The world from my window

And the long, hot summer days are gone, the air is still and the sky is grey. Gardens are looking ragged, fields are tired and crying out to move on to autumn. Up at the village hall, that last hoorah of the season - the annual flower show - opens its doors to the public. There are gasps at the size of the onions, smiles at the vegetable monsters and hurt - real hurt - at winning only a consolation prize in the category for scones. It's been a difficult year for growing, as anyone who has been in England since late winter will tell you. We had two heavy blasts of snow in March, followed by rain and then a heatwave. How can anyone grow runner beans - let alone the longest - in conditions like that? But, despite a drop in exhibits, the show still attracts entries, although it's clear that home winemaking is a thing of the past, with only one bottle vying for honours this year. Maybe we need a new class for cider or elderflower cordial or maybe even flavoured oils

The plateia is quiet now, after the lunchtime rush. Whole parties of families gathered in the village tavernas and locals celebrated around big tables in their gardens. Today is one of the most sacred days in the Greek Orthodox calendar, marking the Dormition of the Theotokos or the 'falling asleep' of the Virgin Mary. The feast commemorates the end of her earthly life and her miraculous assumption into heaven. It is the name day for Marias, Marios, Panagoitis and Despinas, and a public holiday in Greece. Last night, as we have done for several years, we walked in the procession through the village from church to church to church, ending at the cemetery high up on the hill. I lit a candle for my own family's Mary and paused to remember her. Outside, the graves glowed in candlelight. Back down in the village and into the plateia, the lovely white-haired Maria dragged me in to collect a bunch of basil, the herb that is said to have grown at the base of J