Monday, December 19/2016

Out to Mario the tailor to have my jacket fitted. Short discussion on the biases of BBC. He has three examples. First there's pro-Clinton on the American election and pro-remain on the referendum. Have to agree, and can see that I have been less incensed than I might have been because my own preferences are anti-Trump, if not exactly pro-Clinton, and in favour of the UK remaining in the EU. Irrelevant to the failings of neutrality. His third example is Syria and the limited, and by no means neutral sources. They keep quoting the Syrian Observatory for Human Rights, he says, and we say, at the same time, and with equal indignation,  "Which is one man in Coventry!" Nuff said. 

Elsa collects me and we go to Mario's coffee shop (unrelated Mario) for coffee and chat. Jane joins us. It's a nice spot. Half a dozen tables, if that, but clearly regular clientele and a small lending library. Very pleasant.

In the evening Kiki comes up with a man that we understand to be not the electrician but his brother, who eventually gets the bedroom heater working. J persuades Kiki to join us for a glass of Bailey's between bits of translation. If we understand it rightly the heater now works (and indeed it does) and the electrician will check things tomorrow. Much expression of management horror that it has been defective, all of which seems a little over the top as we reported it a couple of weeks back with no response.

Sunday, December 18/2016

B

Sunny morning with Danishes, coffee, local paper, and Duke Ellington. Our collection of CDs and cassettes not bad, all charity shop acquisitions. Player not too bad either, though the radio on it is dreadful. It drifts from the British forces station that rebroadcasts quite a bit of BBC radio 4 and 5, so that there's often Greek music playing in the background of a Today show interview. Oddly, the folding drying rack on the balcony seems to serve as an antenna, so that its positioning can be critical. This leads to the question of the need for repairing the bedroom heater/air conditioner conditioner. If it isn't functional, it won't vibrate. Vibrations discourage pigeons from nesting. Nesting pigeons result in pigeon shit beneath the nest, which is the location of the rack where the clean clothes are drying in the sun. And if the dryer is moved, the radio won't work. Wonderful the way everything in life is connected. 

With Jane at six to St Helena's for the Nine Lessons and Carols. Always a bit of pain pleasure mix, as about half of the carols end up being to tunes we are less familiar with, such as Hark the Herald Angels Sing in the non-Mendelssohn version. Still a nice service though. And mulled wine and mince pies with a bit of chat at the end. 🍷

Winding down at 11 when J spots fireworks in the sky. Last about five minutes and we have a perfect clear view. From Ermou Square? Lovely💥

Saturday, December 17/2016

Prinos, the greengrocer, has a wine and cheese event this morning. They're featuring the cheeses, of course, and selling the wine as well for that matter. So there are large plates of brie and other soft cheese, some topped with bits of apricot and fig, and plates of grapes and melon and oranges, as well as dozens of disposable plastic wine glasses of red and white French wines. Impossible to imagine a similar Canadian store doing this for a number of reasons, some of which may be legal. (Raye?) Some provincial liquor stores do offer samples of wine, but usually thimblefuls, whereas these must be three or four ounces, and I suppose that one could go back for a second, although we don't. Actually, I refer to Prinos as a greengrocer, and it calls itself a fruiteria (φρουτιέρα), but in fact it sells a variety of cheeses, a small selection of wines and baked products and quite good sausages, as well as having an excellent butcher. It's just that it specialises in fresh fruit and veg, both local and imported.

Friday, December 15/2016

Not quite feral - don't know how they'd survive in the wild - but there are quite a lot of street cats of no fixed address in Larnaca. Cypriots infamous for treatment of animals in general, and those who feed them or take them in are generally expats. Between us and Prinos greengrocer - a distance of three or four blocks - there is a skip that is a gathering place, if not exactly a home, for several cats. They look reasonably healthy, although the rubbish in the skip probably doesn't provide a balanced diet. We occasionally give them meat trimmings, though our diet is considerably less carnivore than the average Cypriot's. They now recognise J as a benefactor, though they're generally pretty skittish when people approach.

Thursday, December 15/2015

Chilly evening but happily not windy as we wait for the bus. Bus very slightly early, which means we get to Vlachos about half an hour before we're due to meet up with Harry and Elsa and Bill and Jane. We've been entranced by the moon on the way out - nearly full and pale gold, hanging huge and glowing low over the Mediterranean. Obviously designed for pictures rather than words, so when we alight I see what the ipad can do. As expected, not nearly enough. The road has changed direction - or more accurately the coast has - and the moon is no longer above the sea but has has street lighting competing. It's also a little higher and therefore appears smaller and paler. And the golden tinge, which is still there, is missed entirely by the camera and can't be restored by the editing function. Ah well, the best things in life may not only be free but impossible to capture. 

Lovely meal, and Harry has scored us a pretty quiet table. Not only is there a lack of acoustic tile here but one suspects that everyone yelling at once is central to the Cypriot conception of a good time. Unfortunately Bill can't join us, as he's inherited the cold that's been visiting us all and opted for bed. Otherwise happy gathering though.   

Wednesday, December 13/2016

Horrible suspicion that we have another pigeon interested in establishing domicile on our balcony - the previous one having been in Paphos two years ago. This time it's harder to be sure because the bird we've seen seems to have been investigating the air conditioning unit high on the wall outside the bedroom. High enough that we can't see the top. Actually the only reason this may have seemed like a good nesting spot is that the unit isn't working (although fortunately the one for the sitting room is operational). Obviously there's no need for air conditioning in December, but the same units provide heat as air conditioning, and, while it can be hot as the midday sun streams through the glass doors, sunset comes early at this time of year and it cools off rapidly. Had the heating in the bedroom been working, the vibrations on the outside unit would presumably have discouraged any thoughts of nest building. We have, in fact, reported the problem but as the cool temperatures are nice for sleeping we've been lax about following up on management's lack of action. Hence the question of the pigeon.

Tuesday, December 13/2016

Out along Dhekelia Road in search of a tailor recommended by Ailsa. I expect to spot the shop, Elegante, on the left and then get out at the next stop and walk back. In the event, I overshoot, realising when the bus passes the Pyla turn off. Ask to get off, somewhat to the consternation of the driver. Usual translation difficulties ensue. He appears to be asking if I want Jillia. Jillia? In any case, I don't - I just want to get out as soon as possible and not travel any further before I start walking back. Here? Yes, here. Thank you. Can quite see his difficulty, as I've insisted on being let out nowhere near a bus stop at a point in the road with fields on one side and a deserted beach on the other. No buildings. Obviously I'm unlikely to head to the beach for a solitary swim or have a rendez-vous with a lover in the field, but impossible to explain. Pleasant walk back, though, carrying my bag of fabric. Warm breeze and probably no more than half a mile. Mario, the tailor, is marvellous. No translation difficulties here - if English isn't his first language it was learned very early. No trace of an accent other than British. He's thoroughly professional, soft spoken, modest, quick on the uptake, truly lovely. And some hope of a jacket before Christmas.

Monday, December 12/2016

Predictions are for wintry weather, thunderstorms and dropping temperatures, and they're not far off. The thunder storms happen, although it's not all that cold. J produces excellent chicken soup with pesto filled gnocchi courtesy of Lidl. And we both have plenty of reading matter. J has books borrowed from Bill and I a book of Peter May's (Lewis Man) recently acquired from Maggi. It's a mystery but the quality of the writing would stand on its own if it weren't. A pleasure despite having to learn to pronounce the Gaelic names. Then there's a very early Ian Rankin that we're reading aloud when we have daytime light and the third volume of Chris Mullin's diaries electronically in the evening. Mullin has just published memoirs as well, so we may add that as a Christmas treat. Altogether well set up for a bad weather day.

Sunday, December 11/2016

Decorated for Christmas. Bits of coloured tinsel, a bowl full of baubles, the picture part of cards from previous years, and the people - little wooden figures who live most of their lives in sensory deprivation boxes, emerging annually to celebrate Christmas. And there's also our tree - stained glass (well, plastic) blue tacked to the balcony door so the sun can shine through it.

Weather not wintery though. We take the bus out Dhekelia Road to join Jane and Bill for Sunday lunch at Cambanellas. Warm sun, intensely blue Mediterranean dotted with small white sailboats, masses of flowers and all the french windows in the restaurant open. To J&B's after for coffee.

Saturday, December 10/2016

To Lidl's, armed with memory of last night's reading of gin reviews. Interestingly, and probably not surprisingly, as with wine there is no precise correlation between price and quality. Thus Greenall's, available at Smart discount stores, scores as highly as the more expensive - and prettier - Bombay Sapphire - our usual standby. But more highly ranked than either is Lidl's own German made Castelgy, which I would have thought I knew better than to buy. And here it is at only €5.79 ($8.06 CAD, £4.86) for a 70 cl bottle. Happy discovery of the day.

Friday, December 9/2017

Meet J at the tiny charity shop run by St Helena's. Books €0.50 but we're all right at the moment, particularly as real books (as opposed to ebooks) have to be read during daylight hours as the lighting in the flat is not really designed - perhaps wisely - for clear sight. Exceptions are the dressing table and the loo. The loo is also the best place for wifi reception. Just not quite willing to move in there for the evening, drinks in hand. Besides, there's only really room for one chair. Luxuriating in the bath with gin and a good book really does call for more hot water than is usually on offer. Could always make do with one chair and the throne, I suppose.

Thursday, December 8/2016

Wouldn't be chilly if it weren't windy - but it is. So after sundown it's windbreaker weather. Dark by five o'clock and palm trees blowing in the wind. We take the bus out Dhekelia Road to the new Vlachos restaurant, immediately across the road from the old one, which has become a coffee shop. Hard to imagine a coffee shop making a go of it out here, but maybe the visitors at the surrounding hotels like having alternate coffee spots - though it is off season. Vlachos moderately busy - it's bigger so less crowded. We meet up with Jane and Bill and Harry and Ailsa. Moussaka not what it used to be - hopefully a one time lapse. Plenty of free meze though - would really make a meal in itself.

Wednesday, December 7/2016

Sitting next to glass with incredibly beautifully scented yellow flowers which J has not all that daringly acquired from the bushes outside the police station, the police paying as little attention to his flower picking as to passing speeders. Tentatively identified as Cassia artemisioides, or feathery cassia or senna. He often arrives home with flowers from deserted houses or empty lots but these have by far the loveliest scent. Photos below, internet sourced, but correspond to ours above.

Tuesday, December 6/2016

Approaching Christmas for supermarkets, and also, of course the rest of us. Traditionally there are quite good liquor and wine sales in the Christmas/New Year's period. And this in a country where liquor taxes are low to begin with. Carrefour has slightly high prices to begin with, the exception being some sale products and, until this year, Carrefour's own brand, e.g. crisps, yoghurt, evaporated milk, etc. The latter are conspicuous this year by their absence, although we haven't been able to confirm rumours that the Cyprus franchise has been sold. One tradition remains - that of running out almost immediately of highly desirable sale products only to have them cheerfully reappeat at a higher price immediately the sale is over. Impossible to prove they were in the warehouse all along, but....So a week or two left to keep track of sales as we try to estimate our liquor requirements from now until the end of March, as discounts can be as much as 45% or even higher, significant even on originally overpriced bottles.

Monday, December 5/2016

J beach walking, so I meet him at noon for coffee at Harry's café, near St Lazarus Church. Grateful for the enormous umbrella, as it's probably 20 degrees in the shade but much hotter in the sun. Check out the charity shops and watch a young pregnant woman and her partner debating whether to buy red sparkly Christmas candle holders for 50 cents each. Books pretty generic light reads, not that we're short of reading material but sometimes there's a gem. 

Sunday, December 4/2016

Jane and I to St Helena's Christingle service, preceded by a mini-fair in the courtyard. So we have a very nice mulled wine and a minced pie each and chat a bit. Last year I had no luck at all at the tombola, but made up for it this year when my €4 worth of tickets netted me a small bottle of lemon juice, a bottle of something mysteriously referred to as "aroma tonic, energizing  body treatment fragrance", and a large bottle of zivania, a clear Cypriot brandy with a potent 45% alcohol content. Traffic still busy afterward, though not the surprising gridlock we encountered going. Where ARE all those people headed at 4:30 on a Sunday afternoon?

 Collect J and Bill back at the Sunflower and have a massive supper over at Agios Andreas Restaurant, past Carrefour. Or it would have been massive if we'd eaten it all. Pork skewers and Cypriot sheftalia sausages, and we probably brought home more than we ate.

Saturday, December 3/2016

Police announce a coming week's crackdown on speeding drivers, December 5 to 11, amid sarcastic commentary. Why one week a year with advance warning, what about other infractions, too busy drinking coffee, etc. Have to say that motorcycles and cars with Hollywood mufflers regularly roar past the police station, effectively thumbing their noses at the cops. We used to live diagonally across from the station and regularly observed the police reluctance to deal with law breakers. Fair to say too that hire car, i.e. mainly tourist, plates will be targeted, as normal plates will belong primarily to Cypriots.

Friday, December 2/2016

Unhappiness in the North of Cyprus, apparently, over the change to permanent summer time, resulting in protests and strikes, which the newspapers in the South are pleased to report. Of course the daylight saving which provides more light in the evening leads to later dawn as well as later sunset, and we are now very near the winter solstice. Sadly a school bus accident in the seven AM darkness caused three deaths as well as injuries and there seems to be more than enough blame to go round: "The head of the union of Turkish Cypriot high-school teachers Tahir Gokcebel had said on Thursday that the labour minister must resign because the bus driver did not have a work permit, the education minister because the bus driver was driving without insurance, and the transport minister because he is generally responsible for road safety." All this in addition to complaints about the adoption of permanent summer time.

Meanwhile early sunset here (shown looking inland from our balcony) sugests more good weather.

Thursday, December 1/2016

Second day of showers, but in all fairness these are the only rain days since we arrived, and predictions are for sun after this. So a reading day, or so we think, until Maggi answers my text suggesting coffee on the next conveniently sunny day by phoning to say that she's in town and can drop in more or less immediately. So pleasant plan B - with Cyprus brandy and nachos and mini spanakopetas - the ultimate healthy diet - and lots of conversational catch up. While we're talking the rain intensifies, becoming torrential. We can see cars plowing through the flooded street below, leaving a wake behind. M is philosophical - it's warm and she'll wade to the car - but an hour later when she leaves the water has found the inadequate drains and the street is wet but quite passable.

Wednesday, November 30/2016

Last day of November and last of the dental appointments. Showery today, although not raining when we take the bus out to Pyla, which is nice because it's far too windy for an umbrella to be any use, although we do have, in addition to our tiny London stand-bys, two larger umbrellas, one of them an enormous leopard patterned one that J rescued in the streets of Rome during a rainstorm and repaired. The flowers seem to be enjoying the unaccustomed watering, and there are flowers everywhere. Lunch in Famagusta at a little family café - homemade Cyprus sausages, with salad and chips. We visit the excellent tourist information shop, secreted (almost hidden) in the stone walls surrounding the old city.

Tuesday, November 29/2016

Hot water here at the Sunflower, and for that matter in many Cypriot hotels, is iffy. That is it exists, but isn't always hot enough or available at convenient, or even predictable, times. This is a country with limited water supplies - the endless sunny days are, of course, one of its attractions. It's also a country with one of the highest electrical rates in Europe. So one makes allowances. Though it is annoying that on the rare occasions when someone complains they are met with mild surprise, as if this were a new and unlikely development. Recently there has almost reliably been hot water in the late afternoon. Nice, and appropriate for those changing for dinner - which isn't usually us, but no matter. Today a printed notice has appeared in the lift announcing the times when hot water is available as 7 to 11 in the morning and 6 to 11 in the evening. Presumably in response to complaints and a welcome sign of concern, a pleasant change even from educated guesses. Always assuming there's any connection to reality.

Monday, November 28/2016

Meet J at the waterfront for coffee - back into our old routine. Some of the umbrellas and sun loungers still out. It's hot in the sun and there are a couple of swimmers but the sea is a bit rough. (Though the charity shop has packed away all the "summer" things, not only shorts but short sleeved shirts. A conservative lot, the Cypriots). Jane and Bill stop on their way back from J's physio. She's relieved to find that the pins in her legs are in place. Main problem down to pushing herself at swimming, and doing the wrong strokes. G&T and nibbles.

Sunday, November 27/2016

Next door to the little shop for the Sunday Cyprus Mail, which J accuses me of wanting only for the puzzles. I don't, although I like the puzzles. He's right that it's not much of a paper. Too much syndicated material and too much soft, actually mushy, news. Double spread today on a woman who can communicate psychically with animals, getting information from them both through personal contact and from their photographs. Also product reports that are not far from advertising. And restaurant reviews that are never negative. All right, it's a crap paper. Does have the week's telly listings but that doesn't improve the offerings any. Most of it's in Greek anyway. But it does keep us in touch with the local political scene. Plus handy info on gallery openings. And quite good puzzles. The proprietor isn't there, but an older man follows me in and asks if I have the right change, indicating that I can leave it on the counter. And we both know it will be fine. This is Cyprus.

Saturday. November 26/2016

The Cypriot paper reports that a man was arrested at Paphos airport trying to leave the country with €102,000, mostly in 500 and 50 euro notes. Raises a number of questions. Of course one is periodically reminded that it is illegal to cross borders with large amounts of undeclared cash, typically €10,000, but it's not a problem that has inconvenienced us much. First question is why was it all in his hand luggage? Admittedly rather a large stash, but one would have thought that it could have been spread about a bit. Jacket pockets, etc. Or maybe that would have made no difference. It just seems that most of the scanning techs I've watched looked unlikely to be saying to themselves wait, small wad in upper jacket pocket, similar in lower right, lower left, inside - what must these add up to? And what about the contents of trouser pockets? Don't they just pick up metal when you walk through the detector? Have I ever left an accidental £5 note in my jeans? Well possibly, but four bulging pockets would be likely to attract some attention that a single note wouldn't. 

Then there's the question of the denominations - mostly 500's and 50's. A hundred thousand in 500's is 200 notes. Not slim, but manageable. As opposed to 2000 €50 notes, another matter altogether. Which suggests deficient planning. But how easy is it to walk into a bank and ask to change a thousand notes into larger denominations? My limited experience in asking HSBC to change the £10 and £20 notes from the cash point into £50's to make a wallet sized lot isn't much help. And even then, one bank asked if I had a bank card, though they didn't say they would have refused if I hadn't. Certainly a bizarre request for a major transaction would be embarrassing and probably futile. So several requests for smaller amounts at a series of banks, requiring repeated nerving of oneself. The trade itself not illegal. But what about the origins of the money? Perhaps the most embarrassing consideration. Which leads to the guess that the police were already suspicious of this young man and the unaccustomed vigilance at Paphos security was not accidental.

Friday, November 25/2016

Spaghetti. We've been here a week and a half and not opened a tin or a carton. The largest, ripest tomatoes were €0.29 (£0.25, $0.45 CAD) a kilo. They simmer with onions and garlic and long sweet red peppers and a courgette and some parsley into a thick rich sauce. Mushrooms added at the end. Whole wheat pasta. Grated mature cheddar. Almost everything local (not the pasta, obviously, and not the cheese in this case, although there is a lot of good local cheese). Oranges still have the leaves and were on the trees pretty recently - it's still early in the season for them. They're on trees along boulevards, in gardens. Sometimes inconveniently planted mid sidewalk. Cars also habitually park on sidewalks, even where the streets are not narrow enough to indicate this. Must be a nightmare for wheelchair users and mums with prams.

Thursday, November 24/2016

Reading the Cyprus Mail often brings news a bit too late to be of use. So the info that  dust particles in the air are at a dangerous level and remaining indoors is recommended for susceptible individuals. The date, however, is Tuesday's. Actually the air in Larnaca is never the best. Today's paper also brings the news that last Friday a Turk was found in a Frenchman's boot at one of the border crossings from the North. We crossed the border Friday and they did indeed want to look in the trunk. Not much drama from us though. And we seem to miss most of the excitement - although the account suggests more pathos than anything. Both men said they knew it was illegal but the Turk had only a short time for sightseeing. 

Wednesday, November 24/2016

Day off from the dentist. J on errands, me doing more or less nothing. Reading, etc. Evening television, in place of films, pathetic ten minute English news, etc, is, on all channels, President Anastasiades presenting his version of the breakdown, in Switzerland, of reunification talks between North and South Cyprus. Of course it's all Greek to us, but suspicion is that former President Christofias has it pretty well right when he says that for 70 years Greek Cypriot citizens have been fed totally unrealistic expectations about what is possible.

Tuesday, November 22/2016

Dentist mark 2. We're late, which we don't immediately perceive, and they're puzzled, because, the young assistant has said, the English are always on time. But the puzzle is solved. Until this year, Turkey, like Cyprus, was on East European time and recognised daylight savings. As of September, there was a Turkish government decree that Turkey (and North Cyprus) would remain on summer time permanently, so that at the end of October when the rest of the world moved back an hour Turkey didn't - and won't again. Making us an hour late. The dentist prepares the two teeth nearest the now non-existent bridge to serve as anchors. Discussion of crowns, cash, etc. Hands over calculator so I can think in something other than Turkish lira. Can think in Canadian dollars, pounds sterling, and euros. Everything else is translation. Turkish lira to euros pretty simple - multiply by decimal four. Meanwhile Jane, Bill and Jane chat with the young dentist sharing the dental surgery. He's Jordanian and has begun as a dentist but is finishing a doctorate and intends to teach in a university.

 Back home Bill makes whisky, lemon and honey drinks in the interests of staving off my incipient chest cold. May or may not work, but as pleasant a method as any. We stop for supper at the new Vlachos restaurant - immediately across the road from the old one, which has become a coffee shop. Less cosy - in part because we're early by Greek standards and it's not very full - but same good food, half of which we bear away for tomorrow. Moussaka in our case.

Monday, November 21/2016

To Jane and Bill's for a noon barbecue, succulent marinated lamb kabobs. David and Susan there as well. 

Then J and B very kindly take us across the border to Famagusta to see their smiling avuncular dentist. I've brought x-rays from home, which he regards sadly. They are, how should I say it, smoky. I focus on the blurs and am forced to agree when I'm shown an example of a much clearer x-ray. Within an hour the dentist's son has whisked me to a nearby hospital where They have done a parabolic x-ray, presented me with the resulting cd, and charged me 55 Turkish lira (€15.31, £13.10, $21.86 CAD). The slowest part is the entering of my data onto the hospital computer, which involves ascertaining the first names (not surnames) of both parents, both deceased for some time, of course. Memory of having to provide my father's name at the immigration desk of some Middle East country (Syria?). Then arrangements to return tomorrow. 

Sunday, November 20/2016

First Sunday noon dinner at Cambanellas. Warm enough some were eating outside and we next to the open french windows. Choice of four roast meats, and the proprietoress visibly disappointed if you choose only one (as Jane and I do - lamb). Three course meal and home at four, so literally no need to bother about supper.

Begin reading Chris Mullens' A Walk On Part, third volume of his incisive diaries while a member of UK parliament.

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.