Thunder on the mountain
Dawn attempts to prise her rosy fingers apart through the morning sky. But it is no good. There is thunder on the mountain . We count the seconds in between the lighting and the great cracks of thunder. It’s getting closer. As the rain starts to fall in gentle drips and then a great torrent, Mr Grigg and I sigh. It’s raining again. The water will be burbling through the streets of Corfu Town, chasing itself along shiny pavements and down into storm drains and then up again in a never-ending game of tag. Today in Agios Magikades, we will be confined to indoor jobs as we hanker for the sunshine we had earlier in the week. I felt guilty on Monday when I grabbed half an hour after lunch to read a book in the garden. But, hey, we should all make hay while the sun shines. And up at St Simeon on its precarious perch on the side of a mountain, the wind gusted through the Sunday Name Day ceremony, threatening to topple the congregation right over ...