The world from my window

I'm up here in shorts, a floral top and Birkenstocks. New shorts and bright pink Birkenstocks, it's true, but I'm feeling rather under-dressed. Up in the plateia, in this heat, this death/life defying heat (it's said Greece will reach 42 degrees at the heatwave's peak on Saturday), and the women are dressed up to the nines. Immaculately coiffured hair, sleek and shining, teetering in strappy sandals and glammed up in off-the-shoulder dresses. Beside me, the village president tops up Mr Grigg's glass with retsina, while my husband queues at the barbecue, desperate to buy some souvlakia to repay the villagers the hospitality we have been shown since arriving in Corfu late the previous night. Plates of souvlakia, feta cheese and briam  are plonked on the table in front of us. 'Go on,' the people say. 'You eat.' Xenia is a concept from Greece's ancient past. And it's still practised to this day. And you can never, should never ,...

We left just after three this morning and still they were dancing the night away. Nikos the Greek got through at least eight T-shirts. He pulled them out of a rucksack as if they were the silk handkerchiefs of a conjuror. There was a red one with a portrait of Che Guevara on the front, a Barcelona football shirt and an Argentina shirt with Maradona emblazoned across the back. Our friends' home-grown basil filled the church with its aroma. The village's three tavernas were bursting, the mini-market was busy and the balloon seller had a good night. And the ice cold coke and beer was much-needed on this hot and humid evening. And by the time we had finished with the lamb (nine had been spit-roasted), it looked like a dish Prometheus would serve up for Zeus - just a pile of bones . Now the party is over and that's it for another year. For more videos and photos from our panygyri, visit the Maddie Grigg Facebook page . That's about it. Love Maddi...

Up at the plateia, the mandolins did a sound check to Zorba's Dance. Children tore around the square's twin trees and toddlers bobbed up and down on bended knees while devoted mothers and grannies looked on. Old men sat outside the kafenion, clacking their worry beads, gazing out at the scene unfolding before them. The butcher arrived in his van with two crates of souvlakia as the barbecue began to smoke. The wine and beer and Coca Cola was flowing and plates and plates of souvlakia, oily roast potatoes with aubergines, chicken and peppers kept arriving on our table. 'You want wine? I bring you wine,' said an important villager, who wandered down the road to his house to bring back a fancy decanter of his home made brew, his own feta and green olives.   'Why do they keep giving us all this?' said our children, who are staying with us for the week. 'Shouldn't we be paying for it?' Mr Grigg was happy. What with the children buying tw...

It is changeover day at the Villa Oleander. Our second batch of visitors has just been and gone. Mr Grigg's brother met his older double, Spiros Ron, with a kindly smile, a wink and a shake of hands in the plateia. The visitors enjoyed some excellent food in the Agios Magikades tavernas and a panoramic view from the rooftop garden of the Hotel Cavalieri , a must-see for any visitor to Corfu. Sadly, our visitors never had a chance to use the pool. The maintenance men have only just finished doing it. We hope they're going to come back to take away the rubble. The island is beginning to get busier now, as is our calendar of visits from family and friends. Many of the resorts are still very quiet, though. Early days yet.  But hardly a day goes by without a cruise ship or two in the port. And at the Hotel Telesilla, it's the start of the Greek dancing season for Mike and Jiannis.  That's about it. Love Maddie x

And with the last day of carnival came music and dancing, games and singing all across the island. In Agios Magikades, the children got hold of the bell ropes, a man dressed as a cow helped grill the souvlaki, a complaint was made to the DJ when Turkish music wove its way around the plateia and, as daylight faded and turned into night, my very own Zorbas gave me my first Greek dance lesson. 'You have to feel the music,' he said. To dance is to live. A purist of the Corfiot dance, he took it all around the world. Joy of joys, he once performed at Sidmouth . He bowed to a greater skill, however, when he introduced us to a large, yellowing moustache trying its best to conceal the bulk of a smiling, elderly man called Nikos, whose English stretched to 'very good' and 'problem'. 'When he was younger,' Zorbas said. 'he could do the scissors.' 'Very good,' Nikos winked. 'Problem.' But it was a sedate and graceful dance in t...