The world from my window

I was making the rounds of my pelargoniums out on the terrace this morning. For the past few days, there has been the tell-tale sign of cat trying to scrabble in amongst the plants. But now, with plenty of souvlaki skewers sticking up bottomwards and a load of pepper put around the outside, it seems the cats have given the flowers a wide berth. And then, today, deep within the terracotta planter I discovered this. Here, have a closer look. It was nestling in an egg-shaped indentation in the soil between two plants. But there were no visible signs of whatever it was that put it there. No broken stems, no disturbed soil, nothing. Just a big, fat, hard, speckled egg. Mr Grigg put it in water to see if it floated. It didn't. It must be fresh then. Unless it's ceramic. But it doesn't feel like it. It's too big and white to have come from any of the hens next door. And, besides, they've never, ever ventured over the wall. And it's too small ...

And the cats patrol the rubbish skips on the corner of our road. In among the poo bags, the vegetable peelings and a fluorescent tube a kitten could use as a lightsaber, they might find a fish head or two. At every skip and wheelie bin, there is a cat, guarding its territory. A large ginger one, a tortoiseshell which is surprisingly fluffy given the climate, copious black and white ones and the odd fat tabby.  One with a stubby tail, another with a weird eye. Nobody wants them. And in the valley, the dogs bark, setting off a chain reaction among hounds and mongrels chained up outside what look more like shacks  than houses. The geese start to honk and turkeys scuttle through the olive groves. In the village square, a cheeky golden Labrador is young, footloose and fancy-free. His Alsatian-cross-collie paramour, with looks only a mother could love, waggles her tail at him in flirtatious abandon as they weave in and out of each other through the na...

In the UK, snow is falling on the Enchanted Village. Here in Agios Magikades we open our windows to sunshine coming up around the mountain. Our Sunday morning is broken by the the cockadoodledoo-ing of a dozen cockerels, whose yelling gives an aural perspective to the landscape.  That sets off the dogs (it sounds like hundreds of them), then the geese and then the turkeys.  And then the church bells, to a dreadful tune which even Hades, the god of the underworld, would not recognise. Later, the pigeons flap in the citrus trees, chainsaws buzz in the distance, wood is chopped and Mr Grigg prunes the palm. The streets are quiet in Corfu town and, despite the sunshine, the mistral wind brings a chill into the shadows.  Yesterday, we took a late Saturday afternoon stroll and soaked up our surroundings, enjoying quiet sightseeing out of the heat and the tourist season. That's about it. Love Maddie x