Spoiler: I have no idea where I am going with the following.
I can’t tell you what it’s like in the evening, but the village square yesterday afternoon was busier than I had seen it for a while, with both bars doing a reasonable afternoon trade. This is the time of day (between three and six) when the various clans who visit Symi are either staying or going. Those who are staying are often at the beach, or just leaving the beach to find their water taxi back to the harbour or Pedi, or are taking a gradual walk up from the beach to the village, heading home to refresh, change and prepare for an evening out. For those who are going, having been here for the day or part of it, they have to return to their boat to ensure they get back to Rhodes. For these reasons, the afternoon in the village can be a quiet affair, and when people decide not to attend the beach but want to sit and watch the world go by, this is the time to do it.

Currently, there are plenty of regular visitors here, whom we know and like to meet up with, and there was a jolly atmosphere at that bar in the afternoon.

Mind you, there often is, and it is partly to do with Neil working there, and the fact that the bar he works at sits at the top of the Kali Strata on a junction which creates a crossroad for any breeze that might happen by.  I’ve heard a few dimwits say that the bar becomes ‘English’ during the afternoon, as though it was one of those places on the Spanish coast, ‘Too English,’ they say. ‘I came here for the real Greek way of life.’ (My dear! You came here for red tape, financial hardship, and long working hours at 40° plus? How brave.)

It’s quite simple. If you want to meet your friends, old and new, in a place where you feel better able to communicate, then go to a place where the staff and customers speak your language. That’s a rather pointless statement, seeing as how most/many/just about all tourists and local businesses employ someone who speaks English (and many other languages), and even if not, will do their best to understand what you want. I’m pleased to say, these days, there are no what you might call ‘obviously English’ bars, just as there are no obviously Scandinavian or German, French, Italian, etc. ones. There is nowhere on Symi that you can go to for a typical British Sunday lunch, or to drink in an ‘Irish’ pub, or gather to talk about hideously right-wing British politics. None of that sausage and chips and a pint of Watney’s places you might find on the Costa del Wherever, as seen in the TV show, ‘Benidorm.’ (Funny for the first couple of series and then pure naffness.)

As you sit with your glass of chilled white in any bar on Symi and partake in the ancient tradition of people watching, you will see much that is ‘traditional’, or as we like to think of it, much that is simply island life. Either side of the summer, you see the youngsters going to and from their after-school private school lessons with backpacks often heavier than they are. Young parents or grandparents collecting the little ones from nippio or pronippio (nursery/primary, or whatever it’s called now, probably ‘Stage one educational level year two’ or something that makes no sense to us older folk). Someone may stop by with a carrier bag and ask you to look after it until her husband comes past at four to collect it, and could you tell him the key is behind the stone? The taverna owner from next door might leave his premises to have ten minutes to himself before returning to his midnight-to-morning way of working, and ask you to keep an eye on the ovens while he’s away. (It’s happened to me, and I didn’t burn anything!) You just sit and watch the world go by, chat to anyone who might be open to chatting, watch the mopeds crossing the square, sometimes carrying livestock, or a family of three or four (no helmet now means risking a fine because we have helmet police on the island). Or you just meet up with holiday friends and talk about all and everything (and, very often, anyone who isn’t there). For those who feel intimidated by the Greek language (and who doesn’t?) then it’s good to have a place to go where you know you can talk with someone in your own language. Not only that, but someone who has been living on the island for nearly a quarter of a century, and working at that bar for the last 22 years (as we have between us), so you know you’re going to get ‘insider’ information about what it’s like to live here.
So, whatever place you choose to hang out and at whatever time, it’s up to you, and no-one is going to judge you for doing so. (Well, some always will, but that’s ignorance for you.)

Just as a final word of warning, the bother-in-law will be on the island this weekend. If you want a conversation about world football with European football as a speciality, and if you like to drink beer, then hunt out this man (right) for an erudite conversation about the offside rule.

Around here, there’s always something new going up or something old being done up. For the past year and a half (maybe more), we’ve had a little Tonka Toy dumper truck shifting rubble from A to C via B (B being just outside our window). This is to remove building rubble from a ruin lower down and away from the lane. To make things cheaper for the project, the developers built wooden and metal-rod ramps over several sets of steps leading to the property, and these are now dangerous to walk down, thanks to the metal supporting rods being an inch higher than the planks. The same arrangement also rattles whenever anyone drives a motorbike over these newly found shortcuts to their houses, because covering steps with ramps only leads to a deeper infiltration of mopeds into the so-far unreachable parts of the village. You never used to see parked bikes much further from the ‘main’ road than a few feet; as close to the driver’s destination as possible, but stopped by the first set of steps. Now, you can drive all the way into Ag Athanasios and beyond, and thanks to the ramps now near us, halfway down to Yialos below Lemonitisa, a place that was previously unreachable.

We’ve become used to the relentless chug and puff of the little digger/carrier thing, which carries about half a mule-load each time it growls up the slope, past the front door and to the patch of ground nearby where the rubble is dumped. Then, it comes back empty, trundles past the bedroom window and down again, and there’s a lull before the process starts again. I guess it’s cheaper that way than hiring the mules (I’ve only heard one braying this year and not seen any others), and I can only wonder how many more months or years this is going to go on for. We’ve got used to it, but I’m glad I’ve not paid an exorbitant amount to holiday nearby.

On the other side of the coin, this non-stop building work, for which all islands are now well known, I expect, leads to new ventures for some. Such as this new/old place:

I’ve not stayed there, of course, there’s no need. I don’t know who built it, but I assume it’s to do with the Village Hotel (or it’s been sold on to someone else) because it’s behind the hotel. Rather, it’s the old part of the hotel that’s not been in use for a while. It’s now done up and ready to receive visitors, which it probably already has. I had a quick look online, and it’s charging around €100 a night for a ‘budget double room’ right in the centre of the village, and the rooms look very nice too. I guess that’s not a bad price for a night in July.

When we arrived here to live and needed a place to stay for a few nights while we found a house (it was relatively easy in the greed-free days before Airbnb), we were quoted €30.00 per night, but that was nearly 25 years ago. I notice that during August, the price rises to roughly €130 a night. The price includes an ‘airport’ shuttle, but I think that’s Booking.com’s generic term. It would, of course, be a ferry shuttle. You can find all the details on that site and elsewhere.

This new place (new to me at least) is opposite another revamp: the Windmill Restaurant which is now open again and serving traditional Greek fare. I passed by in the morning, so the outside terrace was closed and left fallow, as it were, for the night/morning. Therefore, my photo doesn’t give any hint of the warm atmosphere it must have in the evening, but at least you know to check it out when you next come this way.

So, here we are with another day of truck trundling to ignore, and loads of more new accommodation for visitors to stay in. There are so many now, I seem to pass a new one every day. ‘Someone’s Symi Villa’, ‘Someone’s Symi House’, ‘Someone’s Symi-View-House Villa…’ Tiny one-beds or studios that used to be shops, a storeroom or granny’s flat downstairs, are now available for visitors to enjoy the latest in traditional island Ikea furniture and suchlike for city-centre prices… Sorry, don’t mean to be cynical, but this Airbnb bubble has got to burst at some point. I only hope people can recoup their outlay in time. I also hope ‘they’ get rid of the lethal ramps once the building work has finished nearby, but I doubt it. The new route to ten feet nearer to home has already become a popular racetrack for someone heading homewards at three in the morning…

To my mind, the temperature around now is just about right, and we’ve not (yet) seen any of the very high temps that other parts of Europe have been dealing with. It’s about right for this time of year; an average of 30° to 35° in the shade. At least, it is in the corner of the courtyard where we keep the thermometer. There are ups and downs to the warmer weather, and the downs can be uncomfortable and sometimes dangerous, but it’s always worth thinking of the ‘ups’ too.

For example: In the winter, the bed is made up with a duvet and two blankets. This means having to make the bed every day and do the weekly battle with the duvet cover. As spring comes, sob the blanket (1) comes off, then blanket (2), and finally, the duvet insides go, and we’re left with only the duvet cover to reset in the morning, and then, that too finally has to go. These days, there’s no such thing as making the bed every morning; you just sleep on it and get up off it, straighten the bottom sheet and on with the day. You’re also free to wander around the house wearing very little, though there’s always a shirt on standby in case someone comes to the door; we don’t want to scare anyone. I can slip into sandals rather than go through the arduous task of putting on socks and shoes when going out, and that saves a few minutes per day. Then, with all windows open, any breeze that’s available is a welcome guest. Better, we don’t have to put on the expensive hot water tank because the cold tank is on the roof in full sun, meaning the cold water now comes from the cold tap, warm or hot, and if we want cold to temper it down, we use the cold water in the hot water tank, which is inside and away from the sun. Then, on leaving the shower, you only need to stand in the breeze to dry off.
And so on.

Of course, on the downside, it can be very hot and, worse, clammy when it is humid. So, we’re currently on at least three litres of water a day, probably more. If I’m to count, I’d say I got through four litres yesterday, one of which I downed at the bar with my frappe, and a half litre of which I downed while on a short walk around the village in the morning. (Hence today’s photos.) You know the rules: hat, sun cream, water, sensible shoes, keep hydrated, eat regularly (for moisture intake as much as anything else), stay out of the sun, put factor 50 on the nose to stop it doing strange and colourful things, and generally be sensible.

But hotter means slightly cheaper, with no need for the hot tank or heating, but a need for the fans, on and off through the day, and on in the bedroom overnight. It’s also quicker when getting ready to go out: sandals, shorts and one of my two summer shirts (I have a third, but it’s for evenings out, because it’s slightly thicker than the daytime two.)

So, that’s where we are, and although things will get hotter, it should happen gradually. We’ve not had that sudden ‘turning up of the thermostat’ that has happened in previous years, where one day it’s 24° and the next, it’s over 34°, and currently, it’s all very manageable.

I’m not sure what the weather’s doing to our bougainvillea, or maybe that’s quite normal, but on a walk yesterday, I found only one other plant that was doing what ours is doing (drying flowers and sending them on the slightest breeze to every part of the house, inside and out.) The others were flourishing. Perhaps it’s because ours is in a pot, or old. It certainly had a difficult start in life when it was left for us outside a shop, and we didn’t know until two days later. Luckily, the shop was Jenine’s café, the Olive Tree, and she suspected we might be involved with the gift of an unwanted plant in her backyard, and it found its way to us on shaky but still living stalks. Anyway, there’s lots of purple and red to be found in the lanes at the moment if you’re wandering that way. And if you do, remember: hat, water, sensible shoes…

Yesterday was something of a triumph (eventually) because I managed to draw lines under things. I don’t mean I was one of those recalcitrants who go about scribbling on walls. I don’t think I’ve ever done that… Oh, apart from once when I drew an Intercity 125 (complete with train) on the wall of an underpass in Chippenham, but that was part of a project with young people, and we had been asked to do it by the council… I mean, I drew a line under the editing of the next book and sent the files off to my proofreader. Challenge one completed. Then, I had some ideas about the front cover and sent those off to my cover designer. Challenge two completed. The next one was to take the rest of the morning: cashing in the free tickets we won from Aegean Airways on January 1st. First, this:

[In a side quest, we walked down to Yialos at 5pm yesterday, making a rare late-afternoon appearance before taking a taxi back.]

I have to admit, I had a few frustrating starts and stops when I set out on this ticket-booking task, mainly because I could not get the special code accepted on the website. I read and reread the instructions on the letter, and one of them said if you have any problems, phone this number… A few days ago, when we started the process, we’d done just that, and the lady told us to follow the link in the email she would send. It came, and we followed, and it led to the booking process that would not accept the code. So, we thought again. Yesterday, I had another go, trying various options, and managed to have the code accepted during the first phase of the operation, but it failed later in the process, and I couldn’t understand why. In the end, I threw my phone phobia aside and called the help centre. A very helpful chap there talked me through the process as though I were an imbecile (for which I was very grateful), and off I went to have another go. To no avail, and I still couldn’t work out why. In the end, I dropped them a message via their Facebook Messenger, and Lo! There came unto the quester a very helpful reply by a human. (I had already encountered a few ‘bots’ along the journey, various AI-driven searches and so on, all to no useful avail.) Being written to by a real person was so refreshing, and so right that I was able to identify the problem within a few minutes, and Lo! (I hit a few Lo!s yesterday), there it was, code accepted all the way to the end of the process, massive discount applied, only the taxes to pay, and please use a credit card to do this… Which wasn’t accepted. Nor was the other one I tried, so back to square two, because I had already passed square one.

Another random pause:

I was only booking a ticket for Neil to go to Scotland and visit the littl’uns (on his own because we can’t afford for me to go swanning around the yUK for ten days), so I tried using his card and, for some reason, it worked. Hi! We have a ticket as promised, which, although isn’t completely free (you still have to pay airport taxes), is heavily reduced and has saved us over €600, so Happy New Year and thank you to Aegean Airlines! Who, it must be said, were completely helpful and charming throughout the process, and the problems encountered only came about because of a vague piece of wording in the letter. It transpired that I had to opt for the most costly of the three economy options, the FlexiPlus, to ensure that the passenger not only pays nothing for the flight, but also has free hold luggage, etc. The online system only told me in pop-up boxes what was wrong, ‘code not accepted’, not what to do to correct the error, ‘please select FlexiPlus’, but we got there in the end. Which means, all remaining well, he will get there in the end too.

I’m not sure what to do with my ‘free’ ticket as yet. If there is a sudden upturn in fortune, then I may still join the flights and do something in the yUK, though I am planning to go there early next year for Mother’s 90th birthday (my freebie runs out on December 31st, so I will have to travel with ‘ready’ money).

Anyway, you didn’t need to know any of that, but with little else to report locally, it will have to do for now.

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.