The world from my window

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...

After a week of abstemious eating and drinking, I was looking forward to preparing Mr Grigg's supper. As I absent-mindedly chopped the carrots, thoughts wandering to faraway places, the lights went out. 'Bugger,' I said aloud, as Mr Grigg was down in the garage foraging for logs. I groped around for the wind-up torch Mr Grigg had brought back from the conference and then checked the trip switches. All were fine. I opened the front door and the village square was as black as a bag. Bliss. No horrible street lights. Across the road, Mrs Bancroft's house was dark and I could see candles being lit in the pub some 25 yards away. The phone rang. It was Nobby Odd-Job, ringing from the power-cut free zone at the top of the village. 'I'm a bit worried about Mrs Bancroft,' he said. 'She rang me and left a message to say she was sitting in the dark and wondered if I was too. I went down but there was no-one there so I went to the pub. I've just tried to ring he...