I know, I try to be too clever for my own good sometimes. I called this post ‘Not the Dave Clark Five’ because it’s full of bits and pieces. Only those of my age group (I believe we’re supposed to be called ‘boomers’ these days. It’s so hard to keep up) will stand any chance of understanding that. I’ll leave it with you. There’s always ChatGPT after all.

My dear sister’s over from the UK at the moment, and it’s her first major excursion since losing her hubby, so she’s trying to get some serious quiet reflection time as well as de-stressing to the extent possible. On Sunday evening we went down to the sea front for a delicious meal at L’Angolo. Can’t be bad can it? I mean we ordered two ‘small’ vegetarian pizzas (evidently a new usage of the word ‘small’ that I wasn’t previously aware of, since they’re still quite big as it happens), one of their legendary lettuce salads (which consists of both red and green shredded lettuce, spring onion, as well as flaked Graviera, croutons and a dressing of balsamic sauce. In fact it could easily be a meal itself for one, possibly two) and a bottle of Malamatina Retsina and a large bottle of water and the bill for three of us was around €25. A result in anyone’s book, I’d say.

What we hadn’t realised until it began happening, was that it was not only a full moon that evening, but a lunar eclipse too. What a spectacle it was. In case your grandmother isn’t sure how to go about sucking eggs, a lunar eclipse is when the earth passes between the sun and the moon, and thus the shadow of our planet passes in front of the moon, obscuring it from sight for a while. I thought that it might last a few minutes, but it actually took what seemed like hours. In fact, the first slither of the earth’s shadow began to encroach upon the moon’s disc at around 7.20pm, and the whole moon wasn’t visible again until about 10.00pm. In fact the moon was totally in darkness for what seemed like an age. I presume it’s something to do with the fact that the earth’s a lot bigger than the moon, because when we have a solar eclipse (that’s when the moon gets between the sun and the earth, of course, the mischievous little devil) it usually only lasts a few minutes.

Anyway, the fact was that it made for an amazing evening, during which we could witness the whole spectacle as we stuffed our faces at our spot near the water’s edge, magic. I hear that large parts of the UK were unable to see it owing to cloud cover, sorry about that peeps. We only had mobile phones with which to photograph it, and they have the tendency to adjust the light levels so that what you see in the photo isn’t actually what you witness as you snap it, but nevertheless here are the snaps we took, and the one at the top of this post was one of the batch too (although taken as we strolled the waterfront before sitting at the restaurant)…

I know it can be annoying when people show you their family snaps, but here’s one anyway of the three of us at our table at the L’Angolo…

Jane, my sister that is, wanted a stroll around the village, so we took one yesterday evening at around 6.00pm. It’s a good time to go, since any earlier and it’s simply too flippin’ hot, especially as from our house, to start the circuit we have to walk up a steep lane for around 50 metres or more. That section of the walk is seriously cardiovascular, believe me. Add to that temperatures in the lower thirties and the possibility of the sun being on your back for part of the time, and you have the premise for the song ‘Mad dogs and Englishmen…’ (you finish it).

So, we set out at around six to circumnavigate the village, during which we also took a detour into the heart of it too, because I wanted Jane to see the remains of the old flour mill that still sit silently testifying to a bygone age when the villagers were self sufficient in bread and olive oil. It’s amazing to think that we’re still self-sufficient today when it comes to water, since ours (as I’m sure I’ve banged on about before) comes from a freshwater spring way up near the crag that sits above the village, protecting much of it from the north winds during the winter months.

When we reached the furthest extremity of the village, where the road goes around another crag, creating a blind bend on the way up to Meseleri, a small white car came around the bend, and slowed to a stop beside us, passenger window going down all the time. It was Angla’i’a, former village mayor and still – in our eyes – the village ‘mama.’ I introduced her to Jane, at which she leaned across from her driving seat and warmly shook my sister’s hand, and welcomed her to the village. Jane didn’t understand a word of what she said, of course, but then, she didn’t need to, she understood from the way it was said exactly what Angla’i’a meant, I’m sure.

We walked back toward home following the main road through the village, passing the kafeneio and then the raised section where Manoli’s house is, then a little later on Angla’i’a and Georgo’s. Manolis was sitting on his beaten up old chair right outside his house, his walking frame almost touching his left shoulder. We took a detour to go over and talk to him, since Yvonne and I hadn’t seen him for several weeks. I’d explained to Jane about his mischievous ‘eye’ and told her about the time when the mobile breast-screening unit had set up camp in the village hall, and Manolis had offered to help out and was quite disappointed when the staff told him that his assistance wouldn’t be necessary. I shook his hand and he extended it too to my sister.

‘I’ve told Jane that you’re a nonegarian, Manoli, but how old are you now? I can’t remember exactly.”

“Ninety three,” he replied with a degree of pride, and rightly so.

“And how’s your health holding out?”

“Eh! six herniated discs, my legs are liable to give way now and then, I can’t see so well, but hey! I’m OK. I can still get over to the kafeneio, so what do I have to complain about?” He replied. I decided not to mention his teeth, which were few and far between and bore evidence of the fact that ne never darkened the door of a dentist, especially to get them whitened, as seems to be the big fad these days. “And I always have my newest best friend to keep me company,” he continued. Seeing my expression, giving away the fact that I didn’t know what or who he was referring to, he simply tapped the walking frame, that familiar little twinkle in his eye again. “Never more than half a metre away these days!” he said, and chuckled.

Just before striking up the steep hill to our house from the road, I took Jane down the single-track lane to the village church and graveyard. On our way down and back up, we had to pass Angla’i’a’s hubby Georgo’s allotment. Sure enough, as we came back up to the road, right opposite their house, as it happens, there they both were, Georgos busy tending to the irrigation system in his olive grove. He too is the wrong side of ninety, but he still gets over the road every day to tend to his chickens, his vegetables and his olive trees. More power to him.

“So, when’s it going to rain then?” I asked Angla’i’a.

Throwing her head back, she replied with a very Greek “Ach!” which, in English, meant “Only the gods know that one!” I remarked on how this time of the day the temperature is just perfect for a stroll, since it was hovering around the 22-25 mark. “Ach,” came the reply again, but this time meaning something completely different, “Krio’no!” She replied, which means, “I’m cold.” And to emphasis the fact, she rubbed each upper arm with the opposite hand.

A few more recent photos for you…

In that first gallery, does anyone know what butterfly that is sitting in one of our plant pots? I’m inclined to think it may be a Wood Nymph, but there are so many different types that I’m really not sure. And in that second batch, see the little green cricket/grasshopper, does anyone know if they’re a danger to our foliage? The hibiscus in which it’s sitting doesn’t seem to have been eaten, so I was loathe to disturb or do any harm to the little chap. He is rather handsome, I thought. The bench under the tree shot was taken at the village of Kalamafka, and the beach shots at Gra Ligia, where the beach is so gloriously under-crowded. I’d so rather be in Torremolinos …not.

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