The world from my window

  As the future of Greece hangs on a souvlaki stick, I wonder how things will pan out. So much has been said about this crisis, nothing I say will make any difference. I don't know much about economics but my heart tells me that the Greek people have been served a pretty raw deal over the years. Corrupt politicians and irresponsible lenders have connived to make a complete pig's ear of the situation. And while all this ridiculous posturing goes on in Northern Europe, ordinary people are suffering. Some terrible stories have emerged as the arguments in the Eurozone rage on. But I am a firm believer in the essential good of humanity. Take Thom Feeney's recent efforts. As I write, 106,713 euros have been raised by 5,325 people in four days through a crowd-funding initiative. When he set it up initially, more than 100,000 ordinary people from 182 countries raised almost €2 million for the people of Greece. Says Thom: "This is a humanitarian crisis, not just...

Achileos Street, Athens The Parthenon in the distance  Kostas, our taxi driver, looks like a younger version of Michael Douglas. 'Thank you,' he says, flicking his shoulder length hair when I tell him. 'He is more handsome than me. My wife, if I tell her customer say that, she kill me.' He drops us off at the Athens bus station after telling us the politicians are corrupt. 'We have same family, same bad for thirty or forty years. How can we have good with same politic?' He apologises for his poor English. 'It's much better than our Greek,' we say. The bus station is full of noise and lots going on. A gypsy woman tries to sell me tissues and points to her stomach saying 'baby'. And then an Asian man goes by, selling bagels. The only person to get any money is the man with his long stick of lottery tickets   There are whistles of guards, trundling cases and trolleys, bus engines throbbing, horns honking and people line...

It was Greek Dinner night last night, a worldwide event dreamed up by Keri Douglas in Washington DC. All over the world and all through the day and night, people were tweeting about the Greek delights they were preparing and eating. Keri's aim was:  ' to celebrate Greek cuisine and promote amazing people, authors, chefs, businesses who are connected to Greece'. The menus came in all shapes and sizes. Some had a full blow-out in New Zealand, others went for a slimming soup in Athens. In the Grigg household, we asked four friends to bring Greek food to share. There is nothing like 'breaking bread' with people in the form of a meze, although we left out the bread because we're on a diet.     Mr Grigg created zucchini and fish rolls and tzatziki, with the aid of this wonderful book by Lyndey and Blair Milan. We had dolmades, feta cheese and Corfiot cured ham, spicy cheese dip, filo pie, kataifi and Greek yoghurt with honey and walnuts.  A...

As Greek Easter approaches, about as late as this moveable feast can ever be, the island of Corfu becomes busier with the start of the holiday season. There are aeroplanes in the sky and cruise ships in the harbour. At first, the island was slow to wake up to these new visitors, who wandered around forlorn because everything seemed to be closed. But now, there are tables on the pavements outside the tavernas and waiters touting for business. There are irritating and leggy teenage British girls, singing at the Lidl checkout with mother, their shorts so short you can see the cheeks of their bottoms and probably more if you looked a little closer. There are sunburnt families wandering around the resorts, amazed the Greeks are still in thick coats and knee-high boots. There are fake lamb carcasses spinning on spits in the barbecue shop and coaches lining the Spianada . The streets of old Corfu Town become a language hotch-potch, as the tourists wander aimlessly, past the nic...

At the Corfu tax office, the staff are dressed in polo shirts, jeans and trainers. A ticket machine spews out a piece of paper with a number on it and we wait in turn, as if we are standing at the deli counter at Morrisons for two Scotch eggs and four slices of ham. A young man with the chiselled face of an ancient Greek shuffles large bundles of paper very loudly, making his presence felt in a hubbub of voices in a foreign tongue. And then, after ten minutes, we are at the front of the queue. A few signatures, lots of stamping and we're done. We emerge from the tax office, a five-storey, grubby building faced with light grey marble, air conditioning units outside every window. Teenage boys use the front courtyard as a skateboard ramp and a melange of mopeds and scooters are parked against a low wall. We take in the hustle and bustle around us - with a tax number we are now part of this, after all - and it begins to rain. And rain and rain and rain. And there's me weari...

I’m fifty, with a good job, a lovely home, fabulous friends, neighbours and grown-up children and some gorgeous grandchildren.  And Lush Places, this magical corner of Dorset where I live, is the lushest place you could ever imagine. Those of you who have called in on my blog over the past five years can vouch for that. From our front door we can walk up through the fields to the highest point in the county. We can look out and breathe in this beautiful landscape which envelops us like a cosy blanket. It’s familiar and it’s gorgeous. It’s our life. I should be counting my blessings and rejoicing in everything around me. So what am I doing?  Mr Grigg is retiring, I’m giving up the day job, we’re going to let our home in Lush Places and rent a house on the island of Corfu.   We're taking the plunge and going on a grown-up gap year in September.  My Big Fat Greek Gap Year. For I’ve become exhausted by the demands of living in The Enchanted Village, whe...