When I started on these Blogs some months back I thought I would run out of ideas within a couple of weeks at the latest but there are still some things I wanted to write about months ago, weeks ago, days ago that remain in the outbox, as new ideas and new events like queue jumpers slip in instead.
It says a great deal for someone’s writing when you reach the end of a book with a sigh of disappointment, a regret that that is it, there is nothing more to come. I finished The Archivist’s Story some days ago (there you are, have only just got around to mentioning it) and that was exactly the feeling I had as I realised I was on the last page. How do you express your feelings about a story which can hardly be called enjoyable yet which you thoroughly enjoyed? It’s like saying you enjoy going to a funeral. Well, it’s a remarkable novel and whoever left it here I’m glad they did. Now I’m back to enjoying Dalzeil and Pascoe.
Started to watch yet another movie and gave up. This one was called Premonition and starred Sandra Bullock. After twenty minutes or so of not knowing what was real and what was unreal, what was supposed to be a dream and what wasn’t, it was such a mess (or am I as thick as two planks?) I thought there was simply no point in staying with it so switched to Vouli and watched a documentary on Bernard Montgomery.
Yet another rejection slip – No, rejection slips are passé, now it’s electronic rejection, rejection by e-mail. This one was from Evan Leighton Davis regarding DEAD ON TIME and WHEN THE DEVIL RIDES submitted to Barnaby Thomson at Ealing Studios “While there is undoubted potential in both projects, I’m afraid we didn’t fall in love with either enough for us to be taking them further. Thanks for sending them to us though and good luck in finding a home for them.” I wonder if we ever shall. Who’s interested in the civil war as the film mogul said when presented with Gone With The Wind. I had the same reaction many years ago from Granada TV when I submitted my play THE RIVER OF SAND. Who’s interested in South Africa? It wasn’t too long after that the whole world was interested in South Africa. Were I ten years younger I would give my eye teeth (as the saying goes) to direct WHEN THE DEVIL RIDES, but there you are, I’m not ten years younger and a terrific script, even though I am forced to say it myself, is going begging.
Why is it that every year at this time the house is suddenly inundated with flies? Is it the falling pomegranates, nature’s grenades, that explode on contact with hard concrete, scattering seed and juice everywhere and creating the stickiest ever mess? Oranges are dropping now as well, too small and too early, and the quinces need to be picked before the bugs get to them.. They are enormous and again it’s a big crop.That single tree has really done us proud but, like the walnuts, we put them aside, eventually they go off and then they’re wasted.

Forgot to say last time that before I went out I had to get our dogs back in from the garden. Merrill came around the corner with a sort of knowing smile on her face and, when I went around tofind out why, there was Sweeny pinned down beneath the stranger who was trying to have his wicked way with her. Sweeny certainly wasn’t resisting but I don’t believe she would have had the strength anyway. I wonder what was going through her mind. Was this the experience of her life? Were all her fourteen birthdays being repeated and coming at once? Whatever, she was taking no chances and her twat was placed firmly on the ground. I tried to get him off her with a singular lack of success and eventually managed it by thrusting the end of my bastoonie into his throat and pushing him off. Now he did show his teeth for the first time but anyone being so rudely objected to coitus interruptus would be bound to get a bit narky. Eventually a sharp rap on the head saw him off and Sweeney was rescued from a fate worth than death and swept into the house.
The big question is not where this hound might have come from. Greece is full of stray dogs. The big question is how on earth did he manage to get into our garden? It is surrounded by a high stone wall topped with cast iron railings. We had it erected at E-Nor-Mous expense to keep our own animals in. There is a spot right next to the house where my bedroom roof is quite close to the road. Perhaps that was his means of entry. (He couldn’t get out that way though when he attempted it). Anyway, I decided I would go and have my siesta and if he was still around when I got up I would turn the hose on him. The agricultural water has quite a strong jet. He was there. I opened the garden gate, opened the hose and directed it straight at him as he sat by the garden door. He fled around the corner, I followed, He leapt a six foot high embankment, ran along beside the wall and out the gate. I shut it and also the doors to the wood shed so that he couldn’t get back into the courtyard if he should return, though I thought that was the last I would see of him. Wro-ong! I posted off yesterday’s blog and was reading it to see if was okay when I happened to glance over my shoulder and who should be sitting right outside my study door, not four feet away and gazing at me with mournful eyes but that damned dog It is now coming up to five o’clock and, shower or no shower, he was determined this was going to be his home. Now how on earth did he get into the courtyard when both woodshed doors were firmly closed? This dog was an escapologist. There was only one thing for it, give him another dose of the same medicine. I didn’t enjoy what I had to do. I hate to see any animal cringing but there is no room in this house for a fully mature male dog and he had to be made certain in no uncertain terms that he was not wanted. In England I would probably have called the RSPCA and had him removed but Crete is not England. So out into the courtyard I go and turn on that hose. The first jet hit him and he was off, down into the lower garden and cowering against the far wall. I kept the hose on him until, in desperation, (he held out for quite a while) he jumped onto a huge boulder that lies there and was up and over another six foot high wall. Not only an escapologist but an Olympic athlete yet. Maybe that was the way he got in. He hasn’t been seen to-day and hopefully that is the end of this shaggy dog story or, as the Princess Spitzkaya would have said, shabby dog story. Shame, he looked pretty shabby too, soaked to the skin but, as the Greeks say, ti na kanoume?

Have you ever had one of those days? Yes? No? Well today was probably it, at least the first half but let me deal with yesterday first. It didn’t rain. Once again by midday the sky was an endless blue and today it appears is to be the same. So I watered half the garden and will do the rest today (that which hasn’t been done after having hosed down the dog!). At last I’ve broken through the 50000 word barrier with the new work. It’s only taken about five months or more which is tortoise pace really but maybe it will quicken up now. Considering I already have a template for it there is really no excuse for being such a slug. So had an evening of telly starting with Mr Attenborough’s programme on snakes which was terrifying and, although I didn’t get to see that venomous bugger the tiger snake whilst I was in Australia I now know what he looks like, and why he’s called a tiger snake when there doesn’t seem to be a stripe on his body is beyond me. He just looks a dirty brown. Maybe this one had been rolling in mud. Then came a movie with Gene Hackman – The Heist which was fun - another gold bullion story with a double cross and a double double cross and a double double double cross and a double double double double cross and may be even a fifth double cross but I lost count and lovable Gene baby being the biggest double crosser of them all ended up with all the gold. This was followed immediately by a film called Fracture with Anthony Hopkins doing his full Hannibal the cannibal acting and doing it very well. I have to admit in the first few minutes I was tempted to switch off but I’m glad I stayed with it because in the end it turned out to be a pretty good movie. So it wasn’t to bed till two and today I wanted to drive down to Souda to send Douglas the book via the ferry. So, today … First of all I woke up with the screaming slithering squitters! Now what have I eaten that could have caused that? Nothing I can think of so maybe it’s a follow on to the sore throat that only lasted a day. It is that time of the year I suppose with the change in the weather. You know it’s getting colder when the cats don’t want to stay out all night. Okay, so I am going to chance driving to Souda and, having fed the animals, I disappear into my bedroom to get ready. Merrill is suddenly kicking up the most fearful racket barking non-stop so eventually I decide I had better go and find out what all the fuss was about. I walk into the breakfast room and stop dead when confronted by a rather large ginger dog at which Merrill was doing all her barking and virtually hopping up and down with excitement. The dog seemed placid enough (though you never can tell) and for a while we just stood looking at each other, then I gave it a pat. It didn’t seem to mind that, in fact might even have hoped for it, but no encouragement was going to get it to move so I wrapped a large towel around it and carried it to the garden door. It weighed a ton but I deposited it on the doorstep and slammed the door before it could re-enter, hoping it would just go away. No way. Back in the breakfast room I saw Roussell the cat outside, her back arched, every hair standing on end and hissing for all she was worth. No way was she going to have this stranger in her garden. I tried to call her in but she hared off around the corner in hot pursuit of the interloper. I later found her on a garden wall still doing her best in persuading the stranger to leave. Keppel on the other hand nearly had the screaming squitters as well and disappeared down the stairs into the library because that damned dog was back and now in the courtyard, paws up on the doors, looking through the glass. Of Betty there was no sign. Anyway, I couldn’t hang around. I wanted to go to the bank before moving on to Souda. The dog was back at the garden door and sitting there waiting to be let in. Fat chance. I gathered my bits and pieces and set off. Clipped the offside mirror against the wall but otherwise reached Kalyves without further mishap only to see a dozen cars outside the bank and knowing it would be crowded I moved on. But wait, could something else have gone wrong with the morning? It had. I felt in my trouser pocket. Empty. I hadn’t picked up my plastic wallet with taftotita, (resident’s permit) driving licence and, most important, money, in it. I couldn’t send the parcel if I couldn’t pay for it. There was nothing for it but to either (a) go home and pick it up (it was so stupid in the first place because the car key was on top of it) or go back to the bank so back to the bank I went. The cashiers had reached number 69 (a goodly number) and my ticket was 84 so it was sit and wait time. Although there were two cashiers only one was attending to the waiting customers, the other was catching up on whatever business she thought or felt needed catching up with and no matter how many entered the bank to be served she was not going to be distracted come hell or high water. Typically Greek. Anyway, eventually number 84 was lit up and I got my 200 euro at a good exchange rate. It cost only £160.28. So on to Souda. More cars than ten municipal car parks so eventually I parked in the supermarket car park. I was going to shop there for animal food anyway. Walked back to the Anek office and my left hip started to hurt like hell, something it hasn’t done since I can’t remember. Then down to the ship, the latest in the line. She is HUmungeous! With her car deck empty you could really appreciate her size, as long as a football pitch I warrant. Back to the supermarket. Man strimming the verge on the harbour side of the road creating a huge dust cloud so I walk on the other side and he decides that’s where he will now strim. Move on covered in dust. At the supermarket not a trolley to be found. Goodness only knows where they were because there certainly weren’t enough customers to be using them all. So it was a hand basket which anyway was probably just as well as I would have to carry it when I got home and I didn’t want it to be too heavy (as it was it nearly killed me walking up the steno!) Attendant at the cheese counter doing a similar trick to the cashier in the bank. She had much more important business to attend to than take care of customers. At the checkout another long long queue. Bought a Snickers to give me a sugar high and some instant energy before I faded out. Driving home clipped someone’s car with offside mirror and fled at 120 k’s. He didn’t follow me. Either he wasn’t prepared to drive at that speed or the damage was so negligible it really didn’t matter. No sooner got in when, luck this time, the deadly squitteroodys struck again. And had the doggie gone? Had it hell! It was still sitting at the courtyard door waiting patiently to be let in. And I think I had better finish this blog on that very minor cliff hanger.

Watched an episode of Mr Bean and found it both pathetic and, despite the studio audience’s laughter, or was it canned? desperately unfunny. It has not worn well and all Mister Atkinson’s gurning hardly raised a smile, not from me anyway. Some of it was just too downright silly for words. Am I getting too old for this sort of thing? I wonder whether, if I see it again, Black Adder will prove as wonderful as when I first saw it. Also watched the film Diehard 3 starring Bruce Willis who is always worth watching and Jeremy Irons, also always worth watching. The film itself was the most ridiculous, over the top, unbelievable, impossible piece of nonsense ever scripted and shot but a billion dollars worth of production value from the opening explosion to the explosion in the subway and so on right to the end by which time Mr Willis should really have been dead but was covered in blood just to show what he had been through. He should also have broken every bone in his body but of course you don’t see that. Unfortunately there was an enormous hole right at the beginning when his character was ordered by our baddy (Mr Irons with the faintest of German accents) to go to Harlem like a sandwich board man with I HATE NIGGERS scrawled on his board. And he was saved from certain death by a local black shop keeper who then became his sidekick for the rest of the film. Now the whole object of Mr Irons making this particular policeman do this was to start a chain of events leading up to the threat of his having placed a bomb in one of New York’s 1400 schools so that every policeman in the place was sent searching. With no police around this left Mr Irons and his army of mercenaries with a clear passage to bulldoze and tunnel their way into the vault of a bank that stored gold bullion from every country who wants gold bullion stored, billions of dollars worth which gives Mr irons the cue to say something about them being an army without a country now what country should they buy? Of course in the end they are thwarted by our hero but the hole at the beginning is this – had he been killed by a gang of irate African-Americans in Harlem, which evidently is what Mr Irons thought might or could or would happen, what happens to the rest of the well laid plan? Down the old tubes, baby, no story, no film. I did enjoy it for the hokum it was including the most amazing action sequences.
It’s been threatening to rain all week. At the moment the skies are grey again but still no rain and, if it doesn’t happen,. I’ll have to get the old hosepipe out and do a spot of watering. Glad the weather was so good for Beryl’s one week break but she leaves to day so rain, please rain, and save me having to water.

Sunday – a beautiful day, the weather perfect so off to the lake with Beryl for lunch. No, I don’t mean I had Beryl for lunch I mean I took Beryl to the lake for lunch which was a good idea because it had been a long time since she was last there. We stopped off at our usual taverna, the one all on its own at the near end, used mainly by Greeks and away from the cluster of tourist tavernas at the far end. There were a few Greek families there when we arrived. No sign of Elvis so he must have gone back to or been sent back to Albania or Rumania or Bulgaria or wherever it was he came from. The lake showed how hot the summer has been and what little rain we’ve had this year. I have never seen it so low, about two thirds its normal size. It was in two distinct colours, palest bluey-green close to us and dark grey the far side beneath the mountain which crated an extraordinary optical illusion as that bit when you glanced at it quickly looked vertical like a high wall. What are those things doing on that high wall? Oh, they’re canoes and it isn’t a wall, it’s just the deepest part of the lake in the shadow of the mountain. It was busy though with pedaloes and canoeists going hell for leather and creating lengthy wakes and a few swimmers bobbing about. I mentioned to Beryl that there was salt cod and garlic potato on the menu and she thought, having never tried it, she’d have a go. Fortunately she liked it which was just as well as the portions were enormous and I have to admit very tasty. That and a village salad was plenty. When we left we went the long way round and the tourist tavernas were jam packed and more busloads of holiday-makers walking down the hill to join them. The conversation over lunch was all about theatre experiences and our neighbours must have wondered what the jokes were there was so much laughter at our table. Beryl seemed very surprised to discover that I can read Greek. The problem I have with Greek is trying to understand it when spoken. On the way back I told Beryl about the sheep eating water melon and she screamed with laughter. Back home we discovered our neighbours Nikos and Maria were having a party and there were enough cars round and about to fill a municipal car park. I wonder if it was somebody’s name day. Anyway, over tea we spent an enjoyable half hour or so going through Xanthippi attachments before it was time for her to get her taxi. It was a lovely day. When she arrived in the morning she came with two portions of boureki cooked by her landlady Anna and half a dozen new laid eggs also courtesy of Anna, at least courtesy of Anna’s chickens.
Now must get back to reading “No Official Umbrella”. Yes, finally picked it up Friday morning and have been going through it for mistakes before passing it on to Douglas. It looks a very handsome volume and he’s dying to see it but he will have to hold himself in patience for a few days as he’s not going to get it until at least Thursday. Why, may one ask? Well firstly because I’ve got to finish reading it (and I might say enjoying it despite having written it and read it a number of times before) and (b) because in their inimitable way the Greeks have called a general strike for Tuesday so there is no point in getting it to the boat until Wednesday which means his getting it Thursday. Sorry Douglas.

Three Dalziel and Pascoe books that will keep me happy and well occupied and I already have my nose buried in the first and chuckling at Mr Hill’s felicitous phrasing. So “The Lost Gospel” is, after only three chapters put aside; maybe put aside for the nonce, for good more than likely as I think I would have to be pretty desperate to want to pick it up again. As for “No Official Umbrella” it seems to have travelled halfway around Greece before ending up yesterday, where I suggest ed to the lady phoning on behalf of UPS it be delivered, in Georgia’s shop from where I picked it up this morning. It looks most impressive but then looks aren’t everything, as I seem to have said before, and I wonder if, now in a deep depression, is the time to produce a quite expensive hardback book. Well, we can only wait and see.
Looked up Sally Potter on Google to discover she is quite a famous film director with a number of films and numerous awards to her credit. Unfortunately(?) I haven’t seen any of the movies mentioned: “Yes” “Thriller” “The Tango Lesson” “The Man Who Cried” and she's got one currently in post production for 2009 called “Rage”. There’s something very strange going on with modern movie making. Tried watching a film last night with Charleze Theron but as seems to be a regular habit these days gave up before the end. The phenomenon I refer to is hardly ever letting a scene last more than thirty seconds of a modern audience’s attention span, sometimes even shorter, a big close up say of an eye (very meaningful but a certain Spanish director many years ago did it so much better) and cut cut cut as fast as you can. Is this so that the audience won’t be aware of all the holes? because it struck me that this particular film had as many as a fishing net. And isn’t it so boring now to see nubile young actresses and their stand-ins and CGI flying through the air for improbable distances (all starting with Hidden Tiger?) and performing innumerable back flips in quick succession to end up kicking some poor guy where it hurts most? Seems not only entirely unnatural but a terrible waste of energy.
Also looked up millipedes that have hundreds of entries to themselves there being any number of millipede cousins. Started off with one from Virginia, quite a cute looking fellow, all bright yellow and brown but evidently with the most vomit making BO imaginable. Don’t think I’ll bother to go any further.

Whoops! End of chapter two and yet another face is aflame with excitement. These guys need to be careful. One of them could expire from instantaneous combustion. The other problem with this book, as it is sometimes with plays, is that in order to keep us informed, in this instance about history, religion, archaeology etc., characters keep telling each other things they already know and they know that they know so it just doesn’t sound natural. Okay so the facts might be very interesting but surely there is a better way of putting them? Isn’t there?
The gales of Crete have blown a thousand dead bougainvillea flowers into the lobby (slight exaggeration) and the garden rubbish should be dry enough now to start burning again. The cotton sheets are off the bed and the flannel ones take their place together with a blanket for the first time, the nights are definitely getting cooler.
Songololo (Zulu, I think though most probably misspelt), sarandapotharoosa (Greek), millipede (English), what strange little creatures they are, trolling along, their little lergs going twenty to the dozen. I know nothing about them except that the pets all stray clear. Cats usually investigate anything that moves but they studiously ignore them. What do millipedes eat? How long do they live? What brings them into the house? Is it a sense of exploration? Last night I discovered, not for the first time, one in my bathroom. Now my bathroom from a door through which the creature must have entered the house is about a mile or more in millipede distance, there are a number of stairs to climb to reach it and there’s no way out but back, but there he was, wandering around the floor of the shower. I should have thrown him back into the garden but left him there and went to bed and this morning he was curled up against the wall, stone cold dead in the market, or in the shower anyway so I flushed him down the loo instead. Maybe I’ll look up Google and find out more about them. If I were a Buddhist I would be thoroughly ashamed of myself.
Watched part of a film called “Orlando”, written and directed by one Sally Potter and with Quentin Crisp as Elizabeth the first. Beautifully costumed, beautifully photographed but eventually rather boring, an art house picture for those who like that sort of thing. Orlando played by a beautiful woman. Surely Miss Potter and her casting director could have found a beautiful boy? These days of course they would. And who is Miss Potter that she could raise the finance for a film for a minority audience? I certainly cannot see Ford Mondeo man forking out his cash at the box office. Maybe I’ll look up Miss Potter on Google as well.