That was the quiet one that was. Weekend, I mean. It culminated, yesterday, in my finishing the last draft of the last book in my third Victorian mystery series. Only took four months. Except, while falling asleep last night, I thought of something I need to alter, and something else I need to add, but I can do that before I send it off to my proofreader later. But other than that, and the cover, and my final proofreading, and laying out the text, and commissioning one illustration, it’s all but finished. Almost. The question left behind is then, what next? But that’s for another day. [If you’re not sure what I am on about, take a look at this page on Amazon: The Delamere Files.]

Meanwhile, in the real world. We were taken out for an early dinner on Saturday (thank you Miss C), the weather has treated us well, and I have spent much time at home reading, pottering, and tinkering with the manuscript. The temp this morning at 05.00 was 28° in our courtyard, and that’s not as bad as it sounds, because it wasn’t too muggy. Still had a fan going all night by the bed, and I already have one on beside me at the desk, because the office is basically a concrete block, so sometimes it’s like working inside a convector heater, but hey ho! Not complaining.

My routine, these summer days, is like this: Up at around 05.00 because I like these quiet hours and it’s cooler, maybe call down to the Rainbow around 16.00 for a coffee or a tonic water, bed around 21.00, often earlier. I know, most folk on holiday are only just then going out for the night, but we’re not on holiday. Quite the opposite. I also prefer to work early so I can finish early, and that’s usually around 11.00. then, I can spend the afternoon reading, playing a puzzle game on my ever-slowing tablet, or catching up with an archaeology programme on YouTube. Somewhere in there will also be any other activity that has to be done, such as shopping, housework, and currently, trying to arrange the free tickets we won with Aegean Airways on New Year’s Day. This is a short story that is becoming increasingly longer, as there is no such thing as ‘free’ anymore. It’s not the free tickets where we only have to pay airport tax, but the cost of being somewhere else. While Neil visits his family in Scotland for a few days, I’d love to go exploring around the highlands or further afield, but the cheapest accommodation I can find anywhere suitable at the time of year (November), starts at around £100 per night. That’s probably ‘normal’ to many, but not to someone who is lucky to make that amount in a fortnight. Travel is basically out of my budget at the moment, even with free flights. ‘Yes, but think of what you will be saving.’ Er, no, Maureen, because I won’t be saving, I will be spending. ‘But you haven’t had to pay for the air fare.’ No, but I wouldn’t be taking the trip if it weren’t for winning free tickets. They are set to cost me over £1,500 in everything else if I use them, and I simply don’t have it. Therefore, the priority is for Neil to go and, as he will stay with various offspring and their varied offspring, it’s not going to cost him much at all. Anyway…

That’s a lot of ramble for a Monday morning. My head must be clear of Victorian villains, incredible contraptions, and twists and turns, allowing other thoughts to bubble to the murky surface. Ah well, I’ll probably have nothing to witter about tomorrow if I don’t stop and get on with my day, and whatever it holds in store.

Continuing the ‘what to read theme’, I browsed my shelves yesterday searching for my next read, and decided I’d have a go at all those other H H Munro stories. You know, Saki, as he was also known. I’d read the Clovis short stories before, but not the others. Not all the others. I didn’t know there were so many, nor did I know he’d written a few ‘plays’, which are more like revue scenes. I’d bought the book ages ago, but as it’s so thick, never got around to starting it. Yesterday, I managed one of the plays and a few of the Reginald short stories. The trouble is, after a few of them (and they are very short), you end up with the same nasal voice in your head. That is, I heard the same slightly pompous and self-absorbed voice of the characters he’s satirising, and it became annoying after a while. The stories poke fun at various aspects of Edwardian society, and that’s amusing to read, but not after a while when the character you love to hate takes over the narration. It all becomes too much after a while, so I can’t read a whole book of the stuff straight through, not when there are so many shorts. I shall come back to it in parts now and then. Otherwise, it’s like eating too many treats in one sitting.

So, after half an hour of Saki, I started on Oliver Twist instead. Well, why not? It’s almost as satirical.

As I ramble, here is a shot of this morning’s sunrise over Symi bay at around 05.15.

The weather here has been just right, unlike other parts of Europe, which are suffering from record temperatures. Our courtyard shade has been reaching 35° to around 37°, and there has, off an on, been a breeze which helps. At times, when the breeze drops, the humidity shoots up and the house becomes clammy, but one of Mr Chan’s famous power fans puts paid to that. On setting one, it’s like a wind tunnel, and I could test my aerodynamics in the sitting room. Put it on setting three, the most powerful, and ‘It’s a Twister, Aunt Em.’ Overnight, we have on a smaller fan that came from Skroutz and was recommended by Harry a couple of years ago. This is very quiet, even on number three, and does the job ‘Just perfect, Guvnor.’ Except, what H didn’t tell me until it was too late was that it is best run from a phone app. If you wanted to change the speed during the night, you risk waking the neighbourhood with its electronic alarm that sounds like the claxon from a frigate leaving port every time you change speed — unless you use the app, in which case you can do it silently. That would involve getting out of bed, fumbling for the phone in another room, setting the thing and trying to get back to sleep. Hardly handy. It stays on whatever setting it’s on until both of us are awake, and then we set the chickens off with the electronic screech, and all is well.

Anyway… We’re currently experiencing very pleasant weather in which to sit on the balcony and fulfil my at least one-hour a day reading challenge (hardly a challenge), or to sit at the desk and complete my five-hour daily writing challenge. It’s now 5.40 and soon, the desk fan will be on, and the window will be open once the mosquitoes have commuted homewards after their night of bloodletting, and I shall trundle on into the weekend with a visit to the Rainbow bar for later as we have returning friends to greet. There, the fans are up for when it starts to get really warm, and the turtle doves and sparrows are bold enough to almost come to your table for leftover mezethes (crisps).

As for the rest of the weekend, I shall be returning to a workhouse in an unnamed town in England, and thence, to London, to consider meself – well read.

I have no idea what to ramble about this morning, as I did very little yesterday. I had one of those stay-at-home days, and I have to say, it was very relaxing. Just pottering around, doing some last editing on an MS, wandering to the balcony now and then to look at the view, then to the kettle for a cup of tea, and around the ‘grounds’ (the courtyard) to check on the plants and water them. A wash load, some reading, later, after lunch, more reading and an archaeology programme on TV, then a quiet evening in. What those tourist itineraries call ‘A day at leisure’ as if the rest of your organised trip was work.

I finished reading a book comparing the work of contemporaries, Sondheim and Lloyd-Webber. Like just about every other book in the house, I’ve read it before some time ago, but it was better the second time around. It only goes up to the year 2000, but still a fascinating read for anyone interested in musical theatre. What’s next? We have loads of books in the house, including holiday reading paperbacks bequeathed by people who insist, ‘No, you must read it. Honestly, you must. You will love it.’ Which usually means, ‘I loved it and therefore so must everyone else.’ I’m immediately put off by the enthusiasm of the recommender, and I don’t very often read novels. I know ‘they’ say you should, so you get ideas and a flavour for other styles and so on, but I have found very few modern ones that I like. That’s why I write what I would like to read.

I write to entertain, not to identify the ‘human condition’ because I still don’t know what that means, and I don’t read so I can crow, ‘Oh, I read The Gulag Archipelago last night. You must read it…’ I read either for education (history books, biographies, Haynes manuals about Tower Bridge, and other research), or purely for entertainment. The trouble is, I’ve read just about everything on my shelves from The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (1930s illustrated copy; lovely), to Dracula (I have five different copies, including a limited-edition anniversary reprint), and from Koven’s study of 19th century Slumming to the History of the London Horse Cab.

There is one book on this shelf that I’ve not returned to, the Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, by Poe. And that’s only because I have never managed to read the first sentence without passing out from lack of breath; I think it’s at least two pages long.

So, as you lie on your sunbed down in Pedi (hence the photos), make sure you read something erudite and meaningful, like Take-a-Break, or the Reform Manifesto (always useful in case you need the loo and there’s no paper). No, what you must read – and promise me you will do this – what you must do is read whatever you want. Just read – as long as it’s more than your Facebook feed, just read.

As seems to happen more often these days, I start the day with one intention and immediately get swept off to something else. This, for example. I open up this website and find that yesterday’s post isn’t showing, only the one from the day before. I refresh the page (Ctrl+F5), which should bring up a post titled ‘Vehicular Ramble’, but things stay the same. I asked my handy chatbot thing on my host dashboard about this yesterday, and it told me all was well and I needed to do XYZ, which I did, and again, ‘all is well’, only it isn’t. So, I start today with one thing in mind, and then have to go off on this tangent to try and put things right.

Which I may have done now having de-optimised this and unplugged that, and ‘he said and she said, and who brought the subject up first?’

So…

I ventured into Yialos yesterday, heading down the steps while Mr Blackfoot took the bus. I scooted around the back to ACS to collect a package or two, bumped into Jenine, caught up on godson news, had chats with various other people I’ve not seen for weeks, and had a Vap Lemon at Pacho’s. When here on holiday last century, Fanta Lemon was my thing because it tasted different in the sun than it did in the gloom of East London. I haven’t had one for years, but I ended up with a different brand that was, perhaps, even better. Then, to lunch as a treat, and we were treated to a lunch at Merakles, which is always a treat, even when you have to treat yourself. Then, back up the hill in a taxi, which meant driving through the onslaught of day trippers wandering blithely along and in the road…

Here’s a thing. On the way along the quayside yesterday, the police car was coming in the opposite direction, and this numbskull tourist still thought the road was for him and not vehicles, and although the police car was crawling (not curb crawling you understand) so as not to hit anyone, and although it didn’t have its lights and siren on, it was still a pretty obvious bug white thing coming towards him, and this idiot was walking towards it, in the middle of the road, and then wonders why, when he didn’t get out of the way, he nearly got run over. He even appealed to the car as if to say, ‘What you playing at, man?’ when he was entirely in the wrong… I mean… Honestly. (He’ll end up as a character in a book before long.)

As it turned out later, the cops were after people driving motorbikes without wearing a helmet. They’ve caught a fair few of late, and rightly so. They do, though, need to have a word with our top dignitary, who, like a tourist, blithely uses the road for all to see, without wearing a crash helmet when on his moped. Now, what kind of example is that to show the young and the daring who, now and then, end up in a bed for life because they weren’t wearing a helmet? Uh-huh.

But that’s another story.

As is the one about the three large red day trip speed boat things that come in daily. Not only are there now three, but they also stop off at St George for a swim (passengers, not boats), and are, apparently and naughtily, encroaching further inshore, thereby ruining the tranquillity of one of our most unspoilt bays. It’s the summer, you see? The best chance of anyone making the money they need to survive happens in the summer, but to the detriment of what brings people here to spend their money? It’s a balancing act, I guess, but one which I see more and more out of control each year.

Anyway, that’s my rather negative first thing thought for today. Now, at least, I am off to do my final final read of my final draft before proofreading, finally.

Thanks to everyone who sent himself their best wishes. He’s now got the rather medieval name of Neil Blackfoot, though he is again mobile and almost back to being as normal as whatever normal is.

As for today… I need to pop down to town and pick up a delivery from Skroutz, and that seems like the perfect opportunity for a quick lunch somewhere. We may go down by bus, which will probably be a first for me. At least, I can’t remember the last time I took the bus down rather than walk down the steps, so if we do, that will be an adventure in itself. I expect there are still many who remember the old Symi bus, the green transit van which was, for some of its afterlife, parked up by the side of a road (can’t remember where, and I expect there was an earlier version I don’t know about). We’ve had various coloured and sized buses over the years, and as you get older, you rely on them more and more. At this time of year, it does an amazing job running every hour from morning to night with only one hour off; same route, same time, with an excursion up to Leoni for Sevasti Studios and others if you ask nicely. I can’t tell you the times, but there is a timetable at the bus station.

The ‘bus station’ isn’t one of those municipal concrete buildings where the dodgy and bewildered hang around outside the public toilets, but a charming little place near where the Sebeco ties up, now complete with shelter and benches, and with a kiosk nearby. You can also take other buses from there to Panormitis and across the island, and there are now more minibuses on the island than there are mules, I reckon. Several businesses are now running tours and journeys, as well as renting cars and scooters, four-wheeled farm vehicles and electric whatnots. Soon, there will be no more room for any more road vehicles, and we’ll have to have hover-vehicles that fly above the road so they can avoid the congestion. Can you imagine? Driverless, flying taxis and rent-a-hovers getting lost all over the place, ‘dial-a-ride’ Uber hover cycles flying overhead and trying to find a parking spot in the last existing piece of free road on the island. ‘You’re late!’ ‘I know, I had to park at Marathunda and walk back.’

Of course, things will be worse in August when the entitled Scorpioni come to stay in their once-a-year three-bed houses locals can only dream of living in. They’ll bring their latest petrol, diesel, gas, electric, banana skin, whatever-fuelled vehicles and complain that there is nowhere for them to park, and how dare that happen on ‘their’ island? Makes one shudder at where it’s all going and where it will all end up.

Meanwhile, I’ll use Shank’s pony until Shanks won’t have any more of it, and then I will rely on the good old, stalwart Symi bus in whatever manifestation. And, of course, the taxi drivers where we’ve always had a great service and a good old chat about the weather, the roads, and the families as we’re whisked to altitude in style. Today, Blackfoot and I will see which to use after we have had lunch ‘down town,’ as it usually depends on the time. Is it cheaper to wait for the €2.50 bus and have a €4.00 drink while waiting, or spend €6.00 on a taxi to the village? Walking up at one or two in the afternoon in summer is not an option for me these days, it’s a risk. Have a great day, and remember, if you’re driving, don’t forget to take the car.