Saturday, November 19/2016

Have asked, as urged by management, for items missing from the usual complement in the kitchen. Thus yesterday we returned to find our supply of small spoons has been increased from four to six. When we arrived there were only three table knives, blue handled with serrated edges. They're dreadful knives, inclined to snap in two if used for anything as unyielding as peanut butter, but we duly requested three more of them, if only to take their turn succumbing to the peanut butter. When we came back yesterday the knives had been replaced with six white handled substitutes, suggesting the usual method of raiding a temporarily empty flat to supply requests from another. This leaves the most important request unfilled. When we moved in there were no cooking pots at all, though there was quite a good stainless steel frying pan. So I resolve to ask one of the cleaners, which means determining the Greek word for cooking pot. The internet supplies "κατσαρόλα", pronounced catserola, so I suggest it to Veneria when we pass her on our way to the supermarket. I hold up two fingers for quantity and sketch the appropriate size in the air. Ah, metrio. Yes, medium. Much nodding and smiling as we congratulate each other wordlessly on communication accomplished. Veneria points cheerfully to the door of the flat next to ours, which I take to mean that it will be the source of the new pots. Probably unoccupied at the moment, or perhaps it has tenants who don't cook. And indeed we return from shopping to find two shiny medium sized pots and lids in the kitchen. 

There is wifi at the Sunflower but it's been slow to the verge of non-existent in the flat. Works more or less in the bedroom, and sometimes when a tablet is placed on the microwave in the kitchen corner - not while operating, of course. It works considerably better in the reception area so sometimes we go down in the evening. Much busier than at the same time in previous years, with quite a lot of young people, many of them backpackers. Which may, in fact, be the reason for the slowness of the internet. 

Friday, November 18/2016

First walk downtown. Note there are a few more store closures, including, sadly, a little second hand shop run by two English Cypriot sisters, where I once bought earrings. Nice to be remembered, though. Not with the drama of Sunflower's young man on reception, exclaiming "oh my god" and rushing out with enormous hugs, though really we scarcely know him, unlike Kiki, the evening receptionist whom we've known for years and whose more decorous hugs of greeting are clearly genuinely affectionate. But we get a nod from the woman who owns our regular café and knows how we like our Greek coffee - sketo, no sugar. As usual there's a little treat, two small slices of sponge cake this time. We could, of course, say no to it but somehow never do. And at "our" bakery - very large dense loaf of our favourite sesame studded rye bread €2.15 ($3.07 CAD, £1.84) - the woman at the till welcomes us back. She has very little English - not much more than our Greek - but once managed to tell me that my husband had already been in and had bought the bread I was trying to purchase. 

Metro supermarket has not closed, though. It's renovations are finished and it's spanking new, though the prices, as ever, a little higher than elsewhere. Impressive state of the art lifts, as well, suitable for taking a shopping trolly from ground floor to the hushed recesses of the liquor section above. On the way there we encounter the former deputy mayor outside his house - actually a four storey building with a relative occupying each floor. We first met him at the embarrassing little ceremony where we were being recognised as long time visitors of Larnaca, and he sort of remembers. No longer in politics, but interested in everything political. Pithy comment on the mess the Americans have made of the Middle East. Indeed.

Amid our trove of unpacked treasures we are pleased to find an unread Ian Rankin book. Has to be daytime reading as the lighting in the flat just isn't up to it - obviously nothing to do with our aging eyes - so "real" print in the daytime and tablets in the evening, although only the newest of these filters out the undesirable blue light. Theoretical sunset here close to five thirty but disappears from our window, and I think behind the western hill, closer to half past four.

Thursday, November 17/2016

Meze dinner with Jane and Bill and Aylsa and Harry. Traditional Cypriot meal, though not one we have every year. Seems like infinite number of dishes - in reality about twenty - and highly carnivore. Begins with salad. Then sausage, chicken, pork, liver, kidneys, meat patties, grilled halloumi cheese, scrambled egg with spinach, mushrooms, tzatziki, humus, tahinni, chips, olives, macaroni, warm pita bread and more - not particularly in that order, and usually with three or four dishes on the table at any given time. Always with pita and the dips, which get replaced if they're finished. As well as beer and wine. We take small amounts of each but it's still hard not to be stuffed. The point is, of course, more the friends than the meal, but in typically Cypriot style it's incredibly noisy. Assume that Cypriots can't all have bionic hearing so they must - and indeed obviously do - depend on speaking at top volume. We all too Anglo (well, ok, in J's case Polish) to do this and conversation pretty well limited to the two closest people, and even then including the bits where one hopes that the smile and nod has not been in response to an announcement of a terminal diagnosis. Actually, Aylsa's younger sister has died since we last saw them - expected but sad. 

I'm not close enough to Harry to hear much of anything, though he and J talk some local politics. Part of their discussion involves Harry's account of hundreds of Cypriot villagers surrounding about two hundred British soldiers from the British base near us in a pre-dawn confrontation over the cutting down of trees near a firing range. This is an event that has made the world press, where it is dryly noted that the villagers, who claim to value the forested area, also use it to kill migratory birds and illegally trap songbirds (served, equally illicitly, as a delicacy in local restaurants). The soldiers, it is suggested, were hoping to prevent this activity, as well as improving firing range safety.

Wednesday, November 16/2016

Wake up to summer. Well, Med bright sun. A whole new world with warm breeze. And begin with the boxes, a mildly embarrassing seven of them stored here for the last six months. As well as a clothes drying rack for the balcony. They're in a room on the mezzanine, which is slightly awkward as it's the one floor where the lift doesn't stop. Bit like Christmas opening them up. Some things we've been waiting for, like the mugs and the cd's and player. Others are a surprise. Forgot about the ceramic frying pan. Did we really store two litres of gin?

To Carrefour and Prinos greengrocer for the basics. We still have some whole grain spaghetti, so with onions, tomatoes (fresh and dried), long sweet red peppers a courgette and a few mushrooms there's a sauce. Except we do have seasoning but don't have olive oil - or any other fat. Cheese to grate on top, but....Slow braise of each vegetable in turn with a tiny bit of tahini in with the onions. Not at all bad. Start thinking of how a posh vegetarian restaurant would describe it on the menu. 

Tuesday, November 15/2016

On the move. Too little sleep countered by the slight spurt of adrenalin that always accompanies a travel day. Tube commuter packed to King's Cross St Pancras. Eight twenty train from St Pancras even more sardined, again with commuters. As J says, after conversation is once more possible, it's a bit embarrassing to take up space with even our small suitcases when not everyone on the platform makes it onto the train. Eight coaches this run instead of the usual 12, but thins down quite quickly as we leave central London and plenty of seats out to Gatwick. As usual we're ridiculously early, but see no other way to allow for the unexpected - such as the train out of St Pancras that was cancelled while we were on the platform. Having the fare refunded wouldn't begin to cover the catastrophe regardless of their polite regrets for inconvenience. 

Flight very full. J and I have booked aisle seats opposite each other, as we usually do when there are banks of three on each side. Substantial wait while the luggage for a no show passenger is unloaded. Bright side is that there is now an empty place between me and the young man who has the window seat in our row, which we share amicably between his laptop and my lunch. It's a no frills flight but he, like us, has brought sandwiches. Unlike us, he hasn't brought water, and pays a hefty £2.50 (€2.90, $4.50 CAD) for a cup of tea. Personal opinion is that if you're going to buy onboard it would be better to go for the whisky at £5, only double the tea. However any austerity more than compensated for by the free inflight wifi. Does make you wonder, though, how critical all those warnings were about setting your devices at "airplane", which we followed religiously, even with the bookreader, which I couldn't seriously imagine struggling to connect with electronic shops from the genuine clouds. 

Make up the time with help of a tail wind and only slight delays at immigration. Avoid the queue where a young woman is saying "But this is my ID," in answer to "So you have no passport?" Do get an immigration officer who spends an inordinately long time examining the old (and totally irrelevant) luggage collection stickers on the backs of our passports, none of which are from this flight. Memo to self, remove same during idle moments watching telly. But then we're met by Jane and Bill. So lovely to see their smiling faces at arrivals. Lift "home" and plan for dinner Thursday. Greeted with hugs by Kiki at the Sunflower and given the key to our usual. We're back!

Monday, November 14/2016

Last day. They're digging up the street next to where we're staying, and look like they have been forever. Replacing sewers but not on the every day plan. Loved the elderly lady who walked past the digger machine and said cheerfully "I've always wanted to drive one of those"! 

To the LSE again, this time to hear (Sir) Craig Oliver, former political and communications director to David Cameron, give the insider talk on Brexit, in line with his recent book, Unleashing Demons: the inside story of Brexit. Yes , does seem that some get knighted for failure, though BBC broadcaster and former Times editor Andrew Neil tweets an explanation: "Knighted for ensuring that Cameron+senior cabinet ministers were not interviewed by me in 6 years. Well earned, sir." Fast paced and lots of questions, not all of them tame. Interestingly, he doesn't regard Cameron as having had any option to calling a referendum, given the demands of a deeply divided caucus. He would never have won the leadership without. But, one wonders, aren't there things one ought not to do even at the price of not being leader? Calling a 50%+1 referendum, for example. Oliver's clear belief is that if Cameron had said no they would have chosen another leader who would have done it. He's more surprisingly tolerant of Boris Johnson, saying he was "only pursuing leadership." Indeed. Interesting evening and the theatre packed. The queue formed 40 minutes before it began.

Sunday, November 13/2016

Penultimate day. And so many things we said we'd do and haven't. Have visited all the friends, though, which is the most important, and some of the others are better done in spring when it's (usually) warmer. Bit of shopping and then last meal at Roses. Same sweet waitress who asked, kindly, om Thursday if we wanted "tartar sausage" with our fish. 

By bus to Oxford Street to see the Christmas lights - pretty if premature. We'd been looking forward to the lights on Regent Street - angels suspended across the street with swooping wings. Sadly, they're not turned on. Maybe it really is too early.

Saturday, November 12/2016

Umbrella day, but not cold. The man at the next table at Starbucks is our neighbour of yesterday and we find ourselves continuing our far-ranging discussion on world politics. Most unusually, we not only share an interest in the same themes but have much the same opinions. He's originally from Baghdad but has lived here for 38 years. It's a half hour chat later before we settle down to the electronic use. Later J comments on the large back packs and plastic bag he has carried both days and we find ourselves hoping he's not homeless. Though he did seem too sanguine for that - I hope.

Pick up lamb shawarmas at the little Middle East hole in the wall of a take away on Queensway. They're always busy and it's not bad, though J thinks on the tough side.

Friday, November 11/2016

Over to Thames Ditton to Jenny and Doug's. They're just back from visiting Jenny's father in Cyprus. It's a chance to see Elaine and Phil as well, as they're staying here on their way to reclaim their house in Yorkshire, after house sitting in Australia while there own home was rented out. Lots of chat and a lovely meal prepared by E&P. 

We're lucky too that Giles has brought the girls over, looking smart in their new winter school uniforms. Remembrance Day poppies accompanied, in Jasmine's case, by hair appropriate for "funky hair day" though Leila is more decorous. Laura stops by as well to collect her puppy, who is being dogsat for the day. 

Dinner after they leave - shrimp filled avocado halves, cassoulet, and apple crumble. Lovely.  

Thursday, November 10/2016

Bit showery as we go to Westminster Cathedral and a couple of shops nearby to look at cards. As we emerge we pass four young men sitting on the damp pavement, two of them with the plastic of the rough sleeper protecting them from the cold concrete. They're not paying attention to us but break out into "We wish you a Merry Christmas." Current soliciting or practising for the festive season?  

To St Pancras Station to pick up the train tickets to get us to Gatwick on Tuesday. As we pass the first electronic departure board J notices the bright pink cancelled signs are next to almost all the departing trains, not only the Thameslink ones or only the southbound. Not too encouraging for those about to buy train tickets, and in fact the girl at the sales wicket says she hopes that there will be better service on Tuesday. As do we, of course, but the signs apologising for technical problems say November that the delays may continue to 10, which is today, so fingers crossed. The station has three pianos in the main concourse, which can be played by anyone who wishes. Happily, they're usually used by people with some ability. As we pass one pianist is being filmed in action. 

Last stop is meant to be Indian Veg restaurant at Chapel Market. We tried to go there on Sunday only to see a sign saying that they were closed for renovations and be told, cheerfully, that they're due to open the next day. This seems to have been optimistic, if not downright untruthful, as they're still shut, still declaring themselves under renovation. They have replaced the sign, raising the buffet price by 55p to a still very reasonable £7.50, but no indication now of opening date. So plan B becomes a last stop at Roses - not an unattractive proposition as Thursday's special is always lamb kleftiko. 

Except that it isn't. When we get there the young (east European?) waitress tells us that it's finished - was gone by one o'clock. The owner elaborates. There are a finite number of rhe daily special prepared freshly, and when they're gone, they're gone. As, for example, Tuesday's chicken curry, which a group of workers consumed before noon. We tell him, truthfully, that it is the best kleftiko we've tasted, better than Greece or Cyprus. He's conciliatory: next time we can phone and ask to have two portions reserved. His business card has the number. So we settle for the cod and chips, which is, in all fairness, very good. As we leave, two women at the next table engage us in conversation. They're Irish and they're regulars, like so many of Roses' customers. In fact Kilburn itself, as the name suggests, was originally an Irish district, though it now looks more Caribbean and Middle Eastern. The owner here is Turkish and quite pleased about the Trump win - a country should look after itself first. But what about banning Moslems from the country? Oh that - he waves a hand airily - that's just talk. A reminder of the observation that journalists didn't take Trump seriously but did take him literally - as in how could he in practice deport all illegal Mexicans - whereas Trump's followers took him seriously but not literally. 

Wednesday, November 9/2016

Wake occasionally through the night to hear the election news. Waiting for Wisconsin. Florida obviously gone. Then it really is morning. And President Trump. So over to Starbucks for strong coffee and bitter analysis. We do indeed live in bizarrely interesting times. Only real advantage we can see is that Trump is not much of a hawk, but that's not a lot to go on with. 

Bit of intellectual diversion in the evening. We've been booked for a week at the London School of Economics for a talk on the future of Yemen. Places by reservation, but they warn that they reserve more places than there are seats, as there are often no shows, so we go early. What we're getting is a presentation prepared for Remote Control of the Oxford Research Group. The presenters are highly informed - Ginny Hill, visiting fellow at the LSE and formerly member of the UN Panel of Experts on Yemen, and Baraa Shiban, who has investigated drone strikes and served as a member of the Yemeni National Dialogue, reviewing Yemen's laws and drafting its new constitution. There is also commentary by Helen Lackner, who lived in Yemen for years and recently wrote a book called Yemen in Crisis: Autocracy, Neoliberalism, and the Disintegration of the State. They're interesting on the subject of military engagement, and place the roots of the conflict in Yemeni society. Not a proxy war - but all the same the Saudis are the largest single customer for US arms. Difficult to assess the effects of Trump's election - he may be less interested in regime change but hard to imagine the businessman wanting to distance himself from profits. We're underinformed on this bit of the Middle East, so it's especially nice that the presentation is accompanied by an impressively produced 20 page book, map and graphs included, a study of wars and arms use in Yemen.

Tuesday, November 8/2016

 

To Trullo, a nice little Italian restaurant a stone's throw from Highbury and Islington tube station. Or would be if one knew which direction to throw the stone. There's confusing and obstructive construction taking place where Holloway meets St Paul's Road in a kind of U bend accompanied by a little park. Eight roads, depending on how you squint at the map, join up by the park. 

But we do negotiate it eventually. We're meeting Alexander for lunch. He's in from his village just south of Cambridge for a number of piano tuning appointments so it's a good chance to meet up. Sadly, the first time we've seen him since Flora died in September. Talk about the past, but also about the present - the American election today and Brexit. Happily for the digestive juices, we're largely in agreement. Not that the meal needs any help. Because it's lunch time, we each choose a different pasta from the primi menu and they're all delicious. Also side salads and a carafe of Italian white. Very nice. 

By the time we get back to the tube station the trains have stopped running in both directions. No explanation. Signal failure? So we take the overground to Kilburn High Road to pick up cheese and biscuits and fruit. Then home.

Begin watching election results but due to time difference there's almost nothing by 1 AM, so take the little battery radio to bed with us.  Taken very seriously by BBC 4 - even displaces shipping forecast!

Monday, November 7/2016

Chilly enough that we're thinking of places to go that don't involve a long, windy walk. Haven't been to the Albert and Victoria in a very long time and it's directly accessible from the tunnel at South Kensington tube station. As are the Science Museum and the Museum of Natural History. 

We're recruited almost immediately by a tour guide and assume initially, and a bit underenthusiastically, that we're getting a general layout of the building for future use. But it's shorter and more fun than that. A look at about ten individual items with historical background, a little humour, and quirky bits of information. Starts with a painted death mask of Henry VII, one which was carried through the streets of London on his coffin. A modest looking man who apparently disliked pomp and ceremony and, according to our guide, a man who often seemed worried. Actually, we can think of more reason for him to worry than she can. He's the man who took the throne from Richard III, and there's good reason to think that the deaths of the princes in the tower were wrongly attributed to Richard by Tudor historians who had good reason to wish to please Henry. But that's another story and not one that we raise.

My favourite of the V&A artefacts is the great bed of Ware, a large bed that dates back to the late fourteen hundreds and was still well known at the time of Shakespeare, with a reference appearing in Twelfth Night. We'd seen the bed before, but the guide has information that is new to us. The bed was located in an inn and it was possible to reserve a place in it - the bed being shared with other travellers, often strangers. Normally, the guide says, the travellers would all be male, although there was one occasion, apparently, when it was booked by a group of eight butchers and their wives - pretty crowded even for such an enormous bed! But it's certainly true, as she says, that privacy is a modern (and possibly western) value. Historically even royalty dressed - and used the toilet for that matter - with others in the room. 

Some of the art in the museum, including enormous "cartoons" by Raphael, paintings made as a preliminary for the production of tapestries, were collected by Charles I, who was quite a collector of great art before his execution. The guide tells us that Oliver Cromwell, his successor, paid tradesmen with works of art - seventy percent of which Charles II managed to get back after the Restoration. 

Sunday, November 6/2016

Up at six because the London to Brighton car rally begins at dawn, shortly after seven. Luckily the starting point is Hyde Park and we're within easy walking distance. As we walk down Bayswater a number of the antique cars pass us on their way to the park. We can hear the rattle as they come up behind us, as they're pretty old. This year's cars have to be built before 1905 to enter. Brave of the drivers, as few of the vehicles have head lamps and it's not still before sunup. Only the owners staying nearby drive to the park. The others, and there are some four hundred of them, trailer their cars in. It's colder than other years - breath visible at times - but we're well layered. I'm wearing my black cashmere pashmina between my wool cardigan and jacket and have gloves as well, although they're impossible to combine with taking photographs. 

There's a huge variety of cars - a few with names still familiar, like Renault, Daimler and Oldsmobile, but many long since buried in automotive archives. Many have been beautifully restored and brightly painted, polished until they gleam, but there are also purists, and an award for the best unrestored car. Some period costumes in evidence, despite the chill air, often contrasting oddly with the mobile phones their passengers are using to record the trip. It will be cold on the road, particularly for those with no windshield, although they are not permitted to go more than 20 mph (and some would have trouble reaching that speed). A few are steam powered, leaving their own trail of white breath in the air, and none have modern emission standards of course - we're definitely breathing intoxicating pollution!

There are some quite sophisticated cars and others so basic that they appear to consist of little more than a wooden base with a seat and a steering stick. And one or two cars raise the question of the basic definition of automobile - when does a motorcycle become a car? Above all the rally is fun. Every one of the watchers has turned up in a cold pre-dawn to watch the world's largest and oldest antique car rally - most years since 1896. And every car is a unique personality, highly individual and preserved with love.

Saturday,nNovember 5/2016

Down to Regent Street for the annual Regent Street automotive show, in conjunction with the London to Brighton car rally. The rally is for cars over a hundred years old, and quite a few of them are represented here. But there are also sparkly new concept cars, racing cars, and electric cars with 250 mile range. 

It"s Guy Fawkes night but cold enough we're not keen on going out to watch fireworkd. Some folks must be,nthough - we can hear them non- stop till midnight or later.

Friday, November 4/2016

Queensway as a barometer of London life. Are times tougher? Whitelys - once a posh department store with history and now a shopping centre - has seven empty shops that we count on the ground floor. Plus a card shop that has signs saying it's closing, sale prices, everything must go. Though that's a bit iffier. The overpriced cards haven't been marked down, though the tackier of the overpriced gifts have. Anything I might be at all interested in remains with original sticker. 

There are occasional beggars on the street, though maybe no more than there used to be. Last year I walked past a tall middle aged man looking for donations and was appalled when he shouted angrily "I know you hate Jews!" Don't know whether I was more horrified at being accused, totally unfairly, of anti-Semitism or, equally unfairly, of selecting recipients of charity by ethnicity or religion. In any case, it certainly hadn't occurred to me that he was Jewish, Jewish beggars being, in my experience, rare to the point of non-existence. Or maybe, as this experience illustrates, I just wouldn't know.

 There are buskers, saxophonists and sometimes a double bass player, but they are considerably more cheerful and can reasonably be classed as self-employed. The kids who used to hang round the tube at night looking for day passes with a little life left in them are gone, probably down to the use of chip cards and oysters (loadable transit cards).

 J points out that each time a shop on the street closes it seems to be replaced with a restaurant or food shop - some ethnic and others mini versions of supermarkets, Tesco and Sainsbury's. Mostly pubs or chains appealing to tourists, of which there are quite a lot more than there used to be. This is not an asset, as tourists raise local prices without improving the quality or distinctiveness of offerings. Our memories of this street go back more than 27 years, and in fact our first meal together was here - in a fish and chip shop long since disappeared.

Thursday, November 3/2016

Christmas songs and cheery red menu at Starbucks. To say nothing of disgustingly sweet candy flavoured coffees. Well, guess it's a matter of taste. They did wait until after Hallowe'en, though not Remembrance Day. Advent, of course, a forgotten concept.

Foray down Goldhawk Road in Shepherd's Bush. There's a stretch of the road that's home to a dozen or two fabric shops, most of which seem to be run by Sikhs. Plenty of attractive, sometimes exotic, material. But as usual I'm looking for black corduroy. Thin on the ground,and most of it with baby fine wale. One of the shop owners explains: heavy weight corduroy is bulky to ship and store - and then people buy teo, maybe three yards. Things are tough. The Chinese are charging more, more than Hong Kong. And Brexit? Of course - the pound is down 20%.

Side trip along Shepherd's Bush Market. It's pretty quiet, though maybe not for a week day. Feels a bit down on its luck, with as many vendors as purchasers. Most of it not high quality, and not underpriced either.  Souvenir mugs for £2 that sell for half that on Queensway. But back on Goldhawk Road we do find some corduroy that may serve the purpose.

Then back to Kilburn for supper. Thursday is kleftiko night at Roses, J's favourite. Roses is often home to elderly single men, but the one sitting next to us is a little beyond eccentric. He's not only talking to himself, he's as convincing as any actor in a one man play. Tonal variation, gestures and all - it's clear he can see a companion on the other side of the table. At times he seems, with a question, to want to draw us into the conversation, and we daren't make eye contact. As I whisper to J, it's not that I mind, but I wouldn't know what to say to "the other guy." There are other reasons for not looking, besides ingrained injunctions going back to childhood regarding the rudeness of staring. A quick glance reveals that his jaw seems to incorporate a defective spring: it drops farther than seems possible and looks like it will be unable to close again - though slowly and improbably it does. 

Wednesday, November 2/2016

Head for the Imperial War Museum. Train inexplicably (well, inexplicably or we haven't been paying attention) doesn't stop at Lambeth North Station, so we get off at Elephant and Castle, which lets us poke around the shopping centre and market - and also discover that the Polish restaurant, Mamuska, which we first assume must have closed, has expanded into premises across the road. So on the list for a future meal.

Short walk over to the museum. There's a World War I exhibit on, which proves to be lmore comprehensive and better than we'd expected. Starts with a bit of a profile of pre-war Britain. The average wage was £1.40 a week, with a pint costing 2p. Well, inflation hits everything, but that means a pint costing 1/70 of a weekly income, so you can calculate from there. Some of the other stats require no conversion. Legal school leaving age was 12, and by 16 only 6% of students were still attending. In the west end of London the average age at death was 55 - in the poorer east end it was 30. So going back to the England that used to be looks a little less attractive than Brexiteers would have it. Some things don't change for the better though - one percent of the population controlled 70% of the wealth. Which in those pre-war days left one person in 20 emigrating in search of a better life. When war broke out, the minimum height for men joining up was 5'3, raised to 5'6 by October as overwhelming numbers volunteered but dropped to 5'2" by July 2015 as the war took its toll.

The display includes weapons, uniforms, battle information, home front social changes. And it stresses the tragic pointlessness as much as the courage and dedication. Over a million killed at the Somme, nearly 20,000 of them on the first day. A battle that was eventually, after about five months, abandoned as hopeless on both sides. Pretty thorough, although, as J points out, one would scarcely have thought Canada was there. Then, after we leave, we see what appears at first to be a modern abstract sculpture. Turns out to be the remains of a car, a vehicle that had not survived an explosion in 2007 Iraq that killed 32 people. Not much progress.

Tuesday, November 1/2016

Tube to West Harrow to visit Jean. J collecting leaves from the plane trees (or sycamores - both have leaves shaped like giant maple leaves). The leaves have turned a golden brown, though, and not red. Temp has dropped to about 11, but guess it is November. Quiet visit with catch up, reminiscing, and curry. Wish it were more than twice a year.

Monday, October 31/2016

  Still a little misty, as befits Hallowe'en, but warm, and the sun's out. Afternoon temperatures hit 18. Down to Charing Cross to activate the renewed UK debit card. Errand accomplished, the warm sun is too much a gift to waste, so we walk over the busy footbridge to the South Bank. Plenty of others enjoying the last of the lovely weather, a few of them in costume, including a small girl dressed in shiny purple as a miniature witch, with father taking photographs. Pick up the brochure at the National Theatre. We'll have to see what we can fit in. Extensive stalls with second hand books, and, my favourite, old photographs and prints. Manage not to buy any - maybe next time. Tube to Kilburn for a bit of shopping at Aldi's and home.🎃

Sunday, October 30/2016

Foggy and overcast. Changed to winter time during the night - two AM to be precise - so actually lighter earlier than it would have been yesterday. London is pretty far north as well (51.5074 degrees), which leads to short winter days, so the time change will mean sunset at 4:35 pm. Do end up wondering what hope there is for world peace when we can't even agree on a universal date for moving the clocks (or indeed whether to do so). 

Camden High Street crowded as usual on a Sunday, when its small tube station is exit only. We emerge to see a street entertainer doing the limbo. He's all performance, shaking dramatically as he passes under the bar, which at this point is high enough that I could do it, but we don't stay for the finale. With Hallowe'en looming we've been encountering grim reapers, clowns and the walking dead on the underground. Here there are, as always on a weekend, throngs of young people overspilling the sidewalk, though there may be more Goths, and are certainly more vampires, than usual. Queues at Lidl stretch all the way to the back of the store - not worth stopping for one jar of sun dried tomatoes despite the attractive 85p (€0.94, $1.37 CAD) price. Back just in time to catch the beginning of Mexican Grand Prix coverage at six.

 

Saturday, October 29/2016

Still mild, though a bit misty. Tube and Dockland Light Railway to Greenwich, a bit slower and more crowded because, as usual on a weekend, service is suspended on several lines and the remaining ones are overburdened. The market is buzzing - ethnic foods and some pretty imaginative crafts - like glass liquor bottles, flattened heaven only knows how to serve as plates or bases for clocks. Also jewellery, cartoons, old photographs, scarves, carvings, etc. We're only a short block from Goddard's, the pie shop that has been family run in Greenwich for over a hundred years. It used to be a classic, cheap and delicious pies with mash and peas, fruit crumbles, gravy or custard (depending) overflowing. Not health food exactly, but superb comfort food served at long scrubbed wood tables with large mugs of tea or bottled beer. After a bit of family upheaval it closed briefly and then moved from its original premises a couple of blocks away. It's never quite recovered, though. Prices have, understandably, risen - they do over time - but the food is not quite what it was. Pies are definitely smaller, with a higher ratio of crusts to content. Servings of everything are diminished. Some of the original basics, like peas, have become extra. It's crowded as of old, the queue reaches the door, so it's hard to argue with the economics, but the assumption is that the patrons are not old locals. Last time we were here the server had no knowledge of the previous location. It's just another Greenwich eating spot. We may not be back.

On the packed train coming home an Asian woman offers me her seat, and I accept gratefully as I'm carrying bags with two bottles of wine. A stop or two later she gets a seat but promptly offers it to J, who is carrying four bottles of wine, but much more discreetly than I. Naturally he declines. She does succeed a little later in giving the seat to a woman with a small child. Confirmation of my entirely unscientific observation that seats are most frequently offered by young Asian men, followed closely by young Asian women.

Friday, October 28/2016

Cyclamen from the corner flower sellers (small pot for £1) brightening our room. Lovely moving back into a room that we've stayed in so often that we know where things go as we unpack. Delighted to find that the pay as you go mobile is still working. It's supposed to be good for six months non-use without dying, but it's been six months plus a day, so had low expectations. Think there was about £9 ($14.58 CAD) on it, so that should more than cover more than the three weeks we're here for this time and take us well into next spring's stay.

Super weather. Temp midday about 16 or 17. Light jackets. Up Kilburn High Road. No major signs of financial disaster and prices don't seem to have risen much - though some packages may have shrunk a little in order to remain the same price. As usual, fruit and veg bought on the street corners a much better deal than those in supermarkets. £1 for half a kilo of red grapes - one of the easier fruits to keep for snacking with no kitchen facilities. Earlyish supper at Roses. Cod and chips, excellent as always. High proportion of Roses' [yes, the apostrophe is in the right place] patrons are elderly singles, clearly regulars. Women usually in pairs or part of a couple. The men engaging in what I think of as pub style socialising. They concentrate on the meal or read a paper while they eat - there's a few newspapers near the till for the purpose - but there are sporadic bits of chat about sport or events, and it seems the blokes know each other. The singles are known to the East European waitresses too, and leave to a cheery "see you tomorrow".

Thursday, October 27/2016

A hundred and nine miles from London. Can smell the coffee. There still is coffee. Can faintly remember when there was breakfast on international flights. Think that there are faint memories of hot breakfasts - but perhaps that was a dream. Meal consists of a slice of very cold cake, 8"x5.5". Very sweet. Wonder what they do if you've ordered the diabetic meal. Substitute dry bread? Withhold the slice? Suspect that this is in preparation for abandonment of free meals entirely. Have noticed that when other airlines do this half the commentary is about how outrageous the omission is while the other half is along the lines of what rubbish the food was and how little it will be missed. In all fairness, though, the coffee is fresh brewed and a great improvement on the stewed cigarette butt flavour of years gone by.

Stewardess passes out landing cards to be filled in by anyone whose passport is neither UK nor EU. Or EU citizens practising for post Brexit? One more government expense post Brexit. And queues at Heathrow lasting long after your luggage has disappeared from the carousel. Indeed after a ten minute walk to immigration and a forty minute wait in queue our carousel has long ceased moving and our suitcases, with a half dozen companions, are waiting in a lonely clump. Not stolen, anyway, though it must be getting easier to do so. Can't blame the immigration clerks either. Ours is friendly but says when we suggest more staff and higher pay, that the opposite has occurred - her pay has been cut twenty percent. Amazing amount of patience and good humour about. Though maybe not always, as there are plenty of signs warning against abuse of staff. Things can only get worse when the other EU countries join the immigration lines.

Walking from Bayswater tube station to our temporary home in the heart of London, zone 1, a large, healthy looking fox tears across the road in front of us, at an intersection just off Queensway.

Wednesday, October 26/2016

Ian kindly drops us at the airport, so we're off. Well nearly. Flight half an hour late and oversold. Must have found a volunteer for their $400 compensation in return for waiting for the next flight though, as they don't reannounce the offer. Flight from Ottawa not overfull, though. Electrical connections at each seat, which is good because there were only two per departure lounge at the airport. Dinner tasteless nursery food, but wine quite drinkable.

Tuesday, October 25/2016

Visit Anna and Jeff and the little boys, who are in the process of moving into a newly built house in an endless east Winnipeg conglomeration of same, colonising the prairie for miles. Some houses already sporting green lawns, though, and trees with bundled roots lying by drives ready for instant landscaping. House full of light and still smelling new. Boys busy with toy trains on the floor. J and Ian spend considerable time installing a baby gate with obscure instructions at the bottom of the stairs, hampered somewhat by four year old Riley's removal of two bits of hardware to an upstairs bedroom.

Our last taste of pickerel for the year as Susan, somewhat unfairly as she was the only one at work today, produces a lovely fish fry.

Monday, October 24/2016

Technically it's Monday, as the train leaves at nine minutes after midnight. And it's on time - in fact early - which is nice, since VIA sees fit to provide info only for the Windsor Quebec corridor, hundreds of miles to the east of us, after business offices close for the day. Relatively easy to find the info for making claims when the train has been several hours late, an obvious admission that this happens frequently, but no method for avoiding spending said hours in the station instead of in the comfort of your one's home. Actually Patrick, who is seeing off a friend, says that, surprisingly, if you keep calling the number that professes to be for business hours only, eventually (and presumably randomly) someone may answer. 

Notice the sign on the toilet wall requesting that passengers refrain from flushing while the train is in the station. But surely raw sewage is no longer spewed on the tracks? No? Well, googling reveals that this is indeed still the case. Not only here but in The UK as well - and quite probably most of the rest of the world, to which my computer set up is less sensitive. VIA claims it would take government millions to acquire holding tanks, the British papers are full of complaints, railway workers are subjected to disgusting effluent, and the Atlanta centre for disease control insists there is no health hazard. There you have it.

The train is warm enough - not a given - and only half full, so we have the comfort of two facing double seats. Almost lying flat space as the footrests can be made to meet at seat level. 

Train in at 7 - an hour early - and we're allowed to disembark at half past, once the station staff are on duty. Ian kindly picks us up after dropping Susan at work. Our first  visit since he retired. Some advantages here, as he heats potato soup made with potatoes from Susan's garden. Very nice.

Friday, April 29/2016

You can't go home again. Or can you? Final leg of our journey home. The train is late in arriving at the station in Winnipeg - not unusual - and we get talking to a soft-spoken man who is moving home to the Gaspé after an absence of forty-two years. He's retired now and just made up his mind. Didn't even tell most of his mates. Speaks affectionately of a woman he knows who has sent him birthday and Christmas cards through the years. Just a friend or is he hoping for more? He's not from Winnipeg. Thompson maybe? Spent the afternoon at Polo Park Mall where friends were supposed to meet him but they never showed up. You can only drink so many cups of coffee. And what will the Gaspé hold for him after the decades? He's injured himself and is walking with a cane so they pre-board him when the train comes in and we don't see him again. One unfinished story from tonight's train. 

The train, due at five in the morning gets in about 8:30. Final blog until we resume our roaming life.

Thursday, April 28/2016

Jet lagged, so that six AM feels like the noon it is in London. Get up after an hour. Ian and Susan at work but lunch with Janet and Dave, Judy and Dino. Dino just out of hospital and the restaurant chosen for its wheelchair access and accommodating staff. Dinner at home with I and S. Then Ian takes us to the station, as the train, originally meant to leave at 10:30 is delayed. Know the delay is definite when we're offered tea and biscuits.

Wednesday, April 27/2016

Airports and security. Montreal is nicer than Toronto - less hostile, politer, smaller. Luggage trolleys free. Remember for future trips. Before security at Montreal dispose of water acquired after security in London. Some unseen passenger had to dispose of what they couldn't finish of a bottle of Baileys. Empty and half empty bottles accumulating on the benches before the security queue.

Saturday, April 23/2016

To Thames Ditton to see Jenny and Doug and family. Farmers' market on outside the George and Dragon pub, so we have a quick look and a couple of tastes while the rain makes up its mind and decides against. Our first view of Morris dancers - entertaining, though rather in the vein of a Black Adder parody? Everyone there for lunch - Jenny's mum, Laura and boys, Emma and Giles and girls - thirteen of us altogether, not including two dogs and a cat. Jenny and Doug the only people we know with a table that can accommodate such numbers, symbol of their open hospitality. Jenny off to China next month with a friend. 

Train to Waterloo instead of Wimbledon so we can stop off on the South Bank and catch the end of the Shakespeare festivities -  screens set up at intervals playing clips from the plays, all 20 plus.

Friday, April 22/2016

Last weekend coming up. A number of anniversaries this week. Yesterday the queen's ninetieth birthday. Tomorrow Shakespeare's birthday, as well as the four hundredth anniversary of his death. 

Revisit the warren - a complexity of shops behind the store fronts at the Bayswater end of Queensway. You enter through one of two shops with carry ons or similar and one small room or narrow corridor leads to another. The shops change hands over time, tracing the waves of immigrants. Possible to buy Russian dolls, or Brazilian food, have your computer repaired or your mobile phone unlocked. A unisex Polish hairdressing establishment - signs in Polish as well as English - will cut your hair for £7 (€8.75, $12.65 CAD), compared to £25 for a shampoo and blow dry in a shop on the street outside. A watch repairman has a corner den overwhelmed by its contents - which seem to include every saleable curio that has come the watchmaker's way,  Dickensian surfeit.

Thursday, April 21/2016

To the Wellcome Collection, which we remember best for acnoon hour presentation on vitamin D some years ago. The exhibit we've come for is on the human voice. Probably the most interesting bit is the opening theory, which suggests that speech began prehistorically with song, for purposes of bonding rather than conveying information. Obviously unprovable, but a great deal of speech in our time is essentially bonding rather than information - just listen to any two teenage girls.

 We're in the area of the Mary Ward Café, part of an adult learning centre. They have a cosy little vegetarian café that we've used in the past because of its proximity to the London School of Economics, where we sometimes go for evening lectures. Tonight there's a very nice broccoli and cauliflower quiche, which we both choose, or a vegetarian moussaka, which also looks good.

The presentation we go to after supper isn't at the LSE but at the London Review of Books shop, where veteran maverick journalist Seymour Hersh is interviewed by LRB editor Adam Shatz. Hersh is famous for having broken the stories of the My Lai massacre and the Abu Ghraib abuses. More recently, and more controversially, he has written on Assad and the poison gas issue (he argues, plausibly, that the Syrian Army wasn't responsible for the Ghouta incident) and has refuted the official American version of the killing of Osama bin Ladin. Tonight he's in good form, entertaining and reminiscing on his decades as a reporter and journalist. Shatz is a little too gentle in bringing out the genial and skimming over the criticisms - which mostly come down to sources that were intimately involved but reluctant to be cited publicly. Hersh claims that if they are not willing to confirm their accounts to his editors he doesn't use them as sources. And certainly in the past the official story was cover up bs and Hersh was right. Small shop, but sold out. Anyway, Hersh enjoying himself, audience uncritical, glasses of wine. 

Wednesday, April 20/2016

Stunning day. As J says, it's a shame to go inside, but there are two exhibitions we want to see at the Imperial War Museum. Stop at Trafalgar on the way. Our UK bank is there and confirms that the bank card has been mailed out. Current one expires at the end of the month. The replica Palmyra arch is on display now, attracting plenty of sightseers. 

On to the War Museum. Thefirst exhibition we're here for is photographs by Nick Danziger. It's on the theme of women facing war and features pictures of 11 women that he photographed about 2001 and then returned ten years later to see how they had fared. We'd heard him speak on BBC5 - so compelling that I'd found the program I'd heard in the middle of the night and replayed it for J. Quite a remarkable man, Danziger. He had been a photo journalist, always on the road and often in war zones, and had found he had to protect three young victims of war in Afghanistan, eventually adopting them rather than abandoning them. As the UK did not allow single parent adoptions at the time, he ended up making a home in Monaco, which was accommodating and helpful. This exhibit includes a short film featuring each of the eleven women - or more accurately ten women and a girl, fulfilling the rôle of a woman as she tries to feed and protect her two younger brothers after her mother died and her father abandoned them, sometimes reduced to eating grass - and what then, she asks, sand? From Israel and Palestine to Bosnia to Africa and  Afghanistan, he finds them all, except for the young girl, who he believes has died. There's a short but moving film sponsored by the International Red Cross about the women accompanying the photographs. Often sad and occasionally inspiring. A profound anti-war statement. 

And the next gallery presents an equally profound and even more un-nuanced message. It features the work of Peter Kennard, "unofficial war artist," with mixed media works, posters and collages covering decades and protesting the means and results of war. Sometimes bitter, sometimes witty, sometimes clever.

Tuesday, April 19/2016

Back to Covent Garden to reload ipad from the Cloud. A great deal better than attempting it from the Starbucks office. Then meet up with Jenny, who has been collecting a visa for China. Catch up lunch at the Museum of London and a quick look at the pre-historic gallery - striking in its similarity to native North American Indian museum galleries elsewhere. Stone tools, and a hunter gatherer existence. 

Back to Kilburn, where one of the corner fruit and veg stands is shutting down for the day. Any two baskets for £1.50 (€1.89, $2.72 CAD). We get a basket of small oranges - 20 of them - and one of cherry tomatoes - must be a kilo. Where are they from? Morocco, they're always the sweetest. Roses at supper time. The owner, it turns out, is Kurdish, from Turkey, and we chat. What is it about Erdogan, I ask. He's crazy. Pretty much our own conclusion.

Monday, April 18/2016

Down to Covent Garden for the Apple Genius Bar, which has treated us very well in the past. And a nice young man who wipes the older of the ipad minis in order to refresh its software. The good news being that its quirks do not appear to be signs of imminent demise. 

Then to the National Portrait Gallery. Rather thinking of taking another look at the portrait of Shakespeare, the one believed to be the only one done during his lifetime. Turns out that the 400th anniversary of his death is being celebrated by lending said painting to Moscow. Pay a visit to the Stuart gallery anyway. And renew acquaintance with the genealogical chart that shows the transfer of the crown from the Stuarts to the Hanoverians. Had always supposed that the supporters of Bonnie Prince Charlie were romantic dreamers, but the chart suggests otherwise. He was the only son of the only son of James II, and the obvious royal choice, had it not been for anti Stuart and anti Catholic sentiment. In the light of which a tenuous link led to a German monarch who disliked England and spoke virtually no English.

In Trafalgar Square they're setting up the 3D 2/3 size copy of the Palmyra arch, recently destroyed by ISIS and soon to be on proper display for 3 days.

Sunday, April 17/2016

Wake up to the Shanghai Grand Prix on BBC Radio5. Once upon a time it would also have been on tv, but that is getting increasingly difficult without pay channels. Somewhat like boxing. Previously BBC alternated with Sky in tv race coverage, but it has given up its contract before it expired, so now we can rely on Channel 4, for about every second race. No way to acquire a new generation of fans, but there it is. Pretty chilly out.

 To Camden Town in the afternoon. It too is changing. The fruit and veg market that was on Inverness Street is gone, of course. There's an interesting division. Come out of the Camden Town Tube station and turn right and you are in the middle of Camden market - all youth, counter culture, live music, tattoos, incense, t-shirts, piercings. Turn right and you're in the world of small supermarkets, charity shops, fast food restaurants, hardware shops, mobile phone unlocking services, and pound stores. The people at this end of the high street are local - careful shoppers trailing kids or stopping at a pub. A Lidl store here, with queues showing how it and Aldi are running competition to the traditional supermarkets, though this one is neither as big nor as busy as the Kilburn Aldi.

Saturday, April 16/2016

Things change. Along Queensway the East European grocery shop has become a Mediterranean grocery shop. Other shop fronts (including the currency place where we watched the fire a year ago?) seem to have combined with flats above to become a hotel. We've watched this street for over a quarter of a century. The luggage shop on the corner across from Whitely's once sold roast quarter chickens, though that was a very long time ago. It's gone upscale a bit too. Restaurants and pubs more expensive than they once were and pretty posh cars as well. 

Kilburn High Road is our other street. A bit like Queensway used to be. Rough and ready, multi-ethnic. Good local theatre and still some cafés that aren't chains and do attract working class locals. Two of them are on our must try list, but this time we find ourselves drawn back to Roses, where they do both the best lamb kleftiko (though only on a Thursday) and the best fried fish - perfectly done and longer than the plate.

Friday, April 15/2016

Rainy, as promised by the weather persons. Debate which indoor venue to go to and end up falling asleep. Waste of London time, but resetting internal time clock. And always behind reading stack of newspapers and tablet pocket articles all for "later".

Thursday, April 14/2016

Tube to West Harrow to visit Jean. Take our umbrellas as the forecast is iffy, but this is sufficient to ward off rain until we get back. Reminiscences and chat, about family, friends, politics, books - and wine and Cornish pasties, the first since Cornwall. We sit in the dining room! Where the french doors let in the sun and look out on the garden. The garden is looking good, with azaleas in bloom and a robin visiting, as well as two of the neighbours' cats sizing each other up. 

Wednesday, April 13/2016

Starbucks office to set up for the day. J spots a comment on Twitter from Ben Judah. He's going to be interviewed at the Waterstones bookshop on Hampstead High Street tonight. Attempt to buy tickets online. Bizarre site involves filling out forms printed in black on charcoal. Eventually give up and phone bookshop. They have plenty of tickets so we arrive early enough and then poke around the antique shops. Lovely, and expensive, area. Young couple are operating a coffee shop out of a disused red phone booth and kindly let me photograph their operation. Reluctant to ask them to stand back while I set the shot up properly so it's a bit substandard. 

About 25 or 30 people there for the interview. They've clearly done the routine before, but it's good. X asks the questions to get Ben started and then the performance is on - explanations, background, readings "in character", accents and all. Energetic and engaging. Like Judah's. book, This is London, the various migrants he met telling their own stories. Perhaps too much reading from the book. He does it well and it is compelling - but presumably everyone in the room has recently read, or is about to read, the book, and his method and insights are interesting.  Over a third of Londoners were born abroad, half of them having arrived since 2000. This has nothing to do with the current issue of war refugees, who would in any case be a drop in the bucket, and is also different from past waves of immigration here - the Huguenots, of whom there were 50,000 over 20 years, the Irish following the famine, the Jews (including Judah's grandparents) with 200,000 immigrants over 30 years. These people, large numbers of East Europeans, Africans, and Middle Easterners, are changing the character of the city. They are also living very difficult lives, often without the communal supports of the past and without much realistic expectation that life will be better for their children. Personally Judah sees London in a historical tradition of cosmopolitan trading cities of past and present - Venice, Hong Kong, Krakow, Calcutta, Alexandria. Cities with a varied cultural and ethnic presence and power. The hour passes quickly. A glass of wine, the signing, and we're on the tube with our new book. Have wanted it ever since first seeing excerpts. It's only disappointment being that the many photographs that were in colour on the internet are, in the hardcover book non-gloss black and white. The real loss not the black and white but the lack of sharpness.

Tuesday, April 12/2016

Packing done, but there seem to be odd piles of things that belong nowhere. Little piles - a half lemon, three plastic bags, some lids. Nothing important but causes of micro decision making. Boxes - embarrassingly rhere are now 7 of them - down to storage in the mezzanine. Actually 7 plus the rack for drying clothes. Three oranges that don't fit anywhere in the luggage, which is sad as we know it will be six months before we taste any half as sweet. Suitcases stuffed and down to turn in the key in reception. Drama begins. Are we really leaving? One moment - Chris (next door at the travel agency) will want to say goodbye. (He never has done before). And the young man on reception - whose name we never did learn - has to pick up the gift for us, from the whole staff! Chris is busy: can we wait? No, sadly we have a bus to catch. Young man returns with bottle of wine, clearly hastily purchased round the corner, to which Lefka hastily attaches  sentimental note. We express extreme gratitude - but we have no room at all for an extra bottle. But perhaps Chris ( who is still busy next door) could arrange for them to seal it at the airport so we could take it as hand luggage? Seems unlikely, but, worse, we really can't carry more weight. And it has to be carried further at the London end than the Larnaca end. Don't explain all this. J just says, very that, grateful though we are, it is impossible. Can they keep it for our return in November? We will be happy to see it then. And so, with hugs and kisses, drama ends - and we catch the bus with about thirty seconds to spare.

 Plane extremely full. Our usual trick of booking aisle and window of a threesome at the back of the plane fails, so as fallback I trade and sit in the middle when the plane fills up. Decent meal and quite drinkable wine. Window Seat Passenger next to us leaves to visit the loo - and doesn't return. Have, naturally, not timed his visit, but he is gone so long that eventually we cease thinking that it would be wise not to follow him too closely into the same loo and begin wondering first whether he is all right and then whether he might have died. Have visions of being delayed endlessly at Heathrow as airline staff and police question us about his final moments in the window seat. How long has it been - half an hour? At least. Presume that the now endless queue for the toilets must all be using one facility, the other being permanently occupied. Then J joins the queue and notes that  WSP is happily drinking water in the galley. No disaster. 

Back to Bayswater, and favourite of our rooms. Little things matter - radiator rather than portable heater means it's possible to dry a pair of socks. Definite asset. Genie greets us as usual, but since our last visit she has broken arm (shoulder, elbow?) in three places. Will undoubtedly never be the same again, and she's much younger than we are. The fragility of life.

Monday, April 11/2016

Packing. Boxes packed like Chinese puzzles to store in the mezzanine housekeeping area until next time. First few years we stored nothing, but now we've acquired a large soup pot, a ceramic frying pan, mugs, glasses, CDs....makes for a nice winter but the packing is time consuming. And inevitably once the boxes are taped and tied there is something we wish we could retrieve or add. Maggi and her friend Sama stop so M can say goodbye.  Sama is Sri Lankan and works as an underpaid and overworked housekeeper for a Cypriot family. Mistreatment of foreign workers unfortunately endemic in Cyprus, from denying time off to assigning extra work for friends or relatives, to delaying pay. Sama cheerful nonetheless.

Sunday, April 10/2016

Last Sunday lunch at Bill and Jane's. David and Susan give us a lift out. Bill's famous fish pies and Jane, ambitiously, makes blini as a starter. With smoked salmon and crème fraiche style topping. Very nice. Also apple pie, to which Bill adds a few raisins. Harry arrives on his Harley after we've eaten, having previously given warning that he'll be late. They've saved him some of the lunch, though, and he keeps us entertained as he eats, reminiscing about the days when he captained commercial ships. There are an endless supply of the stories; today's featuring a ship off the coast of Africa carrying five passengers as well as goods, two of them being then president Nkrumah of Ghana and his bodyguard. 

Home in the evening watch the swifts as they engage in aerial acrobatics. Swifts even mate and sleep on the wing. Their tiny legs are not well designed for perching but  the long wing span allows them to coast for extended periods.

Photo: Paweł Kuźniar

Friday, April 8/2016

Haircut. Could in theory leave it to tomorrow or Monday but last minute contingencies have a way of intervening. Incredibly busy (though Saturday would probably have been no better. They don't take appointments and there are ten people ahead of me. Possibly more, as women keep appearing in the doorway to ask questions or shuffle over to the owner, interrupting him as he finishes a haircut to hold brief but serious discussions. Naturally all conversation is in Greek, so there is no way of knowing whether these are entirely innocent requests for information or arrangements for queue jumping. There are actually five hairdressers at work, so ten customers waiting is not as bad as it might seem, and in fact I get taken quite quickly. In fact, I have a method. It seems that if I take an ipad and have either work to do our something serious to read the waiting time will be shorter than is required for the task.

Thursday, April 7/2016

Bill and Jane arrive at 9:30 with B's small bag of tools, specifically appropriately sized wrenches. J has already picked up the replacement wheels for his suitcase from the excellent DIY place conveniently located around the corner. Some discussion of why J's wheels have worn while my identical ones have not. They settle on the theory that his were less tightened, allowing more play, dismissing my (unserious) suggestion that I take more care. Now free to start initial packing.

Wednesday, April 6/2016

 Begin with dental appointments. Waiting room has the same four National Geographic magazines as always. Dated 2006, and not precisely the same as, increasingly bits are missing as English readers presumably take home articles to finish reading at leisure. Only here for teeth cleaning, although Xenia, our dentist finds bits of breakage which will need to be repaired eventually. Can see an obvious advantage for female dentists - their hands are smaller, which is better when your mouth is full of fist. 

Then Jane, on her way back from her painting group, picks us up and we head out to Potamoc Creek, collecting Bill who has set out walking to meet us. Temperature about 27 - hotter under the full sun, of course. The creek is actually a bit more than that, although water level and stream width vary a bit with tide and rainfall. It's a picturesque spot south of Agia Napa, where fishing (and the odd pleasure) boats are moored. Rustic docks, sheds, and a couple of restaurants. We eat lunch on the veranda of the larger. More upscale menu than we're expecting - this isn't a little fish and chips joint. It is a fish restaurant, though. Start with mussel and shrimp saganaki. New to us, but Greek dishes with the seafood in a spicy tomato sauce. Made with ouzo, though to be honest we wouldn't have identified it, and with feta cheese melted into it. Delicious. Then the fish: whitebait (Jane), swordfish (Bill), sea bream (J), and sea bass (me). All fresh caught and lovely. Beautiful day.

Tuesday, April 5/2016

Temperatures now in the high twenties, so after J's beach walk we head to George's Apollo Café. In mid-winter the shady location in a covered walkway is not an asset, but now it comes nto its own. George boasts an extensive collection of classic film posters, some of which he hangs outside in the passage where his tables are in the daytime. He's also both knowledgeable and philosophical, always good for a chat or a game of backgammon with a patron.

Cyprus mail refers to the prime minister of the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus, who has resigned, putting the title of prime minister in quotation marks, only slightly subtler than the state tv channel feeling compelled to call him the so-called prime minister. Difficult to see how this can lead to a happy reunification any time soon.

Monday, April 4/2016

Happy bit of Cyprus trivia: there are still more than 7,000 anti-personnel and anti-tank mines in the ground across Cyprus. Removal slowed mainly by cost, though occasionally someone is injured or killed by one.

Sunday, April 3/2016

Sunday April 3.  Cambanella's for lunch. Last time for this year, the first of a sequence of lasts. Into summer weather now, although the Cypriots don't think of it as summer weather - that belongs to the high temperature high humidity pressure cooker of June through August, the time when most of our friends try to take their holidays in the UK or elsewhere.

Saturday, April 2/2016

Bus out to Pyla and we're off to the North, passports in hand to show at the border checkpoint. Our internet directions are a bit imprecise, but it seems that the camp that can be seen (sort of) is a little north of Famagusta - German Palestinian settlers, known as Templers, having been accommodated south of the city. Quite surprisingly we do find it, we think. Past the university, a large fenced area of fields and sand looking as if it is used for military exercises. On down to the sea. We're on a bay with soft sand and crystal clear water. Lovely! The camp will have been on the same beach, just the other side of the forbidding sign, but imprisonment pretty well negates any natural beauty. There's something about barbed wire. 

Carry on a little up the coast to Bogaz, a pretty spot on the sea where we stop for lunch, a very nice shrimp casserole. Super day.

Friday, April 1/2016

April 1 is Cyprus National Day, and by chance the second long weekend in a row. Not Cypriot Independence Day, but the anniversary of the day the terrorist/guerrilla/liberationist group EOKA began bombing and blowing up people, chiefly British military, as the island was British until 1960. Previous Friday was Greek Independence Day. Why? Good question.  So down to the waterfront in the afternoon. Lots of people out. Warm and sunny, so people swimming, eating ice cream, buying balloons for the kiddies. Stop at Harry's Café and celebrate by splitting a beer instead of getting our usual Greek coffees. 

Jane and I have imessage discussion on island exploration. Mention that J is interested in finding where the detention camp was that Jewish would-be immigrants to Palestine/Israel were kept in between 1946 and 1949. Jane immediately suggests we go tomorrow, spurring a couple of hours late night research on my part so that we don't drive round aimlessly wondering. Available info both sparse and vague, but collect what I can.

Thursday, March 31/2016

Ailsa to leave Monday for England to see her sister, whose condition may be terminal. By the time she gets back we will be gone, so A organises a meal at the kabob place oround the corner from Smart. We've been before, with Jane and Bill, but only at lunch. Very nice. Good food and, unusually for a Cypriot restaurant, it's possible to hear well enough to carry on a conversation. Usually the volume of talk at other tables precludes normal conversation. 

To our place for coffee after, or nearly so. We all get in the lift and it makes a buzzing sound and dies. Notice on wall says maximum 6 people, 475 kg. Mental maths follow. We're definitely under even if, as J says, we weigh more than we did two hours earlier. But the elevator is unimpressed by mathematics and we're forced to confess to Kiki, who calls a repairman. Jane unable to walk up four and a half flights, so Ailsa, J and I go and make coffee, and take it downstairs, along with glasses, mints and liqueurs. Kiki has kindly asked us to make ourselves at home in the lounge - probably depriving her of her regular evening television - so we end up with coffee in much pleasanter surroundings than our flat.

Wednesday, March 30/2016

More on the hijacker. The ex wife he wanted to see tells a somewhat different story, as exes are wont to do - one of neglect and lack of interest in the family. It appears that the separation received some police assistance, as he was deported - more than once for forging passports. Sympathy wanes.