s surgery. Where we once attended a WI dinner dance and fundraiser, is now full of racks of entertaining clothing in Asian sizes and a cornucopia of plastic items, some of which are of use. At first, I thought there was a sale on because there were four customers in the cavernous shop and the proprietor was bouncing from one to the other like a pinball, enthusing about anything that caught the eye, holding up alternatives and shaking his head when one took a garment from the rail to hold it up for inspection. He has a wonderful eye for one’s honest clothing size, so when you do that thing of saying to yourself, ‘I’ll slim into it,’ he, in a language known to nearly 18% of the world’s population, but to none in the village, tells you by use of ancient Hokkien sign language that you need this size, and he is always right. While I considered a jumper in XXXL size (medium in European sizes), Neil was after a waterproof, and as Mr Chan is also a predictor of weather, there were several loaded racks of them to choose from.

That’s another thing about living in Greece, as it must be in other countries. There’s this tendency for shop assistants to follow you around and offer advice. This is partly to make sure you find what you want and to be on hand if needed, partly to try and sell you something, and hardly at all to make sure you don’t run off with a piece of moulded plastic worth €1,49. Some shop assistants and owners have the persistence of a fly, and others (like me when I worked in a shop in Yialos where I was instructed to stick to browsers like a pop-up advert), stay back and are too polite to interrupt your browsing. We discovered last evening that the proprietor in question not only speaks ancient Wenzhounese but also understands directions given firmly in Anglo Saxon.
The upshot was, a new and rather stylish (for here) waterproof came with us to our next stop, the bar. This one jacket, though, cost more than the top, jeans and joggers Neil bought a few days go. The total then was €32.00 for all three, and yesterday’s bill, €34.00 for one. ‘Never knowingly undersold’ indeed. The price wasn’t an issue, because he used his tip money from the summer season, and still has a 20c coin left over; unlike the godson who worked at a restaurant and once gained over €70 in tips in one night, barkeeps are awarded less from their customers, but every cent counts these days.

After that, we spent a couple of hours in the bar with two friends, and two televisions showing news, game shows and a variety of alarming advertisements, before heading home along the lane where two out of three streetlights were out, probably due to the recent rain. And here we are, now at 04.18 and the writing day starts again. Back on Monday, but if you’re one of my beloved readers, my author blog will be up on my other blog site tomorrow. Have fun!











