The world from my window

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...

In Agios Magikades, there is clapping coming from the primary school playground as the teacher shouts out instructions. Singing follows, then a motorbike buzzes by and there is a hubbub of voices in the garden next door as our neighbours inspect their vegetables for ants. The air is warm and full of red dust. I can smell the moussaka and pastitsada  gently bubbling away in one of the village's three tavernas. The aroma wafts its way across from the plateia and over the rooftops towards the Villa Oleander. A cockerel crows, sparrows chirrup, bright yellow butterflies flutter by and then a swallow does a body swerve as it lands on our washing line and checks the progress of its mate which is attempting to build a nest. Our very own swallows. Oh, what fun. There are swallows, swifts and house martins by the dozen here, chattering, laughing, zooming and hardly ever stopping. Swifts never land on the ground . Imagine how that must feel, always being on the go. And in t...

There is a power cut in the kafenion. The emergency exit sign throws enough light for the card game to continue, especially as the fitting's cover is broken to reveal just the bare bulb. The noisy chatter is quieter now the National Geographic channel is silenced and the card players no longer have to compete with the sound of lions mating. Then the batteries run out on the emergency exit sign and the card game is plunged into darkness. Half an hour later, as one of the card players walks back in through the door, the lights flash on and the television springs to life. He bows to the applause at having restored the power just through his presence. There is almost a fight at the till as a church elder and a waiter from one of the tavernas in the platia argue over who was there first. Both of them want to buy us a drink. The country is in crisis and they don't have much, these people. But they are more generous than anyone we know. There is a big smile from Spiro...

In the village platia, the postman arrives in his white van. He takes a large parcel and a briefcase full of mail to the kafenion. A dog I would like to adopt but Mr Grigg forbids it (collective boo and hiss, please) pads up to us, as we sit outside the kafenion, and poses for a photo. But he blows his chances of a foster home by scratching for fleas on his hindquarters. Bug-eyed cat stares as we drink our coffee.  The old man at the next table is devoid of teeth but his walking stick looks capable of giving a nasty bite. He lashes out at the dog, which takes a shine to anyone who slides a glance his way. The animal is too young to distinguish between friend and foe and gives everyone a chance. The old man's stick fails to make contact, as he knew it wouldn't, and the dog jogs on. We have a ringside seat as the postman ambles out of the kafenion towards the mailboxes in the wall of the building opposite.  He posts the envelopes in the various slots and ...

Back in the UK from Corfu for a week and it’s like we’ve never been away. Mrs Bancroft mans the stocking filler stall at the Christmas bazaar in Lush Places village hall and the Parson’s Daughter, in Santa hat and baubles, reaches across and gives me a hug. ‘It’s so nice to see you,’ says Night Nurse, as the Loveliest Lady in the Village comes along and gives me a playful prod in the back. Mrs Champagne-Charlie is the most wonderful hostess while her husband is on a big game hunt in the Black Forest (despite the jolly music, you honestly should never take a walk there). He is cross he has completely missed our grand homecoming. But there are cuddles galore from Pelly and Anakin Sheepwash, Mr Loggins and his wife, Darling, Nobby Odd-Job and then a fleeting visit from Mr Putter and the fragrant Mrs Putter, who still manages to smell fragrant even after a long-haul flight from Florida. I just want to bury my face in her neck and hair. There is a card through the letter box from Ca...