I saw a lovely thing the other afternoon. I was crossing the empty village square; a cicada was doing its thing in one of the trees, there were no motorbikes to be heard, no noise from the bars, and no children playing football. A lady was sitting on the bench on the other side of the square wearing a long, light summer dress and a suitably wide-brimmed hat, and she was reading a book. Had I taken a photograph and zoomed in, the image could have been from the cover of a holiday romance novel, or the final shot of a romantic comedy film. The scene was peaceful and content, and reminded me of what being away from it all used to be about. Time alone, reading a book, in the shade.

It was a world away from what has become the holiday norm. Piling onto a beach, jealously scouring it for a sunbed, paying whatever price that beach is asking, and arranging all the bits and pieces. This means unpacking: the sun lotion, the change of clothes, the spare towel, puzzle book, headphones, phone, snacks, bottle of water, cooler box, plastic inflatables, swimming shoes, goggles, snorkel, first aid kit, anti-this and that cream, sunglasses, spare hat, Kindle, real book (just in case), and then, doing the same with the kids’ bags and adding more plastic inflatables, blow-up surfboards, comics, wet-wipes and a special bag of ‘things’ because you never know when the child will demand to play with that Captain America he’s not played with for five years, but just in case… And after all that (and this is the kicker for me), dragging the wood and plastic mattress sunbed out of the sun and into the shade. Might as well call it a shade bed. Oh, and then to move camp continually through the day to avoid the sun as it moves around.

Fancy that? No? A simple bench in a simple square with a decent book will do.

The sight also reminded me of people’s idea of being a writer living on a Greek island. In the past, I’ve come across other people’s views of this occupation, and it was always wildly different to reality. I think people imagine the author sitting beneath an olive tree on a hillside, with a notebook and a pen, drawing inspiration from the landscape, with the cicada’s chirping out of sight (distant goat bells are part of the underscore too), and everything being perfect with the world while hundreds of words pour forth in exactly the right order to produce another classic, soon to become a Netflix series. That’s the ideal world to which everyone aspires, right?

Hm. More like getting up at four in the morning to find some cooler hours, and some quiet time away from the worries of having not enough water but too many bills, the noise of bikes and other bothersome things, and spending six hours or more each day bashing out words, putting them in a reasonable order, paying to have them checked, set out into a book, and a cover designed, and then arranging for publication, while trying to promote those already out there without spending any money, because you haven’t got much, and then, when that’s done, starting the process again. All before lunch because after that, it’s too hot and stuffy in the house to concentrate.

Ah. Each to his own, of course, but for me, I think I will put on my wide-brimmed hat and spend the afternoon reading on a bench.

Happy first of the month to you! Let’s hope it’s a good one for all. Usually around now, I’d be writing something like, ‘The season is changing…’ or similar, but as far as the weather is concerned, it’s more or less the same as it has been for some weeks, so no change there. I’ve noticed a few more people out and about in the village during the siesta shift, around three to five (o’clock, not people), which is good to see. I was coming back from town yesterday and bumped into a family looking at their phones as they crossed the village square and trying to make sense of a map. ‘Looking for the church?’ I asked, because that’s what many wanderers come looking for. ‘No, just a scenic view.’

Well, you’ve come to the right place… I directed them around the S bend and along our lane. From the end, and on the way, you get great views looking down into the harbour. From the end of the lane, you get a good view of the hills behind Yialos, and around to the back of the village too, and you can drop down and view the church you see from below, though it’s rarely open. Hopefully, they enjoyed the walk, though it’s not far at all. ‘Can we see anything else from there?’ they asked. I told them that, if they had enough time, they could get lost. In the village lanes, I mean, among the ruins that have not yet been made into glossy holiday homes or Airbnb lets. I wonder if they are still trying to find their way out?

This was the time of year we used to come on holiday, the time covering anniversaries and a birthday, and I’m pleased to say, many of the people we met regularly back then still turn up around this time too. There are fewer of them these days, but September is usually the month for familiar faces and friends, particularly those who come to the Rainbow, where one of us has been working for the last 22 years now. Twenty-two years? Good heavens.

It’s calm at last. No dead leaves scurrying around the courtyard and skating their way into the house, nothing rattling or knocking, no doors slamming or shutters banging. After three days of high winds, it sounds like Monday has started on a much calmer note. Some of the ferries and other boats didn’t run on Saturday, and although the air wasn’t so humid, the dust was blowing around somewhat. Today, though, it’s near silent outside, and I can’t even detect a breeze.

The harbour was becoming busy when we were down there on Friday to collect deliveries and look for gifts for when Neil visits the grandchildren. There’s a wide range of souvenirs on offer all around the harbour, and these are fine for holidaymakers, but not all are suitable for children whose ages range from five to sixteen. None are yet old enough for the innumerable versions of Priapus who seems to have attached himself to every bottle opener and fridge magnet in the Aegean, nor for the naughty playing cards which remind me of Amsterdam in the 1990s. As for what Aphrodite gets up to in ashtrays and on coasters, well, probably not the right image for our lot. I’m not sure the 16-year-old would appreciate a Symi tea towel either, and I’m not paying €40.00 for a bottle of gin just because it has Symi on the label. Fancy oil is also out due to travelling, and so is anything else involving liquid, and freeze-packed olives probably wouldn’t go down well. T-shirts are an issue because of not knowing the exact size, too young for shawls and sarongs, and you can get a baseball cap anywhere. So…

Baclava to the rescue, and maybe some Greek chocolate nearer the time. There are some tasteful keyrings in the bag ready to go too, so all is not yet lost, and the hunt will continue. I’m back down there again today, again for the dentist in my drive to keep everything up to date in the teeth department, and between now and then, I have work to do on my latest story. That should keep me happily busy during the rest of the week too, once I’ve swept up what’s been blown into the courtyard, and, by the looks, we’ll be having some calm and sunny days throughout the week.

Onwards!

Here’s some good news if you were thinking of making a winter trip to Symi or anywhere that Aegean Airways flies to. I had an email from they yesterday announcing their ‘up to 50% off all direct and connecting flights across our network between September 15th, 2026 – March 31st, 2027.’

I am planning a quick trip to the UK for an important birthday celebration in early March, so this is good timing for me. Depending on which day I go and return, I could now make the return trip for under €200. The dates I am considering mean that it would cost me a little more, but nowhere near as much as before this offer, so I intend to make the most of it and buy tickets before the offer ends on September 2nd.
You can discover more info at this link.

Of course, Symi to the UK over the winter period is not as simple as buying a flight and getting on it. There are no charter flights and fewer ferries across to Rhodes, so a ‘quick’ trip is never that quick. For example, yesterday, I looked at a flight that leaves Rhodes on a Thursday morning and arrives in Gatwick around midday. Perfect. Except, this means I must catch the Wednesday early-morning Blue Star and spend a day and a night in Rhodes, waking at half-three the next morning to be at the airport in time for the six o’clock take off. The first stage is to Athens, and the six a.m. flight is more like catching a bus than a plane and has always been an easy trip from a very quiet airport. You often walk across the tarmac to reach the plane, so there’s none of that bus journey of ten feet business. There are later take offs, but not many, and not always connecting to the onward flight from Athens to London.

On the way back, the journey entails a night at or near the UK airport, and some consideration of the flights. There is one around midday, which is good, but then a choice of a quick dash to change at Athens to arrive in Rhodes in the late afternoon, or a later onward flight that gets in around midnight. Either way, there’s no chance of catching a ferry, so another night in Rhodes is needed, followed by another day before the ferry back in the evening. As long as you’ve got the day right. In the winter it’s possible to have to wait up to three nights in Rhodes over a weekend, before being able to get to Symi.

Apart from anything else, this jiggery-pokery adds the cost of three more hotel nights to any trip, so build that into your budget, and then there is the issue of weather. Coming back from a trip to Transylvania in 2013, we were stuck in Rhodes for an extra four nights while the weather calmed enough to allow ferries to travel. Had we known, we’d have stayed in Romania where the accommodation was half the price. The potential for weather delays during a winter trip is a constant, so a week in Symi in March, for example, could end up being a day trip. Then again, it probably won’t, but you never know. Just something to think about.

So, I guess, 50% off suits me as the timing is right. That’s not always the case, though. The free tickets we won on an Aegean Airways New Year’s Day flight this year had to be used by the end of 2026, so that didn’t help me. To have used mine simply for the sake of it would have cost me an unplanned fortune at the other end, so although Neil used his (because he was planning a visit anyway), I gave mine to Jenine. Now, though, I can take my planned trip next year for 50% off. Aegean have been my favourite airline since my first trip with them 100 years ago.

Anyway, I’m not here as an Aegean rep or salesperson, I just thought with everything else naff going on in the world, you might not have heard of this offer, which could, I hope, help others save a little money. Have a fun weekend!

Three is a magic number, they say. Good things come in threes, as do bad things. You never want to take the third light, which apparently goes back to the Crimean War and the lighting of cigarettes. (One strike of a match to light a cigarette, and a sniper sees, keep it alight to light a second, and the sniper finds the range, use the match to light a third, and smoking kills.) One for the money, two for the show, three for… whatever it was. The Holy Trinity. Nursery rhymes — as used in my last mystery, ‘The Delamere Dilemma’ — three blind mice, little pigs, King Cole and his fiddlers, and so on. There are many other examples of why three is part of our collective consciousness and has been since antiquity.

We’ve just had a ‘things come in threes’ of our own. They are to do with the ongoing adventures of living on Symi, and the ongoing adventure of a house with a broken sterna, so yes, it’s another water story. Our sterna was invaded by a fig tree years ago and has never been fixed. Instead, we have a plastic tank which was fine for the two of us until the downstairs cave was rented out to two people, and that tank of water didn’t last more than 24 hours. So, number one: install a larger tank. Tick.

Then, the water pump, which currently gets used by washing-mad tank sharers for hours on end, started to become very noisy because it was wearing out, so, yesterday, the plumber came and fixed us a new one. So, that’s number two. Tick.

About three hours later, the hot water tank burst. It’s pleasant to hear the first rain after the summer drought, but not when it’s the contents of your water tank being pumped into the hot tank and directly out again into the courtyard, bathroom and kitchen. I paddled up onto the flat roof to find water gushing and the pump screaming, and got into the storeroom above the kitchen where the tank sits, to find its end split open an inch. The tank wasn’t turned on at the time, so it didn’t overheat. I think it had just had enough. So, now we have enough water to see us through a weekend and a pump that shouldn’t break down, but we can’t get any hot water until there’s a new tank. My first job at a reasonable hour this morning is to send the landlord the bad news. He’s insisted we are not to spend any money on such things, bless him, but we are at the mercy of his ability to arrange a new tank, and we’ll have to wait and see how that goes. Luckily, my degree in social policy and housing studies and my grade eight piano came in useful, because I knew how to isolate the feed to the hot tank, which I shut off, so at least we still have cold water and no flood. Sometimes, all you can do is laugh.

While all that is going on, I will leave you with three of Neil’s recent sunrise photos. I’ll also leave you with a reminder that the Symi calendar for 2027 is now available, and you can find the link up at the top of this page. Or you can click here.