The killer cat of Corfu
In Agios Magikades, there is clapping coming from the primary school playground as the teacher shouts out instructions. Singing follows, then a motorbike buzzes by and there is a hubbub of voices in the garden next door as our neighbours inspect their vegetables for ants. The air is warm and full of red dust. I can smell the moussaka and pastitsada gently bubbling away in one of the village's three tavernas. The aroma wafts its way across from the plateia and over the rooftops towards the Villa Oleander. A cockerel crows, sparrows chirrup, bright yellow butterflies flutter by and then a swallow does a body swerve as it lands on our washing line and checks the progress of its mate which is attempting to build a nest. Our very own swallows. Oh, what fun. There are swallows, swifts and house martins by the dozen here, chattering, laughing, zooming and hardly ever stopping. Swifts never land on the ground . Imagine how that must feel, always being on the go. And in t...