Wednesday, December 9/2009

Wake not long after going to sleep it seems. Breakfast is a large, cold muffin which J declines. We fly in along the Thames, spotting the London Eye and other landmarks. Tube to Swiss Cottage. The lawns are bright green and not only the roses but even the fuschia are still blooming, as well as winter pansies and holly. No need for coats- light jackets are fine. We stash our things at the bedsit. They (the bedsits) are always an odd mixture of assets and non. On the pro side, there are plenty of pots, a microwave, and an iron (not that I intend to waste London time ironing), a clothes drying rack and (this is unprecedented) a toaster. And the place is very clean. But there's only one plate, no bowls, and one glass (though there are three mismatched cups).

So down to Sainsbury's to find something for dinner, and home with fresh fish, bread, tinned beans, cherry tomatoes, mushrooms, onions, clementines and peanut butter. But not the toilet paper, so we'll be heading back tomorrow. We'd thought of going out again in the evening as we're here for such a short time, but jetlag wins.

Tuesday, December 8/2009

Phone Janet to say goodbye and she offers to take us to the airport so we can have a brief visit. She and Dave are just back from Mexico - in time for the deep freeze.

We're not together on the plane - J has the window seat behind mine - because of the late booking. So I have the pleasure of sitting next to a man who sneezes -twice- into his hand and then is all over the touch screen in front of him. We haven't remembered the headphones for ours. They do sell them on domestic flights (and give them away on international ones) but I've lost my enthusiasm.

Four hours wait in Toronto. There's a storm coming in but we're off before it arrives. Was that really -34 on the airport weather screen as Regina's temperature tomorrow?

Dinner close to midnight. Fortunately we'd taken cheese and ham sandwiches with us to eat in Toronto because the dinner is horrible. Probably the worst we've had on Air Canada. Chicken with dried out pasta protruding from a bland tomato sauce. And a salad combining peas with diced fruit that I can't identify.

Monday, December 8/2009

Technically it is Monday morning, although it still feels like Sunday night as we take the truck in to catch the midnight express - well, VIA 1:16 - to Winnipeg. And we're lucky it's only to Winnipeg, as a derailed freight train is still smouldering on the Saskatchewan/Manitoba border and those going farther are dispatched to buses - a slow and uncomfortable way to reach Vancouver.

Portage and Main is not, according to Ian, the windiest spot in the city - honours go to Portage and Memorial - but it's still enough of a contender that, with a -20 Celsius temperature, we know why we're heading for the Mediterranean. But the house, and later the welcome, are warm.

Sunday, June 28/2009

Don and Patty have spent the night on the way up to their cabin for the season. The weather has been horrible - rainy and not warm - but it has given us a little longer to chat and to play with their new puppy, Maggi, as we wait for it to clear enough to take the ATV in to the cabin.

Advertisements on the BBC news home page look amazingly tailored to have been designed for a general audience. For example:

Winnipeg Downtown. Competent therapists a short walk from the office - help is close by.

This is the international version of the page, but it seems rather close to home. Do the same messages appear on the screens of viewers in South Africa of Finland? Even worse, have "they" been observing my viewing history and concluding that therapy is in order? But if that is the case, they have failed to note that I am retired and not at the office. Perhaps it is random after all.

Monday, June 22/2009

Dinner at Skip and Caryl's. Their son Kurt is up visiting for a few days' fishing so we get to visit with him as well. We eat on their porch facing the lake - and see a beaver swimming purposefully toward our house - where he has already felled a tree, damaging the roof of the pump house.

Saturday, June 21/2009

Awake early to watch qualifying for the British Grand Prix. This year, of course, the political juggling as the series threatens to split in two (so some sportscasters put it, though the reality is more like a hijacking than a split, as the majority of teams are threatening to leave, with some justification).

Stop in town at the drugstore to pick up some tinned salmon, on sale in this week's flyers. No, none left. And the sale was last week. I protest that I'm certain I saw them earlier this week. But it turns out that the fiscal cum flyer week begins on Saturday. So it's now next week. J is waiting outside in the car, chatting with friends. A young man joins the group and admires our car. The car, though, is only an excuse to begin conversation. What he really wants to tell us, his speech a little slurred, is that he has been learning the art of sell-leb-acy. Accent on the second syllable. Tough going, it seems, as he adds "but I still want a woman."

Friday, July 19/2009

We have a second free dump pass, so off with the half ton loaded with everything from the old kitchen stove from the rental (from which J has carefully removed everything of value from burners to fuses) to broken window glass and miscellaneous packing foam. It was all covered with a large blue tarp tied down tightly yesterday to protect it from rain, so today all we have to do is drive off - after stopping for coffee at Robin's with Caryl and Skip. The ten mile drive from town is usually not busy but there's fairly steady traffic today as the free passes end tomorrow. Strange smell in the truck - did some small animal die in the ventilation system? Ugly thought.

Dump, of course, is not what it's called as I've noted before. Nor tip, nor garbage disposal. It does appear in the town directory under waste management, fairly enough I suppose. The actual place itself being Hidden Lake Landfill Site. In the age of politically correct wording, it's become almost impossible to look up facilities. And sometimes there doesn't seem to be much actual change. Thus the term "retarded" has become so thoroughly offensive to many people that I haven't heard it in years. Yet literally all that it means is slow or delayed. As in the French "en retard." Which sounds a great deal like the currently acceptable "developmentally delayed." Both of them implying an optimistic assumption that the development will eventually occur. Then there's the replacement of disabled with "differently abled." That makes a fair point, perhaps, but at the cost of a fair bit of awkwardness.

But I digress. We reach the dump, and the expected queue is down to one small truck. There's a spectator gallery of gulls lining the peak of the roof of a storage garage, hoping, no doubt, for smellier and more interesting goods than one is allowed to bring here on the free pass. On the left is an enormous collection of blue and clear bags full of recycling. All the containers that we put out on alternate Wednesdays cheerfully assuming that they are being reprocessed for a guilt free existence. And some year this may happen. The centre mountain is "general," with a separate, slightly smaller white mountain of appliances. And spots for wood, used batteries, etc. The cathartic effect of disposing of a truckful of refuse somewhat diminished by seeing it added to the enormity of everyone else's grubby mattresses, dented fridges, broken bicycles and plastic toys.

June 8/2009

Funeral of M.E. today, and exactly what a small town funeral should be. Standing room only, which in Sacred Heart Church means well over 300 people. A wife, four children, seven grandchildren, and dozens of friends, relatives, and former colleagues. Interesting that a former conservation officer (read game warden) should be beloved of so many people. But then he wore many other hats - from volunteer fireman to credit union board member, and at the reception after the service the hats themselves with their various logos are on a table next to the photographs recording a lifetime.

Cremation had taken place before the memorial Mass, and the priest uses, more than once, the term cremains. The meaning is obvious enough, but the word itself unfamiliar. At home I check it on the internet and find, as well as the expected definition, the following:

Carbon copies: Pencils made from the carbon of human cremains. 240 pencils can be made from an average body of ash - a lifetime supply of pencils for those left behind.

It seems it's a bit more than waste not, want not. More of a memento, or even memento mori, with the name of the deceased stamped on each pencil.

May 23/2009

Drive to Kenora to visit with Susan and Ian. It's finally starting to look like spring, especially toward Lake of the Woods, where the trees are in bud. We're crossing the second bridge on Storm Bay Road when I spot what looks like swans and persuade J to stop. They're not swans, of course. They're pelicans. Nearly the size of swans, though with less neck and more bill, but almost as magnificent. Six of them sailing white against the dark blue water. In the afternoon the four of us go fishing, trolling through silent bays and listening to the white throated sparrows calling. We hear loons, but don't see them. We do see the beautiful pelicans again, taking off, landing, and sailing proudly by.

Wednesday, May 13/2009

Perhaps non-travel time should be a separate blog, but I can't be bothered, and, existentially, I'm not sure that the summers here are any less a part of our travels than the winters when we are on the move.

Right now it seems unlikely that we will ever see spring, let alone summer. The ice is, as of this week, gone from the lake. We had been hoping to take a load of general clean-up rubbish to the dump (conveniently located only 25 km away, following a five year study of where, on this bit of northern shield wilderness, a garbage dump might appropriately be situated). I check online to see when the dump is open - a task made somewhat more difficult by trying to guess what name it is likely to go under. Sanitation? Waste management? Rubbish disposal? Environmental engineering? Landfill? Obviously not simply garbage dump. Eventually it transpires that the information on the town website is wrong. Yes, they know it's wrong but the correct information is to be found elsewhere. The town's website is not easy to change, but they're working on it. All of which reminds us of the time when John D borrowed a friend's half ton to do a major clean-up and haul the lot to the local dump, then normally open on Sundays. When he arrived there was a sign on the gate saying "Dump closed today - open yesterday." But today the dump is open, and J and Klaus manage to dispose of our junk between showers, rather than having to wait for Friday, when snow is forecast.

Monday, April 20/2009

Heathrow by tube. The return trip is perfectly set up with early afternoon departure and supper time arrival, but that is dependent on an hour to make the connection in Ottawa, so when we leave the tarmac 45 minutes late, we know it's plan B. Landing cards have got bigger - but warn that they're not to be folded. As everyone is carrying coats and hand luggage it seems to leave little option but the teeth. And they seem to be primarily obsessed with what food we might be importing. Never mind the gold, laundered money, even drugs. I confess to chocolate bars and they let us through - to wait for a later flight to Toronto and thence to Winnipeg.

I try to phone Susan and Ian to let them know that we'll be late, afraid that they might simply go to the airport straight from work. I'm quite pleased with myself for having prepared months earlier for this eventuality by buying a phone card, supposedly good for six months from first use. I find a pay phone and dial the number on the card, in order to be told that the number is not good - complain to the seller of the card. A helpful young woman in hijab is in charge of the information desk and I ask about pay internet terminals. She shows me one that she has discovered in a corner, and I later decide that well might they wish to hide in a corner. Two dollars for ten minutes. Sounds not unreasonable. In ten minutes I should be able to send the same message to both Ian and Susan, at home as well as at work to be on the safe side. Think again. In slightly over ten minutes - therefore slightly over two dollars - the computer has failed to make any kind of contact with the outside world at all. It won't even load google - which I finally try as a test. In fact the only thing it does at all well is process the credit card. With no real hope, I try the Air Canada desk. As the plane failed to make its connection, could I possibly telephone? Terribly sorry, they're not allowed to make long distance calls, but they do sell phone cards at the little shop. They don't, actually, but what they sell, the shop assistant explains, is receipts. She has to explain it more than once, as the receipt seems to me to be what one receives after a purchase, not instead of one. But essentially it's a cardless card. You pay for the number that you are to use to make the phone call - printed on the receipt. Fine. Five dollars - though I've forgotten that in Canada that means five dollars plus tax. All right, $5.65. I go to make the call, using the number provided. The recorded message on the phone says smugly "This card is not valid. Goodbye." Back to the shop, where the girl is horrified and tries the number herself. On her phone - possibly not Bell - it works, so I quickly take the phone from her before she can feel obliged to say that it's not a public phone, dial Ian and Susan's number and leave the message, and thank the girl profusely. Done.

Flights to Toronto and then Winnipeg. Not sure whether S&I will meet us at the airport or never speak to us again. Fortunately they got the message and all is well. We're home.

Sunday, April 19/2009

Awake early - more or less awake that is - to watch the race, and it's a good one. And out to bring back a fat Times to spend the day with. Fighting off a cold and have decided that it's a sedentary day, wasteful though this is in London. But it's also packing day, and, one way and another that seems to take all day. Mostly because it's a weeding process, disposing of all the things that cannot possibly fit in the little suitcases.

Telephone call from Alexander, friend of Dorothy, saying that Flora has just pointed out it's our last day, and can we go out for a meal. We'd been hoping to meet them, and had spoken on the phone earlier. So they pick us up and we stop on Haverstock Hill at a pizza place. Nice thin crust pizza - ours with caramelised red onion, spinach and fetta. The onion is a definite keeper. A bottle of red, and getting to know each other. They both went to music school at the old Regina Campus of the University of Saskatchewan, where they met D. Flora originally from BC, but having spent more than half her life in England now, and Alexander originally English. Promises to meet again next time - in fact they're insistant that we should stay with them!

Saturday, April 18/2009

Try to find THE Abbey Road location, which I have assumed is just off Belsize Road. But when we walk over, the address simply doesn't exist, and, worse than that, the spot where it should be doesn't have the right sort of street number - should be much lower. More research required. Meanwhile hop on a bus headed to West Hampstead. Poke about a bit, but not much going on. Pass a Chinese medical clinic, San Ling, advertising cures for:

Impotence
Stiff Neck
Insomnia
Frozen Shoulder
Indigestion
Stress
Anxiety
Arthritis

All listed on the same large sign. An impressive offering.

Afternoon we take the tube out to Jean's, where we visit until Shanthi arrives to share supper. A nice visit and lovely food. We couldn't pass up the final opportunity, but probably should have done, as Jean has been under the weather all week and really isn't feeling well now.

Friday, April 17/2009

Heading into the last weekend. We stop at Canada House to check the mail. Most of the computers are in use, and they try to speed people up by providing only two computers that can be used while seated. The other four are stand-up for the user. I take a stand-up computer and am not particularly annoyed until I notice that the man next to me, who seems to have been sent to amuse hiimself while his wife does the family business on another screen, has given up whining that he can't find AOL and is now playing solitaire. I refrain from pointing out, accurately enough, that he is doing nothing while there is a queue! Cardinal sin. His wife finishes and tells him that he has been talking about. He complains that it's over now. "Well you did want me to check about the tickets, didn't you?"

Thursday, April 16/2009

National Theatre releases some ten pound seats each day for that day's performance, so we head over for 10 a.m. and get 2 front row seats for England People Very Nice. This leaves us over 3 hours until curtain time so we put up our umbrellas and go over to the Barbican library.

The play itself is a sellout and quite funny. It looks, as promised, at centuries of immigration in successive waves to Londons Bethnal Green neighourhood. The point, of course, is that immigrants have always arrived, been resented, and eventually integrated and been replaced by other nationalities. It's sensitive material potentially, but the playwright has taken the modus used in the Simpsons - use outrageous caricature bvut be fair and satirise all groups with equal ruthlessness. And there are the running jokes: periodically a character says that there is no hell and this is all the heaven we'll ever get, to which the answer is "what, Bethnal Green?!" It's a long play, but fun.

Wednesday, April 15/2009

Warmest day so far predicted so we're off for the old city. Off the tube at Chancery Lane and with some difficulty we find Barnard's Inn Hall for the free Gresham lecture at 1. Pass first Staples Inn and a magnificent tudor lookiing building, not quite straight with age, with a tobacconist on the ground floor. They're both 16th century and we imagine Shakespeare walking down the road when they were new.

The lecture is full. The hall only holds about a hundred and we've been warned to be early to get a seat. The topic is interesting - is mental illness all in the genes - and there is some interesting research, but iti's a bit flat. (the genetic answer to the question is "mostly.") The questions are intelligent though and the answers competent.

It's warm (21) and sunny and we wander in the area. beautiful period buildings mixed with some of the monstrosities Prince Charles complains about. across from the royal Courts of Justice is a little pub, the Seven Stars. It claims to date from 602 and to have survived the Great Fire. Hard to say how much of the building is original but it's charming and old and friendly, a long narrow place with flowers outside and a resident black cat with a white ruffled collar.

Quick visit to St. clement Danes and we hop a number 13 bus home. Unlucky 13. Part way its in aminor accident with a small van. Not the fault of the bus driver. Switch buses and home via Finchley Road Sainsbury's.

Tuesday, April 14/2009

A bit of electronic research at John Lewis. Ipods, notebooks, ebook readers. Lots of toys and a quiet atmosphere unlike the chaos on Tottenham Court road. On the way back J spots a mouse on the underground track.

Monday, April 13/2009

Two lovely walks. In the morning we go with Jenny to take the dogs to Telegraph Hill for a run. It's woodland near Claygate village, quite natural and a great place for the dogs to follow scents. In the afternoon we pick up Jenny's mum and go to Richmond Park. It's one of the oroiginal royal hunting parks and a huge park even for a city that is over a quarter green space. We head for the Isabella Plantation, some flowering trees over a hundred years old and fragrant with azaleas and heather as well as brilliant with camellias, oleander and rhododendrons as well. There are little streams and plenty of paths to wander and get lost on, which we do for a bit. Still full light after 6 and Jenny drops us at Wimbledon Station where we get a replacement coach to Clapham Jct - then Waterloo by train and Northern line home by eight.

Sunday, april 12/2009

Easter Sunday. Julia and Neil have coloured eggs and there is traditional Palestinian baking. Emma and Giles arrive with Jenny's mother and baby Jasmine, and then Laura and Nathan with Sam and Kai and baby Cody. Easter brunch is fun. the Clarkes have a traditional game involving the finding of the strongest egg by doing battle conker style and seeing which egg survives uncracked. Sam and Kai have great fun with quite convincing fake eggs.

Jenny's Palestinian aunts arrive for tea. Doug's sister and brother-in-law with son Graham and two granddaughters in tow as well, so by then there are 23 of us including the babies. A lovely time.

Saturday, April 11/2009

Afternoon over to Jenny and Doug's. It's a bit chaotic transportation because of long weekend maintenance, so Jubilee line not running and coac replaces train between Clapham Junction and Surbiton and everything takes a bit longer. Drizzle as we arrive but sunny welcome. Weather improves and we go for a walk round Thames Ditton with Jenny. Doug back fore dinner and we're joined by Jenny's niece Julia, soon to be studying medicine at Kings college, and Julia's boyfriend Neil. Lovely stew for dinner.

Friday, April 10/2009

A bit drizzly off and on as befits a Good Friday, but quite warm. All kinds of disruption to the transport system but still ppossible to work out alternate routes. Thus we take the Northern to Bank and then Dockland Light Railway to West India Quay to visit the Museum of London Docklands. It's free this weekend so a good time to go. It's much smaller than the Museum of London proper but quite interesting in its own right, covering the history of the Thames and London as a port from pre-Roman times. The history of the bridges is of interest and there are lots of drawings and ship models and a pretty realistic recreation of a slightly sinister dockside area and buildings.

Thursday. April 9/2009

At Barbican check that our return flight to Canada is still at the same time as originally ticketed, mindful of the time the snippy air Canada rep at Heathrow said that departure times changed after daylight savings time began. And this was a consideration they had been unable to anticipate at time of sale? But no cha ge this year it seems.

Holy Thursday Mass at Westminster Cathedral, the last Easter for Cardinal Murphy-O'Connor who is retiring. As we walk from Victoria to the cathedral we see an old man bent over and slowly feeling his way along the wall of a tempporary walkway diverting us around construction. It's quite a distressing sight and I'm hoping he's finds his way to wherever he's going - which he evidently does as J sees him later in the front of the cathedral. It's standing room only and one of the most moving liturgies of the year, in Latin with full choir. The 12 men having their feet washed by Cathedral tradition are 12 pensioners from the Royal Chelsea Hospital of our yesterday's visit, resplendent in their brilliant red uniforms. The church remains open for prayer until midnight when there will be compline and the stripping of the altar, but we leave for home.

Wednesday, April 8/2009

Wake to hoofbeats - about 60 police horses being ridden and led past our flat.

Chelsea afternoon. We start at Sloan Square and pay a visit to the Saatchi Gallery. Interesting and often witty works, mostly by young artist from the Middle East. a fascinating display with several very convincing life sized men of various ethnic and cultural backgrounds all in motorized wheelchairs circulating in a room - their chairs changing direction as they encounter obstacles. There's a Greek Orthodox priest, a man in Arab headdress and a number of other characters. J tells a small child that only one is real and the boy is sure he's spotted which one.

Then to the Royal Chelsea Hospital grounds, home of the red-coated army pensiones. The grounds are lovely - a mini village with beautiful gardens, though not many pensioners in sight. After this we stop at the Army Museum next door. It's small and a bit randomly organised but there are some high points. There are a number of very good military paintings and a small display examining James Wolfe in images.

The walk down to the Thames is dotted with historic blue plaques - many notables have lived in the neighbourhood, including Oscar Wilde and George Eliot. We're supposed to finish at the King's Head and Eight Bells, drinking spot of Henry VIII, but, though we were once there before, no joy in finding it. Eventually the appalling reason emerges - it's been changed into a restaurant, a Brasserie, complete with a dreadful poodle sign outside. Unbelievable! Still, it has been a good afternoon.

Tuesday, April 7/2009

Over to Asda by tube and DLR. Then in the pm we go separate ways - J downtown to see the sights, the Tamil protest in Parliament Square and the character in Trafalgar Square who allows himself to b chained and locked up to demonstrate his escape artist flair. I go out to spend the afternoon with Jean, and as usual the talk flows. Back to J's homemade chicken soup.

Monday, April 6/2009

A lovely day and rain predicted for the rest of the week so we set off for outdoor explorations. First down to holborn Viaduct to look at the oldest publid drinking supply in London, in a wall by St. Sepulcher's. Tiny, and the hose doesn't work, but the original cups are still chained there.

We're near the Old Bailey and walk past but the pub we one ate at is gone - or at least upgraded into less interesting etablishments. North of St. Paul's we come to the tiny Postman's Park. It's by a Methodist Church with tributes to John and Charles Wesley. the sight we've come for is a wll with ceramic plaques commemorating the sacrifices of various people, some of them children, who gave their lives in attempts to save others from fates as diverse as drowning, death in housefires or runaway horses. It's simple and very moving. By now we're up against the original city wall and we resolve some day to follow its path - but not today.

In the afternoon it's still warm and sunny so we walk up to Hampstead Heath. Past the Magdala pub, where Ruth Ellis, the last woman to be hanged in Britain, shot her unfaithful lover. Bullet holes still visible. On Parliament Hill children are flying kites with considerable success - one boy barely remains on the ground as his kite catches the wind. We wander past the ponds where the coots are nesting and a duck demurely allows herself to be courted by to drakes and exit on the Highgate side. Bus back to Finchley Road.

Sunday, April 5/2009

We are marking the first anniversary of Siva's death and go, therefore, with Jean and Shanthi, to the Tamil temple in Ealing. Jean takes the traditional gifts of rice, lentils, fruit and milk, as well as a garment for the priest. The temple is in a former church, the outer room today garlanded in preparation for a wedding, the wedding, the wedding dais on a platform at one end of the hall. The main sanctuary area has a number of shrines, elaborate with brightly painted statues and flowers.

People come and go, including families with small children. we have all removed our shoes and left them outside. There is incense in the air and people praying at different shrines. shanthi explains things for us and when it's our turn the priest is very kind, shepherding us through the ritual in front of the shrine of Shiva, the giver and taker of life. We put ashes on our foreheads, much as on Ash Wednesday, and Jean presents the fruit. There are chanted prayers in Tamil and times for circling the shrine. The praers are for the wellbeing of Siva's soul. The gifts of rice are cooked for anyone who is at the temple to enjoy, and after the ceremony we go through to the hall and eat a lovely savoury lemon rice dish and a white rice that is both hot and sweet, as well as fruit and Indian sweets. Very nice end to am oving ceremony.

Shanthi invites us back for tea before her tutoring student arrives, and provides sausage rolls and little Singapore pineapple tarts as well. Priya is there, taking a short break from studying, light in her eyes when she talks about plans for graduating events. Back for a glass of wine with Jean and then home by tube.

Saturday, April 4/2009

Basic grocery shop in the morning - everything looks cheap after Dublin. then in the afternoon out to Jean's in West Harrow. Chat time and a curry supper. Then Jean to a choral concert previously booked while we make ourselves at home with tea and telly.

Friday, april 3/2009

Suddenly realise we have to leave for the airport and there isn't even time for postcards. Forty euro more to ryanair for not having checked in online - well last time with them. The flight numbers for Ryanair all begin with FR - f...Ryanair. Back at Gatwick half an hour late we still catch a train that gets us in in time to pick up the keys for the bedsit before 6. The flat is at 57 Belsize Park. It needs a frying pan, kettle and corkscrew, but that can come later. We're home.

Thursday, April 2/2009

Attempt to get boarding pass online at internet cafe to avoid repeat penalty tomorrow. Repeated inapplicable explanations of why we are being refused. The nice young man running the cafe is so indignant on our behalf that he insists on phoning ryanair. No joy and no contact.

So cut our losses and take an order of chips from the fish and chip shop down to the benches on Bachelor's Walk on the north side of the Liffe to enjoy. Good thing we split an order as it's huge.

Crossing streets is unnerving in Dublin. There are walk lights but with sound effects. Various Morse code beeps which may help the blind but disorient us foreigners. Then the brief walk light - run would be more appropriate - announced by a shriek like a canary being swallowed followed by a tatoo like a heart attack. And we run for the other side.

A visit to the museum at the old army barracks. A very interesting exhibit on the Easter 1916 uprising and Irish independence. Then back across the river via the James Joyce Bridge and through the oldest section of the city, past christ Church Cathedral and Dublin Castle. Stop for a Guinness at the Bleeding Horse, now on the southern end of our city centre map but probably at its genesis in 1649 in country fields. It's quiet and a pleasant Romanian girl serves us. Only a few customers, several of whom appear to be Romanian as well. By the time we finish we decide against evensong at christ church and go back to Trinity for dinner.

Wednesday, April 1/2009

Look round the lovely inner courtyard of Trinity College - all old grey stone and green lawns. More exploring. Check out Merrion Square, former home to Yeats, Oscar Wilde and others, and a charming park in its own right. Nearby is the National Gallery and we spend longer than we expect there, especially in the Portrait Gallery. It's a mini Irish history course with full sized illustrations. We also have the advantage of a longish chat with Antony, a cheerful docent who is full of information and anecdote. For example, George Bernard Shaw, a thin vegetarian, once met Lord Beaverbrook Beaverbrook looked at Shaw and said that when he saw Shaw he could believe the stories of the starving masses, to which Shaw replied that when he looked at the portly Beaverbrook he could belioeve the Beaver was responsible for them starving. And Shaw is responsible for the free admission to the National Gallery. He willed it a third of his estate, including continuing royalties from Pygmalion and My Fair Lady.

Through Temple Bar - pretty touristy. Back to Trinity College for an excellent stirfry at the Buttery. Youu choose your vegetables and the cook adds chicken or tofu and a sauce and stir fries as you watch. A big plateful with rice, and very good. Over O'Connell Bridge and a walk along the north side of the Liffey and back to Lynam's.

Tuesday, March 31/2009

Leave at 6 a.m. and take the train from London Bridge to Gatwick, so we're early enough - but then the shock effect. The penalty for not having checked in online - which I've somehow missed - is twenty quid each. And the same coming back? Yes, if you don't find a computer to check in on. Actually it's not quite as bad - or even worse - than that sounds. The cost of checking in is either £10 each online or £20 each at the airport. The cheap fare is getting less so. Especially as there was already a "handling fee" of £10 each, plus taxes, plus fees.

Pleasant enough flight - absolutely no frills, and relatively inoffensive speaker-announced advertisements - and we arrive early. Ryanair is proud to announce that they're #1 for no lost luggage. Quite probably - they sharply discourage anyone from checking in anything with extra fees. Rumours re charging for loo on board as yet unfounded. They have more effective mans than that of squeezing cash out of you.

The bus in stops at the O'Connell St. bus station - two doors from our hotel, Lynam's, a Georgian buildikng with small rooms but with a kettle, tea and coffee and a hairdryer, as well as a very clean loo. The area is historic as well as central. We're a block north of the post office building, seized and defended by the rebels in the Easter 1916 uprising. There are still bullet marks on the building.

A happy day wandering the streets. Central Dublin is really quite small. We sit in St. Stephen's Green watching the ducks, and chat with a man who shows us his Sony electronic bookreader. It's really quite impressive, both in terms of the numberf of books it holds and for its anti-glare screen and compact size.

Finish at St. Patrick's Cathedral, where Jonathan Swift was dean, for evensong - a lovely combination of vespers and compline in the ancient cathedral.

Dublin is showing signs of the recession - quite a lot of office space vacant and a surprpising number of people begging. It's a very expensive city as well, especially food prpices and the cost of newspapers, both noticeably higher than in London. We've done well enough on weekday accommodation though.

Monday, March 30/2009

Leave our suitcases at the kWelby as we have carry-ons only for Ireland.

Sunday, March 29/2009

Wake for the Australian Grand Prix, though not early enough. By the time my watch says 6:15 it's actually 7:15 as the time change occured in the night. Get to see most of the race though.



Go to the sung Latin Mass at the Jesuit church on Farm Street - of various literary references. A lovely church. The choice of music - Hassler, Purcell - is as good as Westminster Cathedral's, and the choir is quite good, though small and without the boy sopranos.



After brunch we abandon the Sunday Times and head off to a meeting of the Socialist Party, having been given a paper yesterday at Hyde Park advertising a talk today on Global Capitalism. It's at an address on Red ion Square which proves to be a little north of Bond St. tube station. One side of the square boasts a house where Dante Gabriel Rossetti once lived.



We're on the other side, across a tiny park, at Conway Hall - the Bertrand kRussell Room. It's a curious gathering. Thirteen of us in all, nine men and four women, including a male chairman and a female speaker. We're about the average age but most of the others seem to know each other, sometimes prefacing a first name with "Comrade." They are an uncompromisingly Marxist lot and seem to feel that other organisations rejoicing in the name of socialist have made unforgiveable compromises. Hence Tony Benn, for example, is dismissed as a Labour Party member when the Labour Party has sanctioned war - not only in Afghanistan, but also World War II.

In some ways they are a curiously innocent group. Hence the high level of idealism that sees capitalists as the evil and workers as the should-be inheritors of the earth, despite a sad recognition that neither war nor plague nor environmental disaster seems likely to cause any withering away of the state.

Actually, they resemble nothing so much as a religious gathering of courteous and decent folk, from polite welcome to a collection toward the end to cover expenses as they have had to pay for the hall. The £84.80 is reasonably impressive, as ity means the other 11 people present contributed £83.80. After the presentation there are questions and then "discussion." Harry, who handed us the original invitation yesterday, is particularly eager to move to the discussion, everyone having their say. He's been making notes during the speech and has a number of things to say, mostly not directly related to the presentation. For example, he doesn't believe in global warming and insists that capitalist countries with arctic coasts are deliberately melting ice to aid in the search for oil. Interestingly, though, these contributions do not, in fact, lead to discussion at all. Rather, somewhat like religious testimonials, they are accepted politely at fact value rather than as spurs to debate, and there is some feeling that points of disagreement should be ignored as distractions from shared ideology. It is as if at a Church meeting someone were to say that beautiful sunsets proved the existence of God and the others were too polite or too aware of the damage attendant on dissent to debate the quality of the suggested proof. There is a deliberate avoidance of how a world would actually function after the workers had acquired the mans of production. It would work somehow and the workers would be the ones to decide. It seems God is not the only one to work in mysterious ways beyond our undersetanding.

It's been interesting and a little sad. As the only true, uncompromised socialists they seem a little like the Christians willing to die over the issue of using three rather than two fingers to cross themselves - and their cause quite hopeless. Communism, they say has not failed; it has never been tried. The same point has been made about Christianity.

Saturday, March 25/2009

Wake at 5 to watch qualifying for the Australian Grand Prix, F1 season opener. Well, semi wake, anyway, but enough to enjoy seeing the formula 1 world turned on its head as the season shapes up with no certainties at all.

Join the Put People First demo in central London, a broad and loose coalition of Churches, trades unions, Greens, anti-war movements and, more darkly, anarchists, all of whom want G20 leaders to focus less on business and banks and more on common people and underdeveloped countries. There's an amazingly broad range of sponsors, from Quakers to journalists, and an equally eclectic looking group of marchers of all ages, long white beards to babies in pushchairs. Even a few dogs along. We walk from Parliament Square to Hyde Park, led by a small band. Quite a lot of police at the beginning but we're a pretty tame lot. As we leave Hyde Park we see them paying closer attention to some anarchists gathering with red and black flags by the Marble Arch end. A construction area with bits of rubble suitable for projectiles has been prudently fenced off.

Fridach 27/2009

Threats of rain so we take umbrellas and head for a museum day. Start at the Science Museum, which is alive with small children. A disproportionate number of the exhibits are child-oriented as well, some of them with unnecessarily low lighting and explanatory material posted about knee level. Interesting early steam engine that beat out its early 19th century competitors to set a record of 29 mph, reminding us of James saying that the steam engine was the first thing to go faster than a Roman chariot.

Happy time at the Victoria and Albert across the road, poking about the gallery covering Britain from 1500 to the mid 18th century. Interesting fact: marriages did not require either Church or witnesses to be valid until well into the 18th century, which must make life more difficult for genealogists.

Then by tube to Bethnal Green where we check out pie shop #2 in our search for a replacement for Goddard's. Kelly's is a small and local shop. We don't actually try its wares because it looks depressingly inadequate compared to Goddard's but mark it for later. Home for spinach salad and pasta with shrimp sauce.

Thursday, March 26/2009

Graffiti on HSBC advertisement on the tube: "banker - rhymes with...."

Research for day trips. On average coach is cheaper but train is quicker. Surprisingly prices to Bedford much higher than those to Stratford or Bath, though it's only an hour by train.

Find a shop in Kentish Town opposite the tube station which sells embroidery needs and will order what they don't have in stock - a shop kindly recommended by a woman working at Liberty's, where stock and even floor space seem greatly reduced.

Check out Castle's Eel and Pie Shop on Royal College in Camden Town. We're looking for a successor to Goddard's in Greenwich. It's friendly and the tiny space is serving locals from workmen to old ladies, but the pies look small and pancake flat, so we only sample the puddings - plenty of custard from a large pail of same but the puddings are not homemade and not a meal in themselves. It's not Goddard's.

Wednesday, March 25/2009

Concession tickets to Alan Bennet's Enjoy - revival from 1980. It has some excellent moments - the very funny worrying about whether the husband is actually dead as they begin to lay him out as there appears to be "evidence both ways" - and some interesting questions re authenticity, but overall it's not nearly as good as the more recent plays. Encouraging, I suppose, to think someone writes better in his 60's and 70's than in his 40's.

Tuesday, March 24/2009

Repeat of Thursday night's fire alarm - this time at 8 a.m. and fewer tenants on show. The others at work or just too cynically blase to show? No fire.

We've been here a week but the time always goes so fast in London - there's so much to see and do. We stop and arrange with Marty for an extra 3 days from when we get bac from Dublin.

In the afternoon J goes to see Jersey Boys while I head out to West Harrow to see Jean and help play with her new computer. Computer's fun but so is the tea and chat. J says Jersey Boys great - Frankie Valli bio and songs - and a full theatre of grey heads!

Monday, March 23/2009

Down to the Barbican and a couple of hours with the library internet but no great joy looking for the missing 3 dahys. Back to Camden Town and a minimal shop. There's an eel and pie shop we want to check out but it starts to rain a little so we decide to look another day.

Shrimp and salmon chowder for supper.

Sunday, March 22/2009

Mass at Westminster Cathedral with the usual beautiful boys choir. Still sunny though not quit so warm - but the tiny park by Victoria Station has young people sleeping on the grass near the student travel agency. Sunday lunch and a happy read of fat Sunday papers.

Saturday, March 21/2009

Is this the first day of spring? Certainly feels like it. We check out the plays at the National Theatre, then off by train to Thames Ditton. Jenny and her other are there and Doug comes back for lunch. Then Emma joins us with baby Jasmine, born in January. She's bright eyed and absolutely lovely. After lunch a walk in the area minus Doug who has gone back to renovations. Gloriously full camellias, violets, cherry blossoms, and magnolias. It's a beautiful town and day. Jasmine sleeps in her pram.

Use their computer to book 3 days in Dublin - a maddening procedure but done now.

We take the train back to Waterloo, but get halfway there (New Malden) before J says that's as far as he goes without a loo. New Malden has a toilet opening onto the platform - or rather not opening as it's locked in the evening. J disappears down the path and I make no inquiries. Ten minutes later another train to Waterloo.

Friday, March 20/2009

Another stunningly beautiful day. It's been warm and sunny all week - shirtsleeves and daffodils, magnoilias, cherry blossoms everywhere. We walk from Trafalgar Square down the Mall along the park and work our way over to the Thomas Cook near Green Park where we look into possible spots for our 6 day gap. Nothing really clicks though.

Thursday, March 19/2009

Jean's in the afternoon. Lots of talk time and we get to see the new laptop. Beautiful wide screen but a bit intimidating in its complexity. Lovely meal with curry and the beautiful smoky aubergine as well as apple crumble with custard. Thoroughly spoiled we are.

A paralyzingly loud fire alarm sounds in the night for about 20 minutes. No signs of smoke or fire but we do meet a couple of the neighbours - are the rest justwaiting it out? A young man in red sweat pants explains the problem. He has some kind of position (for reduced rent?) with the Welby and could call the fire department but they charge management 7000 pounds if there's no fire and "Ii'd have to find somewhere else to live."

Wednesday, March 18/2009

Stock up day - Sainsbury's as well as the 99p store and Inverness St. market so we've got the basics. Coronation Street in the evening - with characters and plotlines we can't place after 3 months.

March 17/2009

Most packing done yesterday, but still enough for busy morning. Maggi picks us up at noon (boxes and microwave left in room for storage). Lovely sunny lunch on M&M's balcony and last view of the Med, but hopes for all of us next year in cyprus.

Happily there are British newspapers for the plane so we get to sate ourselves with news and crosswords. Very nice lamb stew and creme caramel as well - and we're early in at Heathrow. Tube t Swiss Cottage and J collects the key to number 20 Belsize Park from its spot taped to the oor of the Welby. He's some time about it as it's taped so well that better fingernails are required. The flat is OK - pretty basic but clean and a good location.

Monday, March 16/2009

Appointment to get teeth cleaned, which J fortunately remembers because I wouldn't have. A woman in the wainting room makes two calls on her mobile, one in English and one in Greek. In the Greek conversation she sighs "Kyrie eleison" (lord have mercy) which soulds like a religious chant imported from the Mass rather than a casual interjection as it would in English. Like the Alpha and Omega sporting goods store, which always seems so apocalyptic, and not at all like a regular A to Z.

Sunday, March 15/2009

Say goodbye to Fr. Wilhelm. Huge brunch at home as we look to emptying the fridge. Warm enough, but very windy. Lovely film - Touch of Spice? - on Dubai tv about a Greek family deported from Istanbul to Greece in the 60's.

Saturday, March 14/2009

Find a sunny table at market for our coffee. Two women at the next table ask for Nescafe. Really? asks the proprietor, whose Cypriot coffee is excellent, but he brings it and I shrub my shoulders in agreement with him as he passes.

Friday, March 13/2009

Haircut before leaving, with only minimal trauma - shorter than I want, but a good cut. A solid hour's wait, but I've brought a novel. Minimalist conversation with the girl who washes hair, consisting mainly of each of us repeating what we have to say twice and hoping this will result in understanding - which it doesn't always.

Three a.m. drama. We wake to hear the fire alaarm ringing at length, and decide clothes are required lest the emergency be real. There are voices in the hallway and, when I open the door, a nasty smell of smoke. We join the small cluster of residents outside the door of the flat next door, clearly the source of the smoke. Only one other woman, but men have a clear advantage at impromptu middle of the night gatherings, being free to appear in sweat pants and not much else. The occupant of the flat is a giant mountain of a man, padding about unhappily in underpants, t-shirt and socks. He has something to be unhappy about, as he's clearly the author of the burning, whatever it is, and is being subjected to flat inspection by a man in black whom we take to be the night manager, as well as the singing Swede of lobby fame, recruited in this case for his linguistic skills. Though the man mountain doesn't seem chatty. Night manager and singing Swede emerge, apparently satisfied and commenting that it may have been cooking. Back in bed we reflect that it's no particular comfort to be given an explanation that cannot possibly be accurate. The nasty, acrid smell could have been cigarette and bedding but it was definitely not burned toast and bore no real resemblance to burnt food. But the rest of the night is peaceful.

Thursday, March 12/2009

This week's Cypriot Financial Mirror says that tourism is expected to drop 10 to 25% next year and predicts the lowering of hotel prices, involving some level of government subsidy. Somehow we doubt that winter long-stayers will be the primary beneficiaries.

Wednesday, March 11/2009

J for a haircut and I to the internet. We come home to a gleaming flat. The cleaning is usually good - sometimes embarrassingly so as when we find that the carefully seasoned frying pan has been scrubbed clean, leading to future hiding of same before cleaners arrive - but today the windows have been washed and the balcony mopped down as well.

I always wonder what the cleaners make of the shower arrangements. We have a small snhower cubicle with a cloth curtain on two sides. When we first came to the flat the curtain was an annoyance, as it tended to be sucked inward and cling to the body once the water was turned on, bringing to mind old convent accounts of nuns piously washing themselves beneath concealing shifts. Our solution has been to fill 3 large (1.5 litre) water bottles and use them to stake the cutain at appropriate spots so it's held in place. What must the cleaners think when they see 3 large bottles of water permanently placed between shower and toilet?

The Today on BBC radio features an interview with mp and political diarist Chris Mullin, who says that the political diarist should adhere to the four I's: make the diary immediate (no late remembering and reframing), intimate, indiscreet, and (in case of accidental loss) indecipherable. The last reminds me of the time I lost my journal. It was quite an unpleasant feeling knowing it was lying exposed somewhere, and this despite the fact that it's not nearly indiscreet enough (Mullin quotes Chips Cannon as saying "there's nothing more dull than a discreet diary: you might as well have a dull or discreet soul") and the knowledge that anyone at all could read it online anyway. I eventually found it in the Larnaca post office lying on a table, presumably unread.

Tuesday, March 10/2009

Sunny and windy - a perfect drying day as we get clothes ready to pack up.

We've invited M&M to dinner - last time this year. Maggi's hired car makes it possible but we do miss the old days when we were in the same building and could pop up or down easily. The Eleonora will be open again next year - is in fact almost ready now - but not at the good old price.

Monday, March 9/2009

A call this morning from Androula. We met her and her husband Andreas in Jordan two years ago and got on quite well. He used to be a headmaster and she a home economics consultant - both retired now and living in Nicosia. I'd texted just to see if thenumber I had was still good. They remember us well and wanted us to come for lunch or dinner. It's pretty late this year but next year we'll have to try.

Email from Liza, the Philippina nanny we met who was moving to Toronto. She says she's fine and the family she's living with are nice, so that's good news. It's half way round the world for her and probably the coldest climate she's known, but she's likely to be both paid and treated better in Canada than in Cyprus.

Sunday, March 8/2009

Really thick dust haze in the air which, ironically, has the effect of making the air warmer, though it's not exactly sunny. One spot on the island hits 25 today. Fr. Wilhelm has ashes available after Mass for those who were unable to come on Ash Wednesday - "some of you work for slave drivers," he shrugs, addressing the Philippino domestics. So we line up with those with worthier excuses.

Saturday, March 7/2009

Warm but overcast - more dust in the atmosphere? Coffee at the marketplace with M&M, and we buy six eggs but nothing else. Nothing more would fit in the little fridge. Feels like we have enough til we leave, though - probably too much of some things and not enough of others.



Film Sylvia on Dubai television - the life of Sylvia Plath. Interesting how someone with such psychological damage can leave the viewer so unmoved. Probably because of the self-centredness verging on narcissism, though that may be true of all mental disturbance. The Dubai chanel is pretty limited but it does provide two films a day, a reasonable proportion of which are watchable.

Friday, March 6/2009

Small group of boys (late teens? - a guess as I don't turn round to look) come in to the internet and crowd round one of the four computers, all of which are, miraculously, working. They're obviously looking for work in the hospitality trade, but they don't have a lot of patience; a ten minute search perhaps and they're ready to leave. I hear them daring each other on the way out. Yeah, do it - ask for condoms. It is a student facility, perhaps with many missions. Seems to work though, and they leave happy if jobless.

Thursday, March 5/2009

Our afternoon read aloud book is now Edith Sitwell's The Queens and the Hive, a history of Elizabeth I and Mary Queen of Scots. We're more than half through, so reasonable hope of finishing before we leave. It's quite highly dependent on primary sources, many of which are fascinating, irony and malice coming down undiminished through the intervening four centuries.



In the evening M&M drop by for their rain cheque drink (unable to stop yesterday).

Wednesday, March 4/2009

Two early morning stories courtesy of UK BBC5 underline just how different political concerns can be elsewhere. In Tanzania there is a problem with albinos being murdered as their body parts can be sold to witch doctors making spells to create wealth. And in Kenya the president complains bitterly about rumours that he has a second wife - threatening lawsuits.

Ash Wednesday (Eastern Church that is) and a lovely day.

Tuesday, March 3/2009

Settle our bill for the remaining time. We leave for London in two weeks, and as usual wonder where the time has gone. We'll miss Dave in the UK, which is too bad.

Monday, March 2/2009

Traditionally Green Monday is a day for picnics, the locals heading off to the countryside with barbecues and folding tables. So Maggi has planed a picnic for us and collects us at 10 for a drive out toward Kiti Beach, just south of us along the coast. On the way, we pay a short visit to Angeloktisti Church. The church itself is 11th century but built on a much earlier church site. The original apse is still there as well as a lovely 6th century mosaic with the virgin Mary and archangels. We've been there before but not recently.

We then head for Kiti Dam, out of curiosity, and eventually find it - bone dry. Surprising, since we've had more rain recently and the water is supposed to be coming over the dam at a couple of reservoirs. We do find a lovely old church nearby though, a stone building surrounded by ancient looking olive trees, the trunks gnarled and intertwined. The church is locked but looks cared for, despite the large number of spent cartridgeslying about. Cypriots are enthusiastic hunters, typically wearing - unbelievably - camouflage on their hunting expeditions.

We have our picnic lunch at Kiti Beach. Magne had wanted a barbecue but Maggi opted for simplicity so we've brought sandwiches, fruit, olives, pickled herring, cheese, beer and iced doughnuts. Then efforts to fly the kite that Maggi was given at Zorbas Bakery. THis is a traditional kite flying day and several picnickers near us have theirs soaring but we're not very successful in getting ours up. The beach has quite interesting stones and we pick them over while Maggi goes off to investigate a beach hut. Drive back along the coast stopping at Kiti Lighthouse as well as photographing the flamingos at the salt lake. A lovely day.

Sunday, March 1/2009

Text from Jenny as we wake, to say that they are leaving Bahamas and about to sail up the Amazon. They'll be back in London by the time we get there so we'll get to hear all about their trip.

Reverse pattern - clouds disappear in late morning. After Sunday brunch we take a walk along the waterfront, enjoying the sun. As usual on a Sunday it's full of locals and tourists alike along the promenade. It's warm but windy and we watch a little girl's chagrin when the top of her candy floss blows off and skites along the sidewalk. Many of the children are wearing their carnival costumes, enjoying them for as many days as possible - a small female lion walks with her parents, her tail dragging dispiritedly along the pavement. As well as ice cream, cotton candy and hot dogs (one euro each, but none in evidence) there are helium balloons, toys and cheap jewellery on sale. And games of chance: small homemade wooden pinball games stand in front of plush animals and other prizes.

The newsreader on the Dubai chanel, whose English is fluent and almost unaccented, refers to a statement by the "Angelican" (accent on the second syllable, pronounced jell) bishop of Cyprus and the Middle East.

Saturday, February 28/2009

The pattern of weather seems to have been, typically, sunny in the morning, then clouding over and, sometimes, afternoon showers. So this morning begins sunny but J points to the rising bank of cloud in the north. Coffee at the marketplace with M&M but by 11 the dark clouds are rolling in and there's a slight chill in the air. After market J and I walk down to Prinos greengrocers, prudently taking umbrellas. Prinos is insanely busy as its produce is excellent and we're into a long weekend. Not only a long weekend, but a Monday on which the tradition is to have a picnic featuring green vegetables, bread and seafood. As we leave, a thunderstorm hits and, mindful of the recent ligntning strike death, we wait until it's moved east before putting up lightning rod umbrellas. By the time we reach the Polish shop - for pickled herring - the rain, never heavy, has stopped.

Friday, February 27/2009

Headng into a long weekend in Cyprus Monday is clean Monday or green Monday depending on translation - the day preceding kShrove Tuesday and Ash Wednesday. These latter occurred in the western Church a week ago courtesy of the Gregorian calendar. This year Easter is a week apart in the two jurisdictions. Usually it's more; occasionally the same date.

This weekend there will be parades in some places and children in costume everywhere - princesses and spidermen much in evidence. Not only children if the shop window displays are anything to go by. There must be adult costume parties in the offing.

Thursday, February 26/2009

Very strange late winter here. Warm enough but for some time now - feels like weeks but maybe only a couple of weeks - we've lived under a cloud much of the time, blue on the BBC weather map but white-grey in the sky. There's often a shower, but never sustained rain. Rather Londony actually, though much warmer. At least the water crisis here is over with reservoirs doing nicely. We do get a large clap of thunder with the evening rain today, but clearly worse elsewhere. North of us a field worker is hit by lightning and killed.

Wednesday, February 25/2009

News on Cairo bombing long gone as the crash of a Turkish Airlines plane in Amsterdam takes the headlines. We flew with Turkish Airlines last year and it's supposed to have a fairly good reputation, although they did pay relatively little attention to people piling their bags in front of the emergency exit instead of stowing them - no problem at all unless there is an emergency.

Tuesday, February 24/2009

Maggi drops by in the evening to hear about the trip and share reminiscences of their visit to Egypt last year.

Monday, February 23/2009

We've planned to take a ppicture of the pyramids from our hotel room window - the best view we've ever had - but we wake to a thick dust haze, the sun a faint red dot and the pyramids invisible. Fortunately, it disappears later in the morning and J gets a clear shot.

Being out in Giza, we can't really go too far before eing picked up at noon for the ride to the airport on the other side of Cairo. Not a great deal more on the news about yesterday's bombing. No terrorist group has taken responsibility. Speculation is, as the bombs (there were two ut one failed to detonate) seem to have been homemade that this may have been a protest by a small group, possibly against Egyptian government co-operation with Israel over Gaza, which angered many Egyptians.

Abdoul and driver collect us. The long drive to the airport gives us chat time and some of the chat becomes philosophical, Abdoul telling us his feelings about culture, religion and a Czech girl - a tourist guide - whom he had considered marrying.

The airport has been renovated and is quite modern, apart from marginally acceptable washrooms. It's equuipped with the obvious duty free shops as well as Starbucks, McDonalds's and similar, and - more interestingly - Italian, British and American lounges. So called, at least, though they all look like standard cafes. Prices about the same as a Canadian airport.

The flight is full and the meal the same as Friday's but with mango juice in place of orange. Enough chicken breast that I make a doggy bag. One passenger has to be asked to put away his mobile during take off, and the man next to me has his out during landing. Never sure how seriously phones interfere. If it's serious, airlines should be more emphatic, maybe replacing the no smoking signs with no mobile signs. No one tries to smoke any more and if they did they'd be pretty quickly spotted. Nor would smoking cause a crash. Airlines lose credibility by inconsistencies about what is important. For example, serious restrictions on bringing iquids aboard are universal in Europe and North America but Egypt and Israel - the gold standard in security (Israel, not Egypt) - both ignore water bottles but x-ray all luggage, checked as well as unchecked, which rather makes sense if one is to fear terrorists prepared to go down with the plane. Apparently it's not done in North America because it would be too expensive!

Walk back in from the airport. There's been a storm through but it's dry as we leave, though small bits of rain on the way. And home to the Kition.

Sunday, February 22/2009

Breakfast at somewhat lower standard today. Aubergine not on but replaced by fried courgette cakes - ok but not warm, a match for the cold scrambled eggs and today's foule. A waiter seems annoyed when we choose a table with a clean cloth. At another table I spot a different waiter assiduously scraping a bit of encrusted food with a table knife. Mission accomplished, he leaves the knife at its place setting for the next hotel guest to use.

We have a free day today, so some negotiating for a ride to the city centre, made slightlymore difficult by the fact that nobody ever seems to hae change and there is little point in agreeing on a price and then not having the exact fare. We twice meet people who ask, oddly, if we speak Hungarian, and I'm tempted to say, not quite accurately, that nobody speaks Hungarian. Everyone who asks our nationality has the same response - oh yes, Canada Dry (quite a popular drink in the Middle East). In the end we're offered one way down town for 40 Egyptian pounds - about $9 Canadian or five British pounds. We see it's not a taxi but the tourist policeman by the hotel door gives his blessing. Seems the driver drives for the hotel. "Limousine," he says, though that would be overstating it considerably for the green station wagon with decomposing upholstery.

We get out at Tahir Square in the centre, beside a metro station. Our original plan had been to take the metro from Giza, but the hotel staff really only speak hotel English - they can deal with the questions that hotel guests normally ask but can't really cope beyond that, as in where is the nearest metro station. We check out the station, which looks modern and reasonably clean. At the top of the stairs outside the exit a woman sells small packets of tissues, although there don't seem to be any buyers, and feeds a very little child who is seated on her knee. J says, though, that there is much less begging than there was 20 years ago. We're near a bridge over the Nile and Cairo here is in its modern city mode; five star hotels, river islands, the rose coloured Egyptian Museum.

We head off with the general intent of picking up a tourist map from the information office shown in the little map in our aged Let's Go. It's not as easy as it might seem, because not all the streets in our little map are named, whereas on the ground all the streets have names in Arabic but only in the centre or on motorways are the streets also labelled in western letters. To add to the difficulty, streets in Cairo, like those in most ancient cities, head off at all angles, so that those that seem parallel as one sets off spin out to opposite corners of the map, so it's important to find the right road.

On Ramses St. we come across a crew of riot police, perhaps fifty of them. There is no visible trouble, but there are large political posters and perhaps a demo is expected. We detour and head east. At one point we pass an Armenian church and the priest invites us in. He doesn't speak English, but his French is excellent, clear and not too fast, and he's quite pleased to show us ihis tranquil church and its full-sized replica of the shroud of Turin. As we go farther from the city centre there are fewer tourists, more street life, bits of markets under bridges, fewer English signs. (Although English on the sign of a shop is by no means an indication that anyone inside the shop speaks English). Dust and rubble increase at street corners. In Egypt it's easy to see how whole civilizations disappear under dust. Here it's made worse by the fact that there seem to be few people who refrain from tossing sweet wrappers and such on the ground as they go.

We had had thoughts of tea at yesterday's cafe but our progress tacking across the city is a bit slow, though interesting, and J still wants to take photos of the Nile, so we head back. Stop for something to eat at KFC - not our first choice in Egypt, both because it's a waste not taking advantage of middle east food and because we're not keen on the high fat fast food route. However the culture in general is not particularly hygienic (witness the waiters drying cups at our hotel, thumb in cup, towel draped over shoulder) and the thought of the food appearing in cardboard box and sterile can is rather encouraging. This morning outside the hotel, we passed a van with a huge tray of loaves of bread balanced on the roof. Two or three of the loaves fell onto the roof of the van and the driver returned them to the tray. It's simply a different view of cleanliness. KFC is better than average, although it's possible to find the washroom without seeing the sign or asking directions.

Stop at five star hotel and buy a newspaper as well as taking advantage of very clean loo. Then a policeman actually escorts us across two streets - more hazardous than it sounds, and referred to by the guide book as a real life game of frogger. We negotiate with the driver of a local black and white taxi, with the help of a by-passer, for a ride back, having brought with us an envelope from the hotel with the address in Arabic. Some discussion amongst driver, bystander and policeman and then agreement at 40 pounds Egyptian again - although this time we have the disadantage of persuading a cabby to go from the centre to Giza at rush hour.

The trip is about an hour and a half, some of it in gridlock. It's made a little longer probably by some adjustments at the Giza end as the driver asks locals for directions and expresses surprise. An interesting drive though. We pass two informal sports bars - cafes with a small television outside and perhaps 75 men on the pavement, some on wooden chairs and some standing, watching the football match in the dusk. Probably the same match to which we are listening at high volume in the taxi. Back at the hotel we head down the street to buy a large bottle of water and two tins of 7-up from a small shop. The purchase comes to 10 Egyptian pounds (about two dollars Canadian) and someone is sent to find change for our 20 pound note. How on earth do the operate?

Back to our room, and it's almost the same place we left. We're down one towel, though someone brought two extra yesterday, but have, mysteriously, acquired an extra armchair, squeezed in with some difficulty as we already had two.

Time to pour a drink (whiskey we brought with us) and watch the news. Then we hear on BBC World the breaking news from Cairo. There has been a bombing at the cafe we visited yesterday and had planned to visit today. Tourists were clearly the target: one young French woman is dead and seventeen people have been injured. Little extra information as the area has been sealed and television shots show mainly police milling in the gathering dark.

Saturday, February 21/2009

Wake to our daylight view of the pyramids, now majestic in the sun, and we can see buses already arriving in front of them. Downstairs for breakfast. It's a bit depressing. Nothing's really all that clean and we know better thaqn to eat salads in Egypt. There's a reasonable variety of white buns and sweet buns, most looking a bit dry. We take cups (choosing the cleanest) of fairly warm coffee and consider the options. J says he doesn't think he's up to the middle east breakfast at this hour of the morning but I want something to start the day's sightseeing with and decide that an advantage to the cooked dishes is that probably nobody has plynged a grubby hand into them. So back to take rice, foule (a standard mideast cooked bean dish) and a garlicky aubergine and onion mixture which has actually been kept fairly hot, as well as being delicious. J tries and is similarly impressed. And we switch to tea, which is hot.

Ayet, our guide for the day, arrives, a friendly young lady in a jean jacket, and we head for the pyramids, a short drive away. The only remaining wonder of the original 7 wonders of the world, so simple and yet so incredibly impressive. Ayet refers to limestone as the best of building materials, but only in such a dry climate would it have survived, and indeed over time the largest pyramid has gone from 146 metres to 137 in height over the past 4500 or so years.

We see the Sphinx, but decline the perfume factory tour, although Ayet points out it's included in our package. Ditto the papyrus making demo, which we agree is very interesting but something we have seen before. This buys us more time at the museum, and J persuades Ayet to forgo the explanations of other exhibits so that we can spend all our time with King Tut's treasures. It's all interesting, from amulets to a hinged, folding camp bed used by the boy king on hunting trips.

The best of it is astonishing. There's the well known death mask, with its eleven kilos of gold and the classic symmetrical face, and the coffins, which fit together like a Russian doll. Two of the three, made of solid gold, are on display, as are the gold inlaid nesting containers they fit inside, each bigger than the last, and the largest one enormous. The most moving of the King Tut exhibits, though, is the throne. It's a gold chair of moderate size, but its back panel has a coloured bas relief of a teenaged King Tut and his young wife, unique in its intimate and informal portrayal of affection. The two have eyes only for each other. He is seated comfortably and she is standing, rubbing his arm with oil. Each wears only one sandal of a pair, a unit only when they are together.

Ayet meets us outside King Tut's rooms by some mummies, calling our attention to one which includes a lock of hair, "given to him by a grandmother as a hair-loom," she tells us seriously. We head off across the city for the Islamic area. Driving in Cairo is not for the faint-hearted. Some streets are impossibly narrow but many are multi-lane, the lanes not always marked as cars four or five abreast fight for space, hands on horns and fenders showing signs of past wars. Most of the traffic is vehicular, but there is the odd cart pulled by a donkey and once we pass a wagon pulled by a donkey yoked with a horse. One would expect more accidents and there are many battle scars but we don't witness any prangs, though we once see a smashed car being carried on a small flatbed.

Ayet, who has sadly given up on us a source of extra tailor-made tours tomorrow, takes us to an outside cafe in a square beside the Sayyidina el-Hussein Mosque (apparently, according to the old Let's Go, the resting place of the skull of the grandson of Mohammed). It's a lovely sunlit spot where locals and tourists mix. As we arrive, a large man wearing shorts and a Hawaiian style shirt climbs into the front of a tourist bus and shouts to his wife "wrong bus!" Most tourists are less cliched looking though, and mix with locals. Ayet has guava juice while J and I drink tea with large sprigs of fresh mint immersed - very refreshing. There are sales attempts every few seconds - watches, jewellery, caps - but nothing too pressing. And we get a chance to chat with Ayet. She doesn't wear the hijab, but agrees most women do, though she says there's no pressure. She's learning Russian because there are increasing numbers of Russian tourists. The cafe is a lovely, cosmopolitan spot. Women walk past carrying large suitcase-sized bundles on their heads, the traditional load now wrapped in bright green plastic. Arabic and English are not the only languages in the air. As we leave, we see a tiny kitten curled under a table.

Back at the hotel we can still hear the traffic from our 10th floor room with the window closed.

Friday, February 20, 2009

Afternoon bus to the airport as we begin our Cairo jaunt. Dougie, the regular bus driver, is about to take a holiday himself. After years, he claims, of never winning anything, he has won two separate holidays, and is about to take the first of them in Athens. For the second he has some choice and is thinking of going to Rome. The airport has been undergoing renovations and has, accordingly, acquired much less general seating space and more things to buy at not especially attractive prices. The duty free shop in generous mode, though, so we sample single malts and chocolates, marking the former down for later purchase.

The flight itself is on Egyptair - about an hour and a quarter to Cairo. Minimalist safety instructions, not including any info on the life jackets, although this is one of the few flights on which a life jacket might be of some use if the plane went down - mostly over water and that water with temperatures above the mid-teens. We do get a fairly nice lunch though, and the best landing cards we've ever seen. They're bright little booklets with the immigration info on a tear-out page, the rest being a souvenir with basic information like useful Arabic phrases (all right, some of them not all that useful, like Merry Christmas) and even a map of the Cairo subway.

We're met on arrival and after visa purchase we're handed to Abdoul, who finds our driver and comes with us to the hotel, the Delta Pyramids. We have room 1001 - shades of Arabian nights. The room isn't large, but it does have a fridge and satellite tv (BBC World, Nile TV, a movie chanel, TV Monde plus Arabic chanels). Bathroom with tub and shower, bidet and middle east water hose as option to toilet paper if desired, as well as a large sink with soap dish artfully tilted to drip onto the floor not the sink. The drama comes, though, when we open the bedroom drapes for a stunning view of the pyramids dramatically backlit for evening.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Canada once again makes it onto BBC World television - live coverage at that - courtesy of Obama's 7 hour visit to Ottawa. So we'll see what adjustments will be made in Harper's efforts to please the Americans as the culture of the new administration takes effect.

Wednesday, February 19/2009

Walk out to M&M's for lunch. Bacalao - a Portuguese casserole with layers of potato, dried fish and tomato - and much nicer than that might sound. Second helpings all round. We get most of the way home before the rain starts, and it's not cold rain.

Tuesday, February 17/2009

Our tickets for Cairo arrive and we hand over the second half of the payment.

Over to the church to meet Liza, the girl who is heading off to Canada as a nanny. She's joining a family in Toronto (Markham) who have 3 year old twins and is nervous, but excited. A lovely girl and we hope, as she does, that it's a nice family. So many Philippine domestic workers here are badly treated - not paid or asked to do work that is beyond their contracts. Sometimes actually abused and often not respected.

Liza has a friend with her and they make tea in the rectory. Liza has made a carrot cake and Fr. Wilhelm and his dog, a German shepherd, join us. We exchange addresses and phone numbers and try to supply information. Most things in Canada are cheaper (but not wine). Her friend in BC lives a very long way away - you could take the train but not in one day. The temperature goes below zero in the winter, but not a lot. And then - will the euro go up or down? Ah, if we knew the answer to that we could be rich. She laughs. Her flight leaves in the early hours of Thursday morning, so this is almost the last minute. Hugs and we say goodbye.

Fr. Wilhelm has always had such a nice, relaxed, familial style, especially with the Philippino girls, whom he encourages to use the rectory to socialize on their day off - "you can cook anything except dried fish" - so we ask if he had sisters. Yes, one older and one younger. He beams: "Blessed among women."

Monday, February 16/2009

M&M to our place for fish chowder, something we haven't had in a long time. The late evening provides a choice of films with Mansfield Park, unfortunately, playing against The Winslow Boy. The latter wins out, so it's Arabic subtitles (from Dubai) rather than Greek ones.

Sunday, February 15/2009

One of the young Philippino girls is leaving for Canada this week and a new future. We don't know her but we do change $40 CAD for her courtesy of Fr. Wilhelm and give him Susan's info on exchanging euros in Canada. Fr. Wilhelm says he tried to persuade the girl to come today to meet us but - he smiles and shrugs - she leaves on Thursday and she's saying goodbye to her boyfriend.

Saturday, February 14/2009

Meet with Leo Leontios in reception to make arrangements for a long weekend ini Cairo. Next weekend if there is availability. He brings with him two small boys, a son and a nephew, who have been promised a treat if they're good, which they certainly are.

Lovely sunny morning for market. They now know our "usual" - two black Cyprus coffees - at the cafe. Two elderly men sit next to us in their usual full sun spot. Well equipped electronically with mobiles and, (one of them) a watch that reads the time aloud.

Six eggs. It's rare in this part of the world to buy a dozen as some would probably not be used while they were at their freshest. As the woman puts our eggs in a small bag, a tiny white feather floats off. A good sign. Then tomatoes (still with garden earth clinging), a cauliflower, a bag of oranges and some broccoli. Also a stop at the little deli for two litres of Spanish wine and a bottle of Cypriot.

Come across a short story of John Updike's saved for a rainy day from a UK Sunday supplement. Saved before Updike's death, but we read it now. His descriptions as spot on as Alice Munro's but with a nice masculine imagery.

Friday, February 13/2009

Drive up to Nicosia with M&M. We've never been since the Ledra Street crossing was opened. One only has to walk up the pedestrian mall that stretches from north to south across the old city (the only divided city left in the world) and show passports on the Turkish side to get a 90 day visa, kindly supplied on separate pieces of paper so as not to render the passports useless in Cyprus and Greece. A two minute procedure and no more razor wire in evidence.

Maggi and Magne are spending the weekend (their anniversary being on Vaentine's Day not Friday the 13th). After they leave the car in a carpark building, inconveniently furnished with a machine that books 10 hours maximum and is incapable of argument - with the encouragement of a regular customer who says they dono't check on weekends - we separate, they to lunch at a restaurant that features sheep's heads and we to cross to the north.

The formalities are quick and the north is waiting for tourists. the shops are less upscale, but goods are on display outside and the proprietors as happy to take euros as Turkish lira, most using an exchange rate of one euro to two lira. North Nicosia, or the part within the old Venetian city wals, is all charm, and thanks to the EU many of the Ottoman buildings are being preserved and restored. There are empty windows without glass, but also pointed stone arches, ainted wooden shutters and traditional Turkish balconies. It's warm and it's alive. Behind the main mosque (once a church) little girls play hopscotch on the pavement. Mothers with long skirts and hijabs (though this is not a strictly observant country) carry babies. A beautifully marbled cat curls up on a fabric display in the sun just past the antique shop. A man getting into his car stops to point out the one time church turned hamman (or Turkish bath house, so old that its arched door is more than half sunk below street level.

We stop to eat lunch, doner pitas stuffed with lamb from the spit at a little tabe outside the friendly but too hot cafe where we have eaten before. It's in a pedestrian way, a good people watching spot. As we leave, the cook tells us his son is studying in Minnesota. Then J buys Turkish red pepper at a stall in the covered market.

Back in the south we wait for the bus and read the notices fixed to the bus shelter walls. One begins "Good news" - but proves to be an advertisement for young students rather than a religious message:

"This is first time in Cyprus only 4 Asian children's. Are you worried about your children's to study English and maths? Am British qualified childcare and kindergarten teacher. I will teach English and maths only for Asian children's. The tuition fee is affordable."

One would suppose that EU countries do not allow limiting teaching to one particular ethnic group, but in this case it would clearly be preferable if fewer rather than more "children's" enroll.

Signs on buildings as we leave Nicosia: "Ecclesiastical Insurance" - protecting bell towers or parishioners? "Twenty-four hour self video" - the ultimate in narcissism?

Thursday, february 12/2009

A mushroom artichoke sauce for the spaghetti - amazingly good. Would try it in Canada except we remember what passes for artichokes in our part of the country.

Wednesday, February 11/2009

Two pretty good and two pretty bad computers at the student internet. The two good ones have been out of order for a week, the only advantage being that most users are too discouraged to show up so that sometimes, between crashes, it's retty quiet, almost contemplative. The good have been "fixed" - or at least lost their out of order signs - and are almost instantly virus ridden.

Tuesday, February 10/2009

Banks as thick on the ground as travel agencies here, frequently more than one to the block. The ground floor of our hotel has one, and there are two in the building immediately across the road (the Lebanese and Gulf Bank and an investment bank) and one in the building kitty corner to us - and this isn't unusual density. They seem to be surviving the crisis reasonably well, in part probably, because loans come out of investments rather than from borrowed funds.

Monday, February 9/2009

Yesterday's weird end of world hazy light explained in a way athat sounds exotic to our western ears but probably isn't to the locals. The explanation is a dust haze, the dust moving in from the Sahara, which happens periodically here.

Sunday, February 8/2009

A kind of strange end of world look when we open the morning curtains. Morning light but high cloud cover and not a speck of sun. It's not cold though. Stop at the bakery after Mass. We're still buying the rye loaves studded with sesame seeds, and this time they're still warm. Regrettably probably the last time for the koulouri. They've got smaller and more expensive (45 euro cents each) and this time they're not even fresh. No longer a pleasure unfortunately.

Saturday, February 7/2009

Lovely day for market. It's not ony vegetables and fruit. We thread our way past a blue plastic crate half filled with snails. There are some grubby lettuce leaves on top which I first take for rubbish but decide must be snail food. Some time we'll try the fungoid shaped Jerusalem artichokes, but not this week.

After market place coffee we go back to have lunch with M&M. Salt herring, and nicely done, with strawberries and kiwis for dessert, on the balcony overlooking the sea. As lovely as winter gets. Shirtsleeve weather in the sun, sea breeze, a drink in hand and good friends.

Friday, February 6/2009

The BBC struggles with the problem of political correctness with uneven results. So when Carol Thatcher, daughter of former prime minister Margaret Thatcher, says, during a conversation in the green room after a show, that a French tennis player looks like a gollywog she is sacked. Whereas Jeremy Clarkson, the motorsport presenter, who is of far more value to the BBC, refers to Prime Minister Gordon Brown as a "one-eyed Scottish idiot" he is not. But then Thatcher initially refused to apologise, whereas Clarkson says that he was wrong to call Gordon Brown one-eyed and Scottish - but maintains that he is an idiot.

Thursday, February 5/2009

Maggi's planned a night out, so we meet at Napoli Pizza, M armed with a full page review of the place in her handbag. The pizza is indeed as filling as promised in the review and it's a friendly informal place.

Then back to our own hotel. The Kition's entertainment claim to fame is Thursday evening when "Ian sings the golden oldies." And he does, with a wide repertoire of songs from the 50's and 60's. Two fifty a drink but no cover charge and a small dance floor, and there's clearly a small regular contingent of (mostly) Swedes and Brits. I tease J about being the best looking guy there and he says he thinks just the yougest. It's a mellow crowd all right, but quite pleasant.

Wednesday, February 4/2008

The rest of the year is sliding into place as we book two 2 week stints with the Welby in London. That should be enough to make the pound rebound sharply.

February 3/2009

Sunny with high close to 20. Walk out to Orphanides supermarket, nting flats to let. Seems any clean and modern flat is described as "luxury" in Cyprus. According to the Sunday paper the tourist trade will shortly be in major difficulty (last Sunday's headline: Hoteliers told drop rates or face disaster). this is linked to the world financial problems, particularly the drop in value of sterling (half the tourist business is UK). It's also linked to price increases in Cyprus that seem well beyond those reflecting the strength of the euro and, ironically, to deliberate government policy to lower the number of low cost tourist beds in the hope that they wil be replaced with higher cost places attracting a better class of tourist. Instead of the more desirable tourist appearing in large numbers, they have been shocked to find that companies have been considering Turkey and Egypt better value for money. It's a year or two back now that we read a letter to the Cyprus Weekly saying how much more tourists paid to visit Monaca - and wondered if the writer had ever been to Monaco and nted things like the modern plumbing (most Cypriot and Greek plumbing won't take toilet paper due to ridiculously narrow pipe diameter) and sidewalks free of broken paving stones and misparked cars.

And when we reach Orphanides I notice that the price of salad greens, admittedly not an expensive item in Cyprus, has risen from 15 Cypriot cents a bunch (24 euro cents) to 35 euro cents since last year, a 46% increase.

February 2/2009

The two good computers at the student internet are still down (still that is since Saturday) leaving some rather despondent queuing for the two badly performing ones remaining.

J and I stop at Top Kinesis travel agency and inquire about holiday packages, a necessity as well as a pleasure as we can only stay in Cyprus 90 consecutive days, which won't take us to our return flight to London. The only thing on offer is a week at Sharm El Sheik, but a beach holiday playing hotel is not really our scene. Could they arrange something in Crete? The girl will check. Give her a few hours and she will telephone. We wonder, not for the first time, how all the travel agencies in Cyprus manage to survive. Given a secure computer, I could probably set up the same package in less time and more cheaply, so who is using all the travel agents? There are seldom clients inside as we walk past and most of the package holidays in the windows have disappeared. But there are a great many travel agencies, unlike in London where most of them seem to have been replaced by mobile phone shops.

London - now under a foot of snow. Canadian weather but without Canadian equipment from snowplows and snow tires to aluminum shovels and warm tall boots. To say nothing of winter driving skills. But it will melt with uncanadian dispatch.

Sunday, February 1/2009

Sunday afternoon walk. Stop at the crowded second hand shop to find some reading material. There are plenty of books but they're hard to access, piled two layers deep and hard to see in the dark shop. I move whole stacks at a time to peer behind at other stacks, carefully replacing not only books but ornaments and kitsch piled on top whenever a book sticks out far enough to make this possible. A clothes hanger with 3 colourful neckties dangles in front of one shelf. For the bottom shelf I sit on the floor and inspect one handful at a time. There is an amazing variety from Barry Goldwater to play scripts to manuals on breastfeeding. In the end I emerge with four read aloud candidates - Pride and Prejudice (which neither of us has read recently), Dickens' Hard Times, John Mortimer's Titmuss Regained and Edith Sitwell's The Queens and the Hive, history of Elizabeth I and Mary Queen of Scots. I bargain a little to get them for three euro instead of four, and would have bargained harder had I noticed how ruthlessly annotated the Austen and Dickens are, scarcely a page of either untouched by childishly handwritten explanations and lipstck coloured highlighting - a far more thorough job than most undertaken by my own former students. No petering out here after the opening chapters. As they are Penguin editions, I have not even checked inside until after paying my money.

A walk along the waterfront and we sit on a bench watching the endless Sunday parade of walkers, local and tourist. Sundays are always semi-carnival mode along here. Family groups, tourist couples, foreign workers and stalls with ice cream and helium filled animal shaped balloons. From the other side of the street we can smell the sugar of the candy floss. Sunny and warm and the scent of flower beds under the palm trees. Hotels and cafes on one side of the road and lttle stalls along the beach on the other. Benches on both sides for people watching. And the one way street a constant stream of traffic crawling past, much of it people out to see and be seen. The same cars circle by several times.

The tv schedule promises the film Keeping Mum with Rowan Atkinson in the evening, but for the second time in a month it doesn't appear, a not unusual occurrence in Cyprus. In this case it's replaced with Zorro - fifty some years after the time when J and I would have considered the sword play a great treat.

Saturday, January 31/2009

Coffee at our market cafe in the morning. Plastic tables and chairs crowded together but we manoeuver ours into the sun.

We finish reading Anita Brookner's The Next Big Thing, not exactly as penance but certainly as discipline, because it's Brookner and because we've begun it and because we're rapidly running out of reading material. We're left tempted to check online for reviews other than those on the jacket

Friday, January 30/2009

Brief afternoon rain with bits of hail. Not exactly tropical pattern but we've been getting days that begin cloudless, become sullen around noon and provide brief rain. Warm enough though. If we miss the weather in English we can always pick it up in Greek. A weather map is easy to read. The word for tomorrow in Greek is avrio. For tonight it is something written in Greek letters but pronounced a-popsy. Quite humerous to Anglo ears.

M&M come to dinner and J makes goulash.