The world from my window

The nights here in Corfu are drawing in. In the gloom, the card players in the plateia yell and shout at the hands they've been dealt. At eight o'clock, as if by magic, the lights in the Narnia lamp post illuminate the scene. During the day, there are a few open-mouthed holidaymakers strolling around at a snail's pace. But not many. The tavernas are winding down, many of them ready to operate on weekends only and some preparing to close completely. The planes still fly overhead but the flights aren't as frequent. Down in the olive groves, the grass under the trees has been cut, ready for the nets to be placed underneath them. It won't be long before harvest. And the smell of pine wafts down through the hillside as we wallow in the warm sea at our favourite beach, Gialaskari, and then settle down for fresh fish and giant prawns. The days are still baking hot and skin can still burn. But the nights are cooler and make me reach for my cardi and, heaven

I don't think I've ever gone so long without blogging. It makes me feel quite dizzy, it does. I've been two weeks at sea, not in an open boat, but as Number One on the the good yacht Nestor . I've woken up next to this in Astakos. I've looked out on this in Meganisi. And we've seen sun, wind, rain and the moon over Mitikas. And the stars, oh, you should have seen the stars over Ithaca. At four in the morning, they were all out to play. We went where the wind took us. We've been in and out of bays, skirting archaeological ruins and tying up to the quayside. It's been magical. I've read seven novels and spent my fifteenth wedding anniversary anchored off the most beautiful, unspoilt island of Kastos. We've had only intermittent internet and a laptop with a flat battery. Just before we went, the Vodafone shops ran out of pay-as-you go cards for the dongle and the WiFi was sporadic. Still, when we did find an int

Once upon a time when my alter ego was editor of the Bridport and Lyme Regis News , she introduced a feature in the paper which became very popular. Never mind wills of the week or court cases involving the usual suspects. What grabbed the readers' imagination was Where in The World . We'd ask for photos of them, the newspaper and an interesting location. A silly idea but, then, that's me all over. And bingo, the pictures began to pour in. I think it's trickled down to an occasional drip now, which is probably just as well because, really, does anyone want to see some random person's holiday snaps week after week? 'I can't believe people are interested any more,' said a friend from the village. Probably not. Still, at the time, a lot of people were. There were photos at Mount Everest base camp, Bridport in Tasmania, outside the Taj Mahal, on the Eiffel Tower, the Empire State Building, the CN Tower and even underwater. Hell, there was one t

On the beach at San Stefanos - the one on Corfu's north west tip rather than the posh one on the other side - the wind is howling, umbrellas are flapping wildly and the breakers rush up to meet the shore. We walk along the long stretch of sand to a point where the sunbeds run out. A naked man and his topless wife sit in front of a small tent and an exposed, flat shelf of rock.  The tattoo on his arm could say 'gatekeeper'. I keep my head down and just follow in Mr Grigg's footsteps. A little farther along, a young man and woman paint each other with sloppy sand. It's as if they're in a commercial for Sure deodorant or something. There are a few stray souls who have on swimsuits but as we round the corner, we see more naked bodies.  I don't know about you, and I'm not sure what Jesus would do in this situation, but I can't help but look . A man crouches behind a bush to put his shorts back on. I turn away and my eye is almost taken out