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The allotment

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Even at a time of year when I expect the allotments to look scruffy, our site seems especially untidy. On the noticeboard at the gates there are notices that have been there all through 2012 and some of the previous year.
Plot after plot reveals neglect; matted turf and debris. I have not had a successful year in that my aim to have vegetables for our Christmas table remains unfulfilled, but my plot looks worked and now that I share it with Chris Rishworth, semi-planted. We have a sturdy shed, tools, barrow and other kit. There are piles of compost in preparation.
Plot 14 - slightly less scruffy
I've learned to dig without putting my back out thanks to Vanley's tutorials and indeed the whole plot has been well worked over so that future digging will be that much easier for both of us. I've learned having the whole plot tidied, prepared as a sort of blank slate - however temporarily satisfying that might be - is less important than waiting until I have things to plant; then working up a bed tailored for getting them in the ground.
In the next fortnight I should try to plant onions, shallots, early potatoes, possibly cabbages. On my last visit I brought back my last cabbages...
...boiled and mashed some potatoes, fried some onions - both shop bought - and added some of my cabbage, shredded; mixed it all up to fry a delicious comforting bubble and squeak. It's a humble start and everyone agrees "It's been a lousy year on the allotments!" I feel humourless.
There are, thank goodness, a few plots that are producing in the hands of gardeners who have the gift - a mix of skill and committment. Even at this time of year their ground is rewarding their work..(see below Birmingham City Council Allotment team's message about consultation on the future management of allotments.)


There's near as much greyness indoors as out. Lin's been completing family tax forms, in my case collecting invoices filed over 2011-12, all entered on-line.
Grey
Probate continues with drab tedium. Mum's terriers have started a new life at Farr Mains. On Inverness Gumtree, Lin's found a buyer for the shrubs mum had happily collected in her conservatory at Brin, saving them from the hardening winter. Most things must remain until Spring when further dispersal will need to be managed - a slow dismemberment and the miserable business of turning what you've only known as qualitative into something quantitative and divisible; digitised for the revenue, translated into the language of lawyers and accountants.
Goya's picture of men fighting in the quagmire into which they are sinking
*** ***
Lin and I are 'collecting' qualified people, CRB checked, with skills in a variety of small jobs around the home; people we can hire out for work we're not covered for under the tighter guidance and regulations covering any public use of work equipment. This evening after Mike had dropped it off at the garage, I collected the Handsworth Helping Hands van this evening from Alan Sheeran at Villa Cross Garage and paid for its MOT. It was in good condition; just needed headlight realignment. Alan seems a good find for future mechanical work.
Dropped in on Hirons Nurseries. They'll donate bulbs for the planting we will be doing after we've cleared litter from the ivy covered bank opposite St Theresa's Church tomorrow.
*** ***
I'm preparing for a seminar in a few days for officers of a unitary council near Bristol, one I postponed because I needed to be with mum in Scotland...


MANAGING THE POLITICAL INTERFACE

Monday 7 January 2013 

A morning seminar facilitated by Simon Baddeley from Inlogov, Birmingham University, for xxx Council focusing on working relationships between elected members and officers. The aim is to:


- assist managers to maintain their reading of the local political scene,

- explore the skills and values basic to political-management working,

- offer models of competence and integrity in politically sensitive situations

- help members and officers negotiate the political-management overlap


We will be working in plenary and groups on material tailored to xxx, including maps of the council area. Simon’s teaching style is participative, relying on a mix of short talks, discussion and handouts.

OUTLINE PROGRAMME


Introductions: why this matters


xxx’s political environment: reading the local political scene.


Political-management: talk and discussion


Political sensitivity: skills and values


Critical incidents: exploring the overlap of politics and management


Conclusion
*** *** ***
But for the coming and going of motorised traffic the neighbourhood seems almost uninhabited. People are living indoors but for the industrious labourers working late into the evening on the house opposite, just visible by their working lights as the work steadily on the roof top. It was a pleasure to see someone tidying the verges outside his house; to say "Good afternoon" and receive a pleasant smile in return.




























Το σήμαμα που δεν έγινε...Στην Άνω Κορακιάνα: Λίγο καθυστερημένο, αλλά αξίζει να σημειωθεί…Νωρίς το πρωί της Πρωτοχρονιάς, η καμπάνα του Αγίου Νικολάου ή του Άη-Νικολόπουλου, κτυπάει αναγγέλλοντας την είσοδο του νέου χρόνου. Φέτος όμως η προσπάθεια του Σπύρου Γ. Κένταρχου δεν στέφθηκε από επιτυχία, αφού το σχοινί της καμπάνας ήταν μπλεγμένο στις κληματόβεργες και το σήμαμα κατέστη αδύνατο…

...A little late, but worth noting...Early in the morning of New Year, the ringing of Saint Nicholas - Αγίου Νικολάου - or Saint-Nikolopoulou's bell, announces the entrance of the new year. But this year's attempt by Spyrou G. Kentarhou was unsuccessful, since the bell rope had become entangled in vine branches muting the signal...
*** ***

CONSULTATION ON FUTURE MANAGEMENT OF ALLOTMENTS
Birmingham City Council is reviewing the management function of the Allotment Service in consultation with the Birmingham and District Allotments Council, Associations and tenants.
Given the severe budgetary pressures that we all face, the Council needs to review how the service will be managed in the future.
Initial discussions with the BDAC have given rise to a number of options which now need to be discussed wider. These include:
• Devolution of budgets to individual sites to enable the Associations to directly manage their budgets, this will include repairs and maintenance, water, cesspit and portaloo servicing. Payments will be made twice per annum, on 1 April and 1 October direct to the Associations for all devolved budgets.
• The Associations will be responsible for applying the Allotment Rules, letting of plots, collection of rent, monitoring of Grounds Maintenance, plot cultivation, and initial resolution of complaints and disputes.
• Issue of Letters of Concern and Letters of Intent will be carried out by Associations. Where Notices of Re-Entry are recommended by the Association, this will be ratified by the BDAC before the final Notice of Re-Entry is issued by the Council, acting as the Landlord.
• Associations will still be required to notify the Council, as the Landlord, of structural or other major changes and funding applications prior to anything being submitted. Events notifications will also still need to be submitted to the Council a minimum of 4 weeks before for the event for approval.
• The BDAC will directly manage the current ‘Departmental’ sites, until such time as they set up their own Associations. Once Associations have been formed on these sites, they will perform all management functions as outlined above.
• The BDAC will operate in an advisory capacity to help Associations where requested. Should disputes arise between tenants and the Associations, the BDAC will act as the arbiter, and ensure consistency in the application of the Allotment Rules across individual and between different sites.
• The Council will act as Landlord and retain the final power of eviction. All rents collected and tenancy records will continue to be maintained and managed by the Council.
• The Council will continue to provide training in rent collection and completion of Tenancy Agreements.
• The Council will remain responsible for making payments to the current 3 Grounds Maintenance Service Providers where applicable.
• Strategic management decisions regarding the future of sites, payments of leases for ground rent, statutory checks e.g 17th Edition Electrical Testing, will continue to be carried out and paid for by the Council.
• Future rent levels will be set by the Council, however, full consultation with the BDAC will be carried out prior to any changes.
• Annual Risk Assessments will continue to be carried out by the Council, however, every Association will be required to have a trained Health & Safety/Risk Assessor member on their Committee. Training will be given by the Council’s Safety Services Officers.
• Fire Insurance to the Council’s buildings will still be met by the Council.
• The Council will retain a small contingency budget for major repairs and maintenance emergencies, which Associations will be able to bid into. The decision to award funds from this budget will be made jointly between the Council and the BDAC.
• Quarterly meetings between the BDAC and the Council will continue, as is the case now, to ensure regular liaison and consultation is maintained.
All of the above are items for discussion, and we must stress that NO DECISIONS have been made to date. The Consultation period will continue for a further 3 months to allow due consideration to be made by tenants, Associations and the BDAC, and for them to feedback their views and suggestions which will be considered - before a final draft of the proposals is written and circulated. After a further 4 week period, the final proposal will be submitted in the form of a report to the Council’s Cabinet Members to gain authority to proceed with drawing up the new Management Agreements.
It is anticipated that these new Management Agreements will be circulated and signed off by the 1 January 2014, with the start date of the new Management arrangements being implemented in full from 1 April 2014.
All comments and ideas are welcome, and should be submitted to:
allotments@birmingham.gov.uk
or for those without email, in writing to:
Allotments Team, The Lodge
115 Reservoir Road Ladywood Birmingham B16 9EE
My response:
Dear VJA
CONSULTATION ON THE FUTURE MANAGEMENT OF ALLOTMENTS
I’m anxious about the current consultation by the city on the future management of allotments and have submitted a personal reaction to the proposals which I summarise below.
Councils, up against the wall on their budgets, have been resorting to raising plot rents. Coinciding with a succession of very wet years, there has, as a result, been an unprecedented abandonment of allotments.
Combining these difficulties with giving local sites powers and responsibilities they may lack the experience and competence to exercise, means some sites will suffer the consequences of the 'constructive non-maintenance' referred to in the Government's 1998 Report on a Future for Allotments - a process which further reduces demand for plots as surely as taking the seats out of a cinema reduces the population of moviegoers.
The law says allotments must be protected unless it can be shown there is no demand fo them on a particular site. This ‘managed’ retreat from responsibility, lowers demand for plots and turns what should be statutorily protected allotments into tempting windfall sites for housing, retail outlets and industry.
This means an accelerating loss of urban green space, further loss of recreational and growing space and consequent weakening of social cohesion.
Allotments have in the past become self-managing as a result of a robust process of monitored delegation that has included an opportunity to take early well supported steps towards self-management. I fear that current plans are based on council abandonment, with few opportunities for local associations to develop sustainable competencies. The Council in the guise of nurturing the 'big society', local empowerment and citizen participation is, in effect, jumping ship. Local government should not be blamed for this. It comes from the top! Best, Simon
Simon Baddeley
Handsworth Allotments Information Group (HAIG)

Plot rents

Full

60+

Mini Plot (Cat A)

£40

£20

Small (Cat A)

£50

£25

Standard (Cats B/C)

£75

£37

Large (Cats D/E)

£90

£45

Reply from Nikki Bradley Allotments Rent and Records Officer, Parks and Nature Conservation:
Hi Simon Thank you for your comments. Whilst we cannot comment on matters relating to politics, we are endeavouring to ensure - by seeking as many views as possible during the consultation process - that whatever future management of allotments is put in to operation, it is for the best of the allotment sites and the tenants, and protects them from further losses of tenants in to the future. We will obviously carry out training in relation to any extra responsibilities that are finally devolved, as we have done with all other management functions that sites have taken on as part of the new management agreements introduced in 2011. Best wishes Nikki 

Rubbish

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All Thursday afternoon Handsworth Helping Hands, our little group - in this case Mike, Denise, Linda and I, with Oscar dog in attendance - cleared litter along the green verge and bank that edges the southern side of busy Wellington Road - boundary between Handsworth and Handsworth Wood.
Taken to the tip at Holford Drive the weighbridge showed we'd collected and bagged a quarter of a ton of litter.
Taj, a gardening contact of our chair Mike Tye, planted half the sack of daffodil bulbs, donated by Neville Hiron of Hirons Garden Centrea few yards up the road. Let's hope this bank becomes a host of yellow in March. There's nothing like litter picking to become intimately acquainted with our 'throw-away' economy. Near half the rubbish collected was soft and alcoholic drink-cans and plastic containers for milk and fruit juices we could bag separately for recycling. Many of these must have been in the bank for years covered with successive layers of leaf mould. There were many cubic polystyrene containers for fast food often with the food's paper wrapping still inside, sodden but at least degrading, unlike the polystyrene.
There were several small packets of disposable single-use spoons for the preparation of drugs for injection plus a few used and unused syringes which, with our thick gloved hands, we carefully placed inside a screw top plastic bottle. Were my thoughts as I worked to appear as bubbles above my head there'd have been a froth of mingled frustration, pity and rage. So much of the rubbish that was once a product in the shops does not get recycled, nor does it bio-degrade. Even when people do use the occasional litter bins, these are inadequately emptied, so people throw their sweet wrappers, cans and food containers in the gutter, on the pavement and up the bank. Such little respect for public space and other people has its corrollary in easy public swearing. Others are effectively invisible. It's an old complaint, tedious in repetition; hence my retreat into gassy thought bubbles, while harbouring malign thoughts about my fellow men and imagining how I might become a muttering shuffling mad enragés aimlessly wandering our mean streets. On Wellington Road, the space seemed so anonymous, that few stopped to chat with us and give support as when we work on a tidying a more local space.
Denise Forsyth helps unload our rubbish at Holford Depot
*** *** ***
On Sunday at St George's Church in Ano Korakiana:


Ημέρα των Θεοφανείωνκαι της Βάπτισης σήμερα και όπως κάθε χρόνο η Λειτουργία τελείται στην εκκλησία του Άη-Γιώργη. Από την παραμονή ο στολισμός του ναού είχε ολοκληρωθεί, με την επιμέλεια των Επιτρόπων της ενορίας, ενώ ο Θανάσης Νικολούζος είχε φροντίσει για την προμήθεια των απαραίτητων κλάδων δενδρολίβανου. Ηλιόλουστη η μέρα, παρά τον αέρα και ο κόσμος πλημμύρισε την εκκλησία. Μετά την «Μεταλαβή», ο ιερέας θα κάνει τρεις φορές τη γύρα της «Βάπτισης» κρατώντας το δενδρολίβανο στα δύο του χέρια, πριν το χρησιμοποιήσει λίγο αργότερα για τον αγιασμό του εκκλησιάσματος. Ο παιδίατρος Σπύρος Σαββανής θα αναφερθεί στο νόημα της εορτής, ενώ ο αντιπρόεδρος του Τοπικού Συμβουλίου Χαρίλαος Νικολούζος θα εκφράσει ευχές εκ μέρους του Δήμου Κέρκυρας. Με το πέρας της Λειτουργίας ο κόσμος θα προστρέξει να γεμίσει μπουκαλάκια με αγίασμα για το σπίτι. Στον αύλειο χώρο, οι Επίτροποι θα προσφέρουν «μακαρόν» (γλύκισμα) και μια κάρτα ως ενθύμημα, ενώ όπως ανακοινώθηκε, με πρωτοβουλία του Γιώργου Μαρτζούκου θα ξεκινήσει η λειτουργία μικρής εκκλησιαστικής βιβλιοθήκης, στην εκκλησία του Σταυρωμένου, στο κέντρο του χωριού. 
Day of Epiphany and the Baptism is held today and, as it is every year, the Liturgy was celebrated in the church of St. George. Decoration of the church was completed the evening before, overseen by the Parish Commissioners, while Thanassis Nikolouzos had taken care to supply the rosemary. It was a sunny day despite the wind. Everyone filled the church. After the 'communion', the priest went three times around the baptistry, rosemary in both hands, to be used later when blessing the congregation. The paediatrician Spyros Savvani says a few words about the meaning of the feast, while Vice President of the Local Council, Charilaos Nikolouzos expresses good wishes on behalf of the Municipality of Corfu. At the end of the service everyone fills small bottles with holy water bottles to take home. In the courtyard, the Commissioners will offer sweet "macaroons" and a card as souvenirs. It was announced that George Martzoukou will start a small ecclesiastical library in the church Stavromenou in the centre of the village.


A New Year

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So let's start new in 2013. The sun was bursting over the Victoria Jubilee. I tidied; removing old cabbage stems and slug ridden leaves, pulling weeds from the path, putting dead stalks on the compost. Janet caught me, and as she'd promised, gave me a bag of Jerusalem artichokes; a little note of hand written instructions.
"I slipped" she said "on some wet leaves the other day. My back still aches"
"Thank you so much, Janet. Just be careful"
"Put them in any time from now. Don't leave them in the bag or they'll get mildew"
Vanley was working on his plot - a model of a kitchen garden. I stopped to talk and grumbled about what a bad year it'd been.
"That was last year, Simon"
"I know I know. What can I plant now?"
"Try garlic"
I found a few cloves and planted them with the help of a dibber, but I'll get some fresher ones tomorrow.
My confidence has taken a step back. I'm ready to be surprised if anything springs from this rich damp earth - except weeds.
"None of your weeds are a problem" said Vanley "You got the deeper rooted one's out last year. Bother the others with your hoe. Dig them back in. Think of this as your food."
He makes it seem easy.
I found a clear patch; raked it and dibber planted the dry earthy tubers about six inches down.
"I saw you the other day picking up litter"
"Oh yes. Quarter of a ton of it. I get angry with the people who drop it, the council that doesn't pick it up and the manufacturers who produce so much packaging"
Vanley isn't much interested in mutual grumbling, so I didn't go on. Later when I was working on the plot he stopped by to have a look.
"Not too bad. Keep at it."
My friend Ziggi rang from London too ask how I was and we agreed to meet up in March. She has an allotment.
"Unlike bringing up a child"she said "you can make up in the next year for the mistakes you made the year before. There's always the prospect of renewal. I've come to enjoy the winter for the time spent in preparation; ordering my potatoes and other plants. I'm going to grow my onions from seeds this year. I'll be planting chard in March. In fact that's really when I'll start."
*** ***
Yesterday I was at the blood donor centre in Corporation Street.
"Well well well. It's your hundredth donation" said the nurse.
"Can you take my picture?"
"Yes" said the nurse
"What;s your name?"
"Lauren"
"You're good at this. I hardly felt the jab"
"When you've finished you can hold the blood"
She pulled out the needle, put a plaster over the little bruise in the crook of my arm, and handed me the pack with a pint of blood. I've never held that before. I didn't really feel anything very much but I sported a smile and I do feel quite proud like getting a Scout badge - not that I was in the Scouts.
*** ***
Richard Pine has written another 'Corfu Letter' in the Irish Times ~ 'Raw figures conceal richness of life behind Greek economic collapse':
A recent study, Understanding the Crisis in Greece, by two Greek economists, Michael Mitsopoulos and Theodore Pelagidis (both of whom have been advisers to the Greek government) tells us the Greek economy is dysfunctional.
We do not need an academic treatise to tell us that. Greece’s relations with the EU have made that clear over the past three years at least. The 114 bar charts, pie charts and graphs in the book are unnecessary: we can observe all of them by looking around us.
Anton Chekhov used to say that he got the ideas for his searing dramas by looking out of the window and seeing all human life going by. Brian Friel showed us much the same in his essay on his mother’s home town, A Fine Day at Glenties.
I sit on the esplanade of Corfu town, absorbing the last of the autumn sunshine, and I look across the straits at an Albania already going into winter: a country consisting almost entirely of unhelpful snow-clad mountains.
We live in a world of microclimates, each of which disobeys the laws of economics, meteorology and citizenship.
What I see in town (really a small city rather than a large town) or in the village where I live, is living proof of this book’s thesis: that the political parties are undemocratic in nature and “everyone participates, more or less willingly, in the shadow economy”.
I see poverty, tax evasion, ostentatious wealth, despair and joy. Hope and helplessness. I see widows collecting wild greens (horta) on which they live almost exclusively because they cannot afford meat (although they buy chicken carcases to make stock). But I am also told that one of the poorest-looking widows owns five houses and has thousands of euro stashed away. A microclimate indeed.
One of the strongest indicators of Greece as a divided society is the contrast between town and village: the mutual suspicion of the people. The townies look down on the peasants (not too strong a word for subsistence farmers), who in turn regard the townies as crooks – and have done so since at least the 18th century.
A new dimension to political life has been the rise of the neo-fascist Golden Dawn, which in Corfu polled much higher than its national average in the last elections, and which is suspected of having organised an arson attack on its last synagogue.
It’s a country where women use the genitive of their husband’s or father’s name (the singer Vicky Leandros is known as Vicky Leandrou - Βασιλική Παπαθανασίου - here) and still adopt an all-black wardrobe as widows.
It’s also a country of immense beauty: Corfu town has been declared a Unesco world heritage site because its arcaded streets, built mostly during the 400-year Venetian occupation, and the evident signs of building during the British administration (1815-1864), make it a city of appealing uniqueness.
Sitting on the esplanade, I look at the miracle of the two arcaded blocks that form a replica of Paris’s rue de Rivoli - they were built by the father of the man who constructed the Suez Canal. Miraculous because when the French were routed from Corfu the British finished the job. It’s the social centre of 'le tout Corfou'
But the simplicity of village life and architecture complements and adds to that beauty – even though the inhabitants of village and town are as different as chalk and cheese. How can I reconcile the beauty of the environment – and the added value that inheres in the tourist industry – when Mitsopoulos and Pelagidis document so thoroughly that Greece is so resistant to the sort of reforms demanded by the EU?
I see the kaleidoscope from the opposite end, simply because the economists cannot look at the everyday lives of ordinary people. It’s possible that they may never have seen villagers dunking their local bread into their own olive oil – or seen the sacks of olives going to the oilery where the growers pay 80 cent per litre for production, or spit-roasted lambs at the local panegiri (saint’s day).
It is the celebration of life at the most basic level, even if it does involve bribery and corruption, that the economists can’t see: they may hold the view that Greek people are inured to the grey economy and to dealing with the problem of balancing responsibility to the state with the demands of family, but in a country which last year lost 1,000 jobs a day, and where young people look to emigration as their only hope of survival, the claims of the individual are bound to trump those of the state.
And if, as is rumoured, the local taverna decides to open for only three days each week, due to declining spending power, we will all have to learn more than just dunking bread in oil.
Dear Richard. As I ‘struggle' with The Diviner having downgraded my reading and probably my intelligence this last decade I just saw your latest in the Irish Times. You’ve excelled. It was so good to see you pairing Chekhov and Friel - two artists who’ve managed so brilliantly and magically to blur the ancient and over-revered distinction between tragedy and comedy. See you soon we hope. We come via Naples to Corfu...it was another writer who while ‘looking out of the window’ also placed his feet in a bowl of water (not so much to warm or cool) but to remind himself of his subjectivity when describing what he saw between his curtains.  Best Simon

Jan Manessi in Corfu wrote...fine article, but don't assume that everyone out collecting wild vegetables does so because they cannot afford to buy them - horta gathering has been a popular task for years - at weekends hillsides round Athens were full of people out with plastic bags and a small knife. They are a delicacy, and those with knowledge of the many varieties are greatly respected. The eastern way of changing a name's end depending on sex is just the way things have been done from Greece to Russia- and few of the younger widows, both in town and village, wear black any longer, certainly not after the 40 days mourning has ended. In old times a widow would not even go to church, as this was considered enjoyment, her visits outside the house were only expected to be to and from the graveyard- thank goodness times have changed in some respects.
*** *** ***
One of my half-sisters - Miranda - tells me of a new grandchild. ....
Hi Lin and Simon. Here is Otis (born three weeks early on 14th December - a birth compadre of your Amy!)
Otis Oscar 
Meanwhile Oscar came round to visit with Amy and Guy, Richard and Emma...
*** *** ***
Dusk in Ano Korakiana...

Σερί από λιακάδες το τελευταίο διάστημα, που σε συνδυασμό με το άπλωμα της μέρας, προδιαθέτουν για το τέλος του χειμώνα, παρότι είμαστε λίγο μετά την αρχή του. Στα χωράφια, όπου το μάζεμα της ελιάς συνεχίζεται με τη βιασύνη να προλάβουμε μιαν αλλαγή του καιρού, ο χρόνος κυλάει γαντζωμένος στο άρμα του ήλιου. Με ξεχωριστούς ήχους και χρώματα. Από το μοναχικό κελάδημα του πουλιού, ως το μοναδικό χρώμα του δειλινού, που βάφει κόκκινα τα πρώτα σπίτια του χωριού, κατά την επιστροφή.

A final streak of sunshine, comes with the end of the day, suggesting winter is delayed even as it's begun. The olive harvest continues apace in expectation of a change in the weather. Time is linked to the sun's passage. There's the song of a lone bird as the sinking sun paints the houses red.
*** *** ***
A lovely and fascinating present from Alan Moir who knows my interest in Albania - a book -  Kanuni I Lekë DukagjiniThe Code of Leke Dukagjini, in Albanian and English.
Albanian text is by the priest Shtjefën Gjeçovi, translated by Leonard Fox, published by Gjonlekaj Publishing Company, New York  in 1989. Alan and his wife Christine were friends of my mother's. He worked for a period under an EU-UK Home Office scheme by which senior police officers were seconded to Albania to assist in the reform of their police following the end of the regime of Enver Hoxha. Alan maintained connection with the country and has many friends there. At mum's memorial service in December I met up again with him and he promised to send me a copy of the Leke Dukagjini code: 
The entire essence of the legal code of the Albanians is an unparalleled rigorous respect for this basic principle: non-violation of the dignity of a man- his honour, home and life.”
(Ismail Kadare) 
“The ‘Kanun' or Code of Lekë Dukagjini is an extraordinary monument of 

Albanian culture, essential for the understanding of all the northern Albanian lands. This magnificent edition, with its authoritative translation of the text, is an indispensable work for anyone who wishes to explore the history and traditions of the Albanian people”
(Noel Malcolm, author of Kosovo: A short History, 1998) 
“Certainly the Kanun is an unique document, a codification of practices amounting to law of great historical significance. In addition, it provides the bedrock for the rule of law in Albania even today.”  (Robert W. Sweet, United States District Judge)
For all their habits, law and customs, the people, as a rule, have but on explanation: ‘It is in the Canon of Lek…' as for the laws ascribed to him, the greater part are obviously far earlier than the 15 th century, when he is said to have lived. They probably were obeyed by the unknown warriors of the bronze weapons in the prehistoric graves.” (Edith Durham, High Albania (1909)

*** ***
As well as the Jerusalem artichokes, I planted more garlic on Thursday morning, and a double row of potatoes...

Circumvesuviana

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Hotel Ideal on Piazza Garibaldi, Naples

We took a train - Circumvesuviana - from Piazza Garibaldi to Ercolano Scavi, then a minibus to near the mountain's summit, walking up for another 20 minutes to the edge, where a path runs half way around the circumference of the crater. Vapour rose lazily to meet the gathering clouds.





Later we went down to Herculaneum - destroyed and buried by the eruption of Vesuvius in 79AD

But between the ascent of the mountain and our walk around Herculaneum, Lin visited casualty in Torre del Greco. She fell on the path near the rim of the mountain, leaving a gout of blood on the tufa gravel.
"Oh no no" she said, momentarily spreadeagled on her front, almost sobbing "I've spoiled everything"
I helped her up, swiftly assisted by a sweet guide called Antonio, who gave us a lift in his little car, parked by the Guide hut, back to the minibus a few hundred feet of zigzag below, while Lin applied copious kitchen roll paper to her bleeding lip. In the hospital, where Lin was seen almost at once, two young doctors inserted several stitches, and gave her a small bag of ice to press to her mouth.
We walked together a few kilometres through an unpeopled surburban landscape...
Torre del Greco
...until we came to the railway station and took two stops to Ercolano Scavi, where we walked a kilometre down to the ruined town nested amid modern building founded on the 30 metres of compacted mud and ash that had buried the town and its inhabitants so long ago.
That evening we met up with my nephew Jamie and Maria living high up in Naples, to enjoy a meal at busy Pizza Starita on Materdei.
All evening the rain came with thunder and lightning making the dark streets brighter with reflections, chaotic, messy, littered, graffiti'd, layered and altogether - like most old cities not commodified for tourists - past its ancient prime.
Past its ancient prime

Piazza Garibaldi in the rain
Naples Metro



How magic are these grand Spanish apartment blocks. You confront vast wooden doors freighted with locks and brass fittings, fine mouldings and mighty hinges. To enter there's no need to budge the big doors, instead you stoop to enter through a small street level door finely carpentered into the big ones. You step over a high lintel and find yourself inside a great staired space, a domestic theatre of private apartments rising in tiers around a grand atrium, five, six floors, dizzying and yet cosy with the separate aromas of different cooking as you ascend to the skylights, pressing switches that give a temporary increase of light to your tenebrous passage. These old buildings once lit by candles and oil lamps, are twined with overpainted circuitry poking out of the oddest corners, sometimes showing ranks of dusty meters and switches, to which now and then are the intrusions of new plumbing, air-conditioning slightly awry, and, here and there, a new door or window - but ultimately the buildings hold their integrity, honouring their original construction.
We walked to our hotel from Cavour as the trains ceased long before midnight and buses were scarce. On the way we found ice cream, cold tasty chocolate in the rain. Bedtime reading a Naples police procedural These Dark Things by Jan Merete Weiss and - perhaps one of the finest guidebooks I've come across - Gomorrah by Roberto Saviano - about modern Naples but also the rest of the world.

Ano Korakiana again

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Our blood orange tree is heavy with fruit; our lemon trees too. I soak up the village, feel it through the soles of my feet, gathering strength – a feeling that began even as we disembarked from the ferry at shabby Igoumenitsa....
Igoumenitsa at dawn


...a port that takes no account of travellers on foot, and trailed our bags across two kilometres of concrete to where we could catch the smaller ferry to Corfu, name Doris – ΔΩΡΙΕΥΣ. Greece, far from wounding me, embraces and supports me. My chest swells and my eyes glisten with the joy of return. I feel brave.
Arriving at the Port of Corfu
I want Ano Korakiana – ‘our’ village - to be timeless; timeless for me; nothing must change without I know of it, yet as Lin drives down DemocracyStreet under an overcast sky, as you’d expect in January, I see the shop – Stamatis' small shop yards from us - is gutted, with builders inside. After unloading the car of our luggage and shopping on the way, I find our neighbour, Vasiliki, is putting up washing below a polythene sheet that crackles and slaps in the wind. I greet her over our garden fence.
“To pantopolei, to magassi, το μαγαζί? Pou agoraso psomi? Που αγοράζω ψωμί; where do I buy bread?
She said ‘supermarket - σούπερμάρκετ’.
I groan inwardly. Our nearest is miles away. I go down into the house, turning on the water and the power including the water heater. I stroll to the shop. Stamatis is there. It’s OK. The place is being refurbished - ανακαινίζουν το μαγαζί. Bread is across the road at Pepe’s where they sell cakes. Phew. But if I want vegetables I must walk three hundred metres to the other end of the street to the other shop, which only reopened two years ago. So now who’s receiving the mail I wonder?
But I’m relieved. It’ll sort itself out; a change that need not bring anxiety. Later the sky grows clearer, a strong almost warm south wind blows below ragged racing clouds.
[21/01/13 Stamatis explained his plan to me. He is not redoing the shop but making a small bar which will serve coffee and drinks and mezes. It will be called Piazza - Πιάτσα. He gets a temporary relief from tax as this is a starter business and he has installed toilets and wash basin. On reflection I think this is a very good project and I hope it prospers.]
But abruptly the sky darkens. Hail falls in a burst, lashing leaves from the trees, beating a staccato on the shutters and doors, heaping ice stones against the outer walls, making such a din I’m momentarily alarmed the weather’s made a breach, assaulting the cosy house where our stove burns old building wood I sawed late in summer, dry as a bone. The electrics flicker – come on again, go off, come on and then go off for several hours. We’ve candles ready with matches near and a small propane stove to boil water.
At dawn, a blue-grey mat stands across the island southward. Rain pours through the day. I collect it from the downpipes in big bowls for when the pumping fails and the village loses tap water; which for several hours it did. I spin the washing twice and hang it on the drier in front of the stove.
“That just makes condensation” grumbles Lin
“Well what do you suggest?”
“Wait until you can hang it outside”
“When would that be?”
In a short relent yesterday afternoon Lin and I got out our sticks and trudged up the village through Venetia to Ag. Isadoras on the ninth bend of the road to Sokraki above. The south wind moaned in the electric wires twirling the tops of trees and shrubs, spreading our coat tails and streaming Lin’s hair beneath her hat. We had the road all to ourselves, ample warning of rare approaching cars.



On the way up the hill I drop off two bags of litter I’ve collected from the path beside our garden. Vasiliki told me her husband Lefteris’ brother had died on Saturday - έπεσε νεκρός. He’d had a home in Athens. Lefteris has gone there; I think to bring him home. Vasiliki knew my mother had died - πεθαίνω πλήρης ημερών. We both gave the worn look, a shared sad shrug – our fate.
Around 7.00pm I sat in on a lecture about - so Dr Savannis told me - ‘The Poverty of the Greek Language’ or perhaps 'The bankruptcy of our language'. It was in the Philharmonia Room in the centre of the village. I understood little - a sort of self-imposed fasting from comprehension; to allow myself to feel uneducated and dense. The lecturer was on a panel – fascinated, amused – all engaged in a two hour debate.
Lecture and debate in Ano Korakiana "Η πτώχευση της γλώσσα μας'
There were at least forty present – grey hairs and young, even a child of 10 or 12. She sat attentive as her mother took part in the discussion. These evening debates are regular in Ano Korakiana – covering music, poetry, novels and themes like tonight’s. In what other village would I encounter such a thing? I long to be involved as more than just an observer of such animation.
**** ****

Near Cavour in the city centre of Naples
We left Naples by train on Monday morning and travelled to Bari via Caserta.
Across Campania
Under the Volcano was a book about a talented man drinking himself into stupor; people who love him, powerless against his compulsion. With the help of murderous rogues he is destroyed. So Naples.
Chiesa S.Giuseppi di Ruffi

Imagine Venice invaded by Mestre and oil-drenched Marghera, drab Treviso and the outlying settlements kept away by the lagoon. Naples, without such protection, is infected by cement. Where once were walls and separation between town and country, the once great city of Bourbon, Austrian and imperial Spanish architecture with Roman-Greek infrastructure - famous wondrous Naples - is now an uninviting settlement of semi-derelict ticky tack strewn between fabled Sorrento and Mondragone, north of the Gulf of Naples, thirty miles up the Domitian coast and outward across a mess of temporary building and depopulated farmland reaching to Caserta.  
Placeless in Torre del Greco
Six lane succubus
We learned at school the eulogy ‘See Naples and die’. Old paintings, even old photos attest its sublime beauty. I'm not nostalgic.
Near Piazza Dante in the centre of Naples
I sailed here in 1962, enjoying ice cream as I'd never tasted it, but I doubt - but for intervals - the human condition was better or worse, yet the blighting of this once great city and its environs is worse than the ancient disasters that attract visitors to Herculaneum and Pompeii, but the pizza is excellent. Eloquent Roberto Saviano struggles to find the words to describe, ‘to construct…an image of the economy’. He falls back on picturing what ‘it leaves behind…as it marches onward’.
‘The most concrete emblem of every economic cycle is the dump (Ch.10 in Gomorrah: Land of Fires pp.282)…the true aftermath of consumption. The south of Italy is the end of the line for the dregs of production, useless leftovers, and toxic waste.’
Campania and its companion provinces, Sicily, Basilicata, Calabria and Puglia are centres of environmental crime. Worst are the outskirts of Naples.
‘On no other land in the Western world has a greater amount of toxic and non-toxic waste been illegally dumped.’ 
Saviano’s statistics drawn from Italian government reports and the office of the Naples public prosecutor are telling.
‘…the trash, accumulated over decades, has reconfigured the horizons, created previously non-existent hills, invented new odours, and suddenly restored lost mass to mountains devoured by quarries’.
He describes a new managerial class of post-graduates with degrees in environmental studies who know waste, acting as middlemen between those with waste to dispose and those with places to dump it. These ‘stakeholders’ become rich mediating between industrialists wanting to reduce the costs of legal disposal and the Camorrah clans’ trash disposers. ‘The stakeholder’s office is his car, and he moves hundreds of thousands of tons of waste with a phone and a portable computer’ undercutting the cost of legal disposal, handling enormous volumes, making exponential profits. Saviano describes one stakeholder who gave up his job to teach his profession in Hongkong, where the local stakeholders’ dream...
‘is to make the Port of Naples the hub for European refuse, a floating collection centre where the gold of trash can be crammed into containers for burial in China’ (p.291)
Listening to a stakeholder on the phone to customers he overhears advice on 
‘how and where to dump toxic waste…copper, arsenic, mercury, cadmium, lead, chrome, nickel, cobalt, and molybdenum…from tannery residues to hospital waste, from urban trash to tyres…’ 
The irony? The clans with their criminal waste disposal services...
‘relaunched and energized the Italian economy…Tuscany the most environmentally conscious region of Italy, plays a significant role in the geography of illicit traffic…the 2003 Midas investigation reported that waste disposal traffickers were already making contacts in Albania and Costa Rica…every channel is open now: to the east, to Romania…to Africa, to Mozambique, Somalia and Nigeria…the local agriculture, which used to export fruit and vegetables as far as Scandinavia, is collapsing. Plants sprout diseased, and the land grows infertile. But this disaster and the farmers’ rage are only the umpteenth advantage for the Camorrah: desperate landowners sell off their fields, and the clans acquire new landfill sites at low – very low – costs…In the land of the Camorrah knowing the clans’mechanisms for success, their modes of extraction, their investments, means understanding how everything works today everywhere, not merely here.’
There remains a city core in Naples, the old paved and cobbled streets, narrow and inviting, but here the streets are ravaged by motorized traffic – an object lesson in the 20th century plague of private wealth and public squalor. Public transport struggles; is notoriously sporadic, frequently delayed. Over most of our stay we were content to walk, but in doing so experienced the rank accorded pedestrians. Cycling was non-existent. Unsurprising given the cobbles and hills, but most of all because of the dominance of motorized traffic, only now and then kept at bay by bollards, but colonizing much of the city whether parked across a walkway, cutting through alleyways or charging along roads designed for their privileged circulation and the subordination of people who walk. You must drive or be driven in a car or on a scooter to gain the freedom of the city. We made it to what we thought was the seafront by Castella...
...,to find ourselves barred from the sea by a ribbon of fences, walls, private roads and a dual carriageway four lanes wide of speeding vehicles.
It was different once...
Strolling along straight - once magnificent - Via Cristoforo Columbus, the civic statues that watched our passage had become bathetic, too grand for the scabbed uneven pavements; the cement and asphalt patchwork superimposed over 19th century patterned cobbles; empty shops selling heavily discounted fashionwear announcing sales covered in crossed out price labels; stuffed wheelie bins and windblown garbage...
...beneath grandiose six and seven floored mansions with tall windows and ornate balconies, distinctly under occupied, their antique high-ceilinged rooms converted to temporary offices and store rooms. The road was divided by a crude concrete barrier heavily grafitt’d. Car and trucks ruled our surroundings, taking their possession of city space for granted. We scuttled warily, skirting what might once have been a promenade, once a shared public space. I fumed. I learned and knew it was different once.
Highlighting the fate of yet another city running out of civic space, are its public treasures. The National Archeological Museum seen the afternoon of our arrival. All our time here was worth the things we enjoyed there, even as our limbs ached with walking on stone and climbing steps.

 Never was marble more caressable; mosaic more touchable...
...This wistful face -  no deity or ideal form - hardly 10 inches high, crafted in small pieces of stone perfectfully placed. Someone adored her. Did she die under the volcano? Was she already a memorial enjoyed by her descendants in a Greek town that stood on the shore for centuries before the Romans, before the great eruption. The picture with many others lay unknown beneath hardened mud and ash for 18 centuries; now emerged into light to delight me. Alone these were worth my tiny transit. In Herculaneum I saw no signs to the Villa of the Papyri– the house I’d learned of in The Swerve, where a treasure of scrolled books was found illegibly charred. Archaeological invention is gradually deciphering them. In the garden, now in the museum, was a marble statue – not large – of Pan and a nannygoat making languorous love, smiling into each other’s eyes
“Aren’t we enjoying ourselves?”
Why have I never come across this sweet piece, antonym to porn’s bilious exaggeration, a most explicit recognition of Donne’s Ecstasy‘to our bodies turn we then…else a great prince in prison lies’? (When I was sixteen and my mother told me of her love of this poem. I was embarrassed)
...That subtle knot which makes us man,
So must pure lovers' souls descend
T' affections, and to faculties,
Which sense may reach and apprehend,
Else a great prince in prison lies.
To'our bodies turn we then...
There’s no power play here, no sentimental innocence. The mutual connection – above and below – even on a stand displayed in a museum, radiates happy and solicitous pleasure.
On Sunday we took the Metro to Cavour again and walked, where Jamie and Maria had marked our map, to Via Duomo off which a narrow street led to an entrance into Napoli Sotteranea, where seven of us descended, with a guide, down “a hundred and nineteen steps” into one small part of a great system of man-made caverns, shafts and corridors spread beneath the city.
Prehistoric settlers mined a layer of volcanic tufa for stones to build Naples, creating spaces into which in classical times rivers were diverted, so that anyone wanting water sank a well into the workings, which expanded over thousands of years - a network of connected cisterns, with aqueducts over a 100 kilometres, long bringing water to outlying towns. Only near the end of the 19th century did cholera put an end to drawing water from this vast underground.
I took the visit on trust; felt none of the sensible apprehension that would have made me more than fearful of walking on the rim of a volcano or descending many metres underground. The idea of this great area beneath Naples was fascinating; the experience less so. I’d become more intrigued with what was above ground – the teeming mess of contemporary Campagna. We had talked of dystopia with Jamie and Maria. He referred me to the 'anti-state'...I found and read this on a US site:
Known as the “anti-state” or simply the “system,” the “Camorra” dominates the city of Naples, Italy. The Neapolitan equivalent of Sicily’s Mafia operates a multibillion dollar a year enterprise ranging from international smuggling to street level crime to providing material support to terrorists. The epicenter of the system is the neighborhoods of Scampia and Secondigliano, called the Red Zone due to the amount of power that Camorra exerts over the area...The Camorra came on the international stage in the early 1990s. The Sicilian Mafia had traditionally been the most powerful of the organized crime groups in Italy, but following the assassination of two prominent anti-mafia judges, Giovanni Falcone and Paolo Borselino, in 1992, it faced an unprecedented level of crackdowns by law enforcement*...This created the opportunity for the Camorra to fill the void for international drug trafficking, and subsequently the bulk of drug trafficking shifted from Sicily to Naples. The conditions in Naples itself, particularly Scampia and Secondigliano, have allowed the Camorra to continue to operate on the international level. Following the earthquake of 1980, thousands migrated to the public housing complexes known as the Vele di Scampia (Sails of Scampia). This influx exacerbated already existing problems of poverty, drugs, and street crime, in which an estimated 60,000 residents were now living in the complexes seriously lacking public services, not even a single police station initially. The lack of commercial development coupled with extremely high unemployment made this a perfect area for criminal enterprise....(The Case of Scampia and Secondigliano, Italy. Egon Donnarumma Summer 2011,Vol 20 (3) www.nationalstrategy.com)
Naples and its suburbs from Vesuvius


But Egon Donnarumma’s essay for the US National Strategy is for a ‘homeland’ audience warning that Naples is a portal for terrorism against the US and infiltration of American business in Italy.
 … If left unobstructed, terrorist groups can continue to use Naples as a point to safely enter Europe, which may eventually result in a major terrorist attack…A partnership of Italian and American intelligence operations to track terrorist activity in Naples would also be in both countries’ interest….for American businesses. The implications of facing organized crime elements must be considered…While this does not apply to every industry, those involved with shipping and especially waste disposal should be aware of the likelihood of crossing paths with elements of the Camorra…so embedded in society that they are unlikely to go away anytime soon. 
Donnarumma writes pragmatically as a US foreign policy expert, as though describing risks attached to the aims and activities of another nation. Within his essay are warnings of how the Camorra get their grip, which is indeed to be not so much anti-state, in the sense promoted by anarchists who recognize that any moral calculation shows states as lethal and as murderous as the criminal agencies Donnarumma describes, but to show how, in Naples, the criminals are recreating government, ruling a local state with embassies and consulates spreading across the world. I recall being struck by an opinion of Judge Giovanni Falcone, scourge of the Mafia, murdered by them in Sicily in 1992, that the Mafia ‘understood the responsibilities of government better than Rome’, the seat of a national government that failed to protect him and his legal work to eliminate the Mafia. The Camorra protect their own. Donnarumma points out that, especially in Scampia and Secondigliano in Naples, they provide a substitute for the services of local government...
... illicit sale of cigarettes and other goods is tolerated by authorities under an “air of casual illegality”. With little in the way of commercial infrastructure and social services, it functions as the only viable economic organization in these neighborhoods. It also serves as a welfare agency, in essence, by providing care for families of any member who ends up in prison. This tightens its grasp on the neighbourhoods by making the population dependent on its services, which pushes out state services, thus further integrating Camorra into society. Following the global economic crisis, organized crime in Italy is one of the few businesses with liquidity and is lending lots of money (although with extremely high interest rate) to businesses. (The Case of Scampia and Secondigliano, Italy. Egon Donnarumma Summer 2011,Vol 20 (3) www.nationalstrategy.com) 
Father Don Peppino Diana
The most famous man to come from Casal di Principe, a town embedded in Naples’ unwholesome sprawl nine miles north west of Scampia and Secondigliano, is not a gang chief, but the priest Father Don Peppino Diana (or Don Giuseppe Diana). In an especially powerful chapter Roberto Saviano reports how the Camorra have infiltrated the church, adopting and adapting Christian theology (as, of course, have states) to their ends ‘Killing is a sin that Christ will understand and forgive in the name of necessity’. Thus Israel circumvents Yawa’s commandment in Gaza, thus Islamists can kill for the religion of peace they ever proclaim, thus the Christian nation of America and its allies…(no need to labour the point).
‘Religion is a constant point of reference for the Camorra, not merely a propitiary gesture or cultural relic but a spiritual force that determines the most intimate decisions. Camorra families, especially the most charismatic bosses, often consider their own actions as a Calvary, their own consciences bearing the pain and weight of sin for the well being of the group and the men they rule.’ (Gomorrah p.226-227) 
I realize something I’d not grasped; that in challenging a system that has taken on the moral and physical methods of a state, it is not enough to side with it against another state; to side with local and national government against an upstart criminal state. The state and anti-state are not exactly in collaboration any more than are warring Camorra clans but they are mutually infiltrated via a host of quotidian interactions – the issuing of a trading licence, the collection of a tax, the willingness of a priest to celebrate a clan wedding or baptism and hear confessions. Into this fuzzy space between state and anti-state come exceptional individuals seldom popular with either. Roberto Saviano decribes the brief life, cut short by his murder, of the priest Don Peppino Diana, a man who for a short time strove to make black and white, what most people would prefer left as shades of grey.
‘Don Peppino wanted to bring some clarity to words, meanings and values’ ‘We must’ he said ‘divide the people so as to throw them into crisis’. ‘… (p.229) his priority was to fight political power as an expression of criminal business power’
“… the candidates favoured by the Camorrah have neither policy nor party, but merely a role as player or a post to fill.” 
Words, meanings, values…. “The Camorrah gives the name family to a clan organised for criminal purposes, in which absolute loyalty is the law, and expression of autonomy is denied, and not only defection but the conversion to honesty is considered a betrayal worthy of death; the Camorrah uses every means to extend and consolidate this type of family, even exploitation of the sacraments. For the Christian, shaped to the school of the Word of God, family means only a group of people united by shared love, in which love means means disinterested and attentive service, in which service exalts him who offers it and him who receives it… 
Weapons in hand, the Camorristi violently impose unacceptable rules: extortions that have turned our region into subsidized areas with no potential on their own for development; bribes of 20% or more on construction projects, which would discourage the most reckless businessmen; illicit traffic in narcotics, whose use creates gangs of marginalized youngsters and unskilled workers at the beck and call of criminal organisations; clashes among factions that descend like a ruinous plague on the families of our region; negative examples for the entire teenage population, veritable laboratories of violence and organised crime.” 
'Don Peppino didn’t want to believe the clan was an evil choice a person makes, but rather the result of clear conditions, fixed mechanisms, identifiable and gangrenous causes. No church or individual in the region had ever been so determined to clarify things.'
'…His killers did not pick a date by chance. March 19, 1994, was the feast of San Giuseppe, his name day…Early morning, Don Peppino was in the church meeting room near his study. “Who is Don Peppino?” “I am”  Two bullets hit him in the face, others pierced his head, neck and hand, and one hit the bunch of keys on his belt…He was thirty six years old.’ 
One of the more ingeniously unpleasant aftermaths of this crime, which the naïve might think unwise, raising the power of the priest's words through martyrdom, was the posthumous campaign aided by some local journalists to sully Peppino's name; to take away not only his life but his character, hinting that the was in fact a Camorrista caught up in a clan feud; had evaded his priestly duties – in refusing to give the sacrament to criminals – had consorted with prostitutes; that his reason for going up against the clans was not a stance against all for which they stood but a personal vendetta, that Peppino ‘wallows in the same filth’. He was isolated, made alone.

*My ignorance of history, tho' vaguely remembered. Norman Lewis in his autobiography- I came, I saw (1985) - records in Chap 22, how after the allied carpet bombing of Naples while held by the Germans, the area was under the rule of AMGOT - the Allied Military Government of Occupation -
'largely officered by Americans of Italian origin. AMGOT 'stood between us and justice and truth'....'They had made a start by replacing all fascist-appointed Mayors with the nominees of the Mafia freshly released from gaol. Vito Genovese, ex-head of the American Mafia, now their principal adviser, was ready with his list of names, and soon these sinister ruffians became the real rulers of Southern Italy'

Indivisible

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I was becoming increasingly uncertain of how to get where I was going, seeing none of the streets or buildings I was expecting round the next corner. I’d left our boat sitting on the mud at Hammersmith, the family aboard. We needed a part and I was looking for a chandlers before the end of the flood. My phone kept slipping apart; an old model. Far too large. I wandered through a canal tunnel noting how clear its shallow water was from the towpath. Eels were wriggling as they fed on creatures in the mud. Part of my phone became detached. I tried to put it together again so I could phone that I’d be late back, especially as I was supposed to be having supper with Leslie who’d grown hirsute after his sex change operation and now seemed beardier than when she was a man. There were people I didn’t know round her table in a dim lit study lined with books. I tried to make excuses as I knew the family were waiting for me on the boat but the first dish was already going round – a leather bound book; inside, instead of pages, white fish in cream sauce ('But yet the body is his book' Donne The Ecstasy) I tried to eat but time was getting so far ahead of me I made excuses and left. It was dark. I worked my way through strange streets seeking the river, but over and over again I lost my way and the sides of the streets seemed to move forward with me so that I stayed in the same place even as I strove to walk. I asked a man how to get to the Thames. He was bemused.
“Where is this?”
“Harrow-on-the-Hill”
I was miles from the boat. We’d have long missed the ebb. I’d no money. It was too late for buses and trains. I tried to start walking south reckoning I could make it back by first light but could make no progress. My phone was now in two parts and useless. How I wished this was all a bad dream, but it was real. I could see no way of ever getting out of the place I was. I woke with relief. In the darkness of early morning I hugged Lin. The boat was not on the muddy shore of the Thames but beside the harbour at Ipsos from which she was lifted late last year in readiness for her refurbished engine.
Summer Song ashore at Ipsos
**** ****
I send my sister Bay a text ‘Travel well. X S’.
She, on her way west across the Atlantic, replies ‘Thank you love you. Bx’
Lin, Amy and Richard have held my hand – wonderfully – even as they too grieve, and mum’s step daughter Fiona; so also my Greek side who sent cards and phoned and didn’t mind me phoning them; friends too have been kind, especially Amy’s best friend Liz.
Mum's terrier Bibi at the gate by the field next to Brin Croft
Marjorie-Ann, my mother’s enduring friend since the 1940s, wrote a few weeks ago. She was unable to get to Scotland. I’d sent her a service sheet and an obituary.
‘Yes I can well imagine that it must feel extraordinary B suddenly not being there – she was such a ‘present’ person: vivid, beguiling, exceptional in so many ways that it is difficult to take in the fact that she has gone….it must have been immensely comforting to her to have you both with her, although I can understand that it doesn’t really offer much consolation to you. The truth is, consolations are few, and in my experience, only come with time (one being that the pain goes finally, but the love remains). You say you always knew ‘that one day it would end’, but actually it hasn’t quite ended, has it? I think you will find – as time passes, that B will be, is, part of you now until you die. How could it not be so when two people are very close? Also, remember that nothing can take away your experience of her, what you had - have had. A mother who was also a loved friend and a marvellous human being?’
A friend wrote how she still talked to her father who died over twenty years ago. I so miss being able to talk and write to mum. I did, since I learned to write from my boarding school aged six. A file at Brin Croft is full of my letters from different places. I have many of mum's letters - that distinctive handwriting, sensuously curved, invariably a broad nibbed fountain pen, aquamarine ink.
How should – how can Bay and I, as Mum willed, divide her things between us? A sofa or a bed neither of us want is no problem. We donate or sell and divide the sale price. But what of things indivisible...
Things indivisible



...things we would not want to buy off one other; whose value can no more be measured than a child or a stone picked up on the edge of a river on a winter walk long ago, or a shard from Palestine, a lock of hair, lace from Venice, and things I don't know about but which my sister and her children and mine may?
“Will you have this?”
“No you have it”
“No you”.
And what about books, read and enjoyed over the years?
“Will you have this one?”
“No you”.
For the time being these sit on many shelves as mum left them. And what of her files – our multitude of letters, photographs, her collected notes, especially on the Findhorn, where over forty years we’ve picnic’d and walked – Cawdor, Drynachan Lodge, Dulsie Bridge, Shenachie, Tomatin, Coignafearn, Findhorn Bay where the river meets the Moray Firth? In March 1995 Bay wrote a poem (or is it a psalm?) for the book mum was always planning about the river but never started. Bay found it in the file and read it at the Memorial Service
This river is like a sumptuous pathway to Heaven
The sun and moon illuminating her voyage
Sparkling like a stream of stars.
A superb, massive,diverse, twisting road of glistening water
Banked by beauteous pink rocks
Edged by verdant low meadows.
Shimmering, racing and full of fisherman’s hopes
As she makes her determined way to the ocean.
Massive boulders sometimes shunt her progress
But always the grand lady flows on
Gathering evermore strength and depths
Evermore beauty and gaiety.
Such splendour and grandeur I have never seen.
Sheep, cows, birds and lambs sip at her edges,
Roots, reeds and grasses draw water from her banks
Pebbles and rocks are rubbed by her gentle touch.
The sky colours her with beautiful tones.
She always welcomes one with her warm curves.
She meanders through giant, low valleys.
She gushes and tumbles through deep ravines.
She has the strength of a giant
The gentle touch of a baby’s finger.
She is serene, regal and tranquil.
She is rugged and bold
As she scrambles along full of a myriad of rich colours.
She has an innate friendliness that draws you to her
With a desire to explore and discover
Her multitude of secret, hidden parts.
Her deep, mysterious pools that nestle at her banks.
Her spreading, flat expanses with transparent pebbly bottoms.
She is like a chronicle of life from birth to eternity.
She flows with state and jubilance.
She holds historical tales that we may never learn
But in our curious minds we wonder
Who, in ancient days lived by her banks.
Marvelled at her abundance and life giving gifts.
Who watched her passing on her triumphant way to the sea.
What of the eager fish who leap up her waters to spawn their young
The osprey, buzzard and kestrel who dip swiftly for food.
The heather clothed moorlands purple at her sides.
She reflects the shadows of the high, mighty grand spruces
That draw their life’s blood from their friend below
And awake to her welcoming gurgles as they genuflect to her waters.
As the sun goes down on this very regal river
Shadows can be seen from fluttering leaves trembling on her ever moving surface. Sadly I briefly leave her banks and company.
Happily I know that I will return to her loving embrace.
The Findhorn at Coignafearn

A sight of the sun

Gossip

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On stepping into our bedroom we are reminded of the improvisatory confidence with which ‘John the builder’; put that part of the 'improved' house together for our credulous predecessors. Tread over the threshold and the floor, sloping below the horizontal, sinks a little and creaks unreassuringly. Nothing serious, but yesterday we got round to rolling back the taupe carpet, unscrewing the chipboard just beyond the door, revealing the new plaster ceiling of the room below and the sturdy unplanned roof beams of the original one storey house on which our bedroom had been built. With a makeshift straight-edge we made a new – this time level - support, fixed it firmly between two beams, lowered and screwed down the chipboard and relaid the carpet.
“That was easy enough”
Now we need to level one other part of the floor, fix and paint sturdy skirting board on each wall to fill the gap between floor and walls, install a fitted wardrobe – for which we already have the uprights to support a pair of recovered wooden French windows, add in shelves for books and clothes, and do some repainting
*** *** ***
I can keep changing inner tubes suffering minute slow punctures but I’d be more confident if I got a new tyre – road tyre 700 x 35c, but what’s the other measurement inscribed on this tyre, made in China. 37 – 622? Yianni at the cycle shop next to the old hospital will have what I want. Thorns pierce cycle tyres so easily I always pause before setting out to check and scrub the treads, my specs off so I can peer closely at the rubber, knife tip poised to tease out embedded thorns, near invisible. One thing happens. Mud or excrement picked up on the tread will collect a thorn, which if undiscovered, works its way through the tyre. Removing a deflated inner tube at home I use a bowl of water to find the bubbles from the puncture. Beside the road I’ll just use a spare new tube and mend the punctured later, or run the inflated inner tube past my lips to feel for a little stream of escaping air. I also run my fingers carefully round the inside of the tyre to find the culprit cause.
As it is Yianni convinces me, not to buy a new tyre - yet; but rather to spend €10 on a product I didn't know existed - a 'thorn resistant' tube. Let's see.
*** *** ***

The rain has returned, enclosing the village; gossipping in the tiles, and gutters and down pipes, dribbling, trickling, splashing through the early hours, while thunder grumbles across the island muted by walls, bolted shutters, thick curtains and our warm bed.
Last night supper with Mark and Sally we exchanged news like sailors at a post island, discussing the pleasure of being warm in winter. I recalled that Jack London short story of the Yukon traveller caught out in deep winter, finding shelter beneath a tree with matches to start the fire that will save his life; how when, with his last flame - the other matches having all flared in one go as he fumbled with the bunch - he succeeds, the growing warmth brings down a great heap of extinguishing snow from the branches above him. End of tale.
“People are switching to wood, burning it green. Oil’s so dear”
“Other’s have been stocking it all year, the back yard full”
“The other day we were at X’s and I was getting cold. I’d not bothered to wear warm underclothes. I said something. He said ‘the crisis’  and threw me a blanket”
‘Surely it’s best to forget central heating. Keep one room cosy, farmhouse kitchen style. People together, cooking and a stove. Bedrooms don’t matter. Quilt. Electric blanket. Hot water bottle. Two in the bed.”
“If there’s a warm stove, the electric failures don’t matter. Plenty of matches and candles. Water stops. We’ve got enough for tea in bottles and plenty from the downpipes for flushing the loo.”
“Go to bed. Read a book with a torch.”
I spoke of the café Stamatis was making of his shop.
“Good idea but the road's cramped there for sitting outside at tables. OK for cyclists and walkers in the summer.”
“The next bunch of electric bills have arrived. Not too bad. I have a rebate” said Sally
“Might be because of the legal challenge to the government’s right to raise taxes through electric bills” I suggested
“The government’s appealing. They say the TV tax has long been collected this way, so why not property tax?”
“We don’t even have a TV but we still pay that”
I’d been reading Corfucius’ – Chris Holmes - account of how while he shivers in his house above Kontokali, striving to economise on power bills, his electric bills are coming in over €2000 a time; and have been for decades, despite repeated attempts to assail the unresponsive bureaucracy of DEH. Chris’s late mother built a fence around the edge of her garden; not one that marked the actual boundary between her’s and her neighbours’ property but for the convenience and aesthetics of her garden. The neighbours have now constructed a more substantial fence which treats that garden fence as a boundary. This new unofficial boundary separates Chris from his electric meter, adding to the difficulty of investigating the disproportionate power bills. If he breaches the new fence to allow an electrician to check his meter he risks a confrontation with neighbours convinced he’s trespassing. To get anywhere he needs a lawyer to confirm the correct boundaries who can convince the police who, in theory, should be overseeing an electrician’s investigation of the ‘leakage’.
“A pretty pickle!”
 “We were in town on Tuesday…
…had lunch at Rouvas (Stamatis Desyllas 13) with Richard Pine. He’s morose. More so than usual. I’d talked - almost cheerfully - of my mother dying but my grandson being born
“He muttered a short version of the Macbeth's last speechpetty pace… last syllable of recorded time etcetera – this futile cyle of death, birth, death, birth”
“Hardly surprising. He has to get out of the Durrell School building in Philhellinon in town by 1 April. The landlord is determined to sell the premises and wants him out. Thousands of books have to be moved to his home in Perithia. He founded the Durrell School of Corfu in 2001. Realized a dream. He’s facing the wrench of losing it. For eleven years he’s stayed there, living in the school a narrow flight of dark wood stairs above a narrow street of tall buildings off the Liston....
its front door concealed until you are opposite, between two small shops; at first living there all the time and then, when he got a house in the north, making a weekly bus journey – he has no car – between Perithia and the city, staying in the little bedroom-study one or two nights a week. How can he replace that useful routine?”
“He could run it from Perithia. It’s an idea as well as a place.”
“Richard hasn’t got an ounce of self-pity. He’s got other strings, His present book that should be out this year and his writing for the Irish Times about the situation in Greece, and he does lots of editing.”
“All the same...”
“We had a good meal together. Main dish, a little house wine, fizzy water and a shared Greek salad, all well served with the opportunity to look at all the dishes first. Richard said the lemon chicken was delicious. I had beef stew and that pasta that looks like rice; Lin roast chicken, roast potatoes. Cost us €12 each. Not bad.”
While we were with Richard I presented him with my copy of the 1999 edition of his book about the great Irish playwright Brian Friel – The Diviner– with which I’ve been struggling.
“Do me the honour?” I asked
He swiftly wrote in the frontispiece. I asked if he had a copy of Friel’s ‘A Fine Day in Glenties’ - a travelogue piece written for Holiday magazine in 1963, a newsstand mag unavailable via the global university library. He’d referenced it in his last piece in the Irish Times. It described Friel’s Baile Beag (Ballybeg – small town), the invented place and population in Donegal which is Friel’s source…
… ‘ the “convincing” trueness of the atmosphere which pervades Friel’s most unreal plays and thus gives them the sense of people “behaving naturally”. This engagement with the ‘constituency’ thus provides Friel with the types of life sufficient to populate and encompass the largest issues with their essential actors.’ (‘Some of you people aren’t happy unless you’re miserable and you’ll not be right content until you’re dead’) (RP p.47, C.1) 
Richard had written
‘…Friel’s description of Glenties (Ballybeg) on that particular day – a day composite of many observations, of course – encapsulates everything that any drama of the world could say’. 
He didn’t know where I could get a hold of the old article, which he could quote from by heart.
Anton Chekhov used to say that he got the ideas for his searing dramas by looking out of the window and seeing all human life going by. Brian Friel showed us much the same in his essay on his mother’s home town, A Fine Day at Glenties.
We agreed the cost of our meal at Rouvas wasn’t bad.
“This island is the most expensive place in Greece” said Sally
No-one comes here now to live cheaper than in the UK.
“Prosciutto? That's a lot less expensive than in England” I suggested" But we had to pay cash at Sconto’s the other day” I said “No credit or debit cards”
“Their shelves have been pretty empty lately. With no credit the cash flow means it’s always going to be touch and go - with food retail especially. Lidl’s fine because their Europe-wide, German HQ, credit’s available. It’s when the ferries can’t run because of a port strike they have stocking problems – even though they’re sourcing more from Greece, it’s suppliers are on the mainland.”
“P at the shop told me George the old man who sits outside the cake shop died a few weeks back. She showed me his picture on her phone. Seemed very matter-of-fact about it. He was 82”
Mark told us Tony Blok who’d bought Dave and Fran’s house at the bottom of the village at the end of 2011 had died.
“There’s more to it” he said
Tony Blok met me via email early last year, took me out for an excellent meal in town and invited me to join the croquet club he’d got going on spare ground next to Gouvia marina. We enjoyed several games...
Gouvia last Spring: the late Anthony Blok on the right

...He was a generous coach, conceding points on purpose without making it obvious. I’d found him reticent - on how he’d come to Corfu, where he’d lived, what he did. Mark and I web-searched his name and found reports that he’d been several years in prison for perjury, money laundering and the theft of a rare painting, still missing, reputedly worth half a million pounds. There's a back story - in which this painting, 'knocked' in 1993 from an elderly lady on the Isle of Man, and misnamed Girls on the Beach (or in one text 'grils on a beach') ended up cremated inside the wooden leg of Michael Underwood, a Brighton 'character' criminal. Tony Blok was accused trying to help Underwood to sell the Orpen. There must be more to this.
William Orpen Midday on the Beach

“He had cancer of the throat” said Mark “Had a stroke a few months back. Apparently he panicked and drove himself to casualty in his underpants and lived a few more days in the hospital”
From the internet

“Blimey. What’ll happen to the house? There’ll be a big tax penalty if an heir tries to sell it straight away.”
“A son has been out. I wonder where that picture is?”
“The place is jinxed”
When our friends Dave and Fran lived there, just before Dave had got the property insured it was almost wholly burned down. Dave, an ex-copper, was wrongly suspected by the Greek police of an insurance fiddle and held for a while. They lost lots of money but rebuilt the place and eventually returned to England and sold it to Tony Blok. Pondering this bizarre business I could also imagine an alternative interpretation that has Tony Blok being framed for the crimes of which he was convicted; getting out of prison and trying to start a new life on Corfu.
Before we left to stroll home, pleased with our evening, we’d fixed a day for Mark and Sally to eat with us next week. Mark had dug out photos taken during a few days walking in and around Vikos Gorge at the New Year. No snow for once, except on the peaks; rivers blue grey with snow melt. They had beautiful places to themselves – a mighty corridor of towering cliffs, shale heaped at their feet above the greenery lined river lacing between trails beside oak and plane trees, one twisted like a drawing from Arthur Rackham into which Mark’s brother Paul had climbed to peak through a bole hole like an old man of the woods his face blending with the crinkled bark.
“We filmed him” said Mark “as he climbed into the middle of the trunk from above and put out a face there, a foot or a hand. Played the film backwards. So the tree looked as if it was giving him birth.

We saw Paul and Cinta this afternoon for a cup of tea. Cinta explained our electric bill in detail to Lin’s satisfaction – what was tax, what was tax on what, and what was for the electricity we’d used. The whole bill was €88, of which €46 is the new house tax – the charge currently challenged as illegal because of the method of collection.
 “The bills coming to some of the big villas in the north west are really big…around €2000-€3000” said Paul “You have to have a licence now to cut even your own trees, there’s so much illegal firewood collection. In Zagori the police were stopping vehicles to check for illegal logging…”
“I read about the smog in Athens caused by all the new wood fires”
“The government’s thinking of lowering the cost of heating oil. The tax benefit is being lost in fines for breaching EU standards on smoke emission”
“At least we don’t notice this in the village”
“There were police all over Kato Korakiana a few days back. Someone was suspected of beach combing for the bales of hash floating ashore round Dassia…”
“Dumped during pursuit?”
“…perhaps a trafficker sank in foul weather when crossing. This has happened before. The police confiscated loads of marijuana some years ago and disposed of it by incineration. The wind was blowing inland. People were standing around in the waft like statues on Easter Island”
*** ***
Cats sit around looking cold and damp, their fur scuffed, ungroomed. Now and then they spit and scratch and mew settling differences; trying noisily to breed.
“There are too many” I said. Even as we feed them I regret my indifference towards them. We’ve followed certain cats through generations and watched them grow from kittens. Yet I blame them for their winter desperation, finding their wheedling at our door disconcerting.
“I suspect there’ll be some disease to do some culling as it did a couple of years ago” said Lin
The perennial shouting and scolding that all the time we’ve lived here comes from her house and the street between us as our neighbour Katerina tries to look after her two grandchildren, Kateriniki and Nectaria, hasn’t yet recurred. At first I put the unexpected quiet down to winter hibernation but when I asked where the two were, Katerina pointed up the village “πάνω”, towards where their mother lives. Katerina’s pension had been reduced she explained – by how much we couldn’t follow. €120 from €150? Pointing to her mouth and making the old sign for money – thumb and forefinger rubbed together - she said “I can’t feed them for that”
**** ****
Letter from Tony in Connecticut…
Dear Simon. I sent you (@birmingham a proper letter about your Mother's service so here I will stick to more mundane matters.
Glad you and your Mother like the NYR.  It is excellent and more in-depth than the New Yorker.  I should resubscribe but I get three science journals plus the Economist plus the NY Times which I have barely time to get through.  But perhaps a change would be good for me. The NYR has a family connection too. Helen's brother, Whitney Ellsworth, was the publisher from its founding and for at least 20 years thereafter.
New good books?  I got a year's worth for Christmas and birthday. I will hardly have time to finish them all before next Christmas rolls around.
The most awakening so far is ReGenesis by George Church and Ed Regis. It is all about how "synthetic biology will reinvent Nature and ourselves." Synthetic biology is the use of genetic engineering technology to invent totally new organisms that have never before existed on earth - in effect giving rise to a very rapid and conscious origin and evolution of species.  Darwin in the folds of our brain.  It is amazing what can be done rapidly and cheaply with modern g.e. techniques. Nothing like the laborious and clumsy recombinant DNA technology of the late 1960's and early 70's.  ReGenesis is not an easy book to read because the authors do not provide a glossary.  So, unless one is familiar with biological and taxonomic terms it is hard to follow some of the current and future processes that they are describing. Still well worth the effort and absolutely fascinating.
Another one that I am just starting and think might interest you: The Great Sea by David Abulafia.  It is a history of the Mediterranean Sea and the harbors on its edges each acting as portals to the interiors beyond. It is not a history of the lands surrounding the sea.  Very well written.  I think will be fascinating but I caution that it is BIG - 650 pages.  Would be interested to hear what you think of it.
Another yet: The Pun also Rises by John Pollack.  I love and love to make puns.  The book is not an anthology of puns but rather a history of punning and the impact of punning on the development of language and inventions. As Pollack puts it, "(Punning) is about freeing our imagination to leap from one idea to the next even when those leaps seem illogical or impossible. And it is precisely that capacity to link wildly disparate ideas that enabled people, through thousands of generations of trial and error, to move from cave to skyscraper to space station, and from drum to telegraph to iphone."  A short fast read - enjoy.
Finally Helen gave me for my birthday this week Artemis Cooper's biography of Paddy. Not always so well written but fascinating to me because Paddy is such an amazing strange character. What a weird dislocated childhood he had. I gather that he never completed the book on the third leg of his walk from Brussels to Istanbul; however, I gather some of his notes on that leg are sufficient to reconstruct an account which will be published some day. But it will probably not have that quality of an extended florescent metaphor that characterizes his own completed works. I gather he had terrible writer's block and it was almost impossible for him to 'finish' sentences.
As to what is going on over here, I am not sure I am quite as optimistic about Obama as I was in my November email written in the euphoria of his re-election.  The compromise over the 'fiscal cliff' is terrible and I am afraid he gave up a great deal of leverage that he had over the Republicans by settling for a minor increase in taxes on the rich while leaving unresolved what cuts in spending are going to be made and leaving unresolved the issue of the ceiling on the national debt.  On the latter he has taken off the table the desire to directly challenge Congress on whether Congress has the right to set a limit on national debt given that Congress has appropriated funds for various programs at a level that cannot possibly be paid for by the current provisions in our tax code. And I see that three Senators (two GOP and one Dem) snuck a provision into the fiscal cliff compromise that rewards the biotech drug firm Amgen with $500 million in Medicare funds by protecting the monopoly pricing status of certain drugs over the next two years!  And the two GOP senators are the very ones who yelling loudest about the need to reform (reduce) Medicare benefits primarily for middle and lower income people.  What outright shameless CROOKS!
At least in his inaugural address today Obama mentioned climate change, gun control, and federal gay marriage. Will he pursue them vigorously and expend real political capital on these issues?  Hope so but not optimistic - especially if he allows himself to get mired in endless quarterly showdowns over the national debt and related issues.
Well enough for now. We have winter here but not nearly as much snow as normally.  It has been generally warm here although we are forecast to get some bitter cold over the next few days. Meanwhile I read that the UK has been getting snow and relatively quite cold weather.  Climate Change?? Seems likely given that this has happened for two years in a row. Very strange weather year around.
In the meantime everyone over here is hanging on from week to week awaiting the next episode of Downton Abbey. Do you get it?  A time-warp fantasy when we crave one as the clock of reality tolls a black moonless midnight.
Best wishes and love to you both. Tony
Corfu: wet day in the city

Dover Beach: winter over the Kerkyra Sea

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The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; —on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanch'd land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Ægæan, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night

ΠΈΜΠΤΗ, 24 ΙΑΝΟΥΑΡΊΟΥ 2013 ~ Έναρξη λειτουργίας των Γραφείων Αντιμετώπισης Ρατσιστικής Βίας στα Ιόνια ΝησιάΑπό την Γενική Αστυνομική Διεύθυνση Περιφέρειας Ιονίων Νήσων, ανακοινώνεται η ίδρυση Γραφείων Αντιμετώπισης Ρατσιστικής Βίας στις Αστυνομικές Διευθύνσεις Κερκύρας, Ζακύνθου, Κεφαλονιάς και Λευκάδας.Τα Γραφεία Αντιμετώπισης Ρατσιστικής Βίας στελεχώνονται με ειδικά εκπαιδευμένους αστυνομικούς και αντικειμενικός σκοπός της λειτουργίας τους είναι:...
-η αυτεπάγγελτη ή ύστερα από σχετική μήνυση ή καταγγελία
διερεύνηση αδικημάτων ή εκδήλωση ενεργειών που μπορεί να προκαλέσουν διακρίσεις, μίσος ή βία σε βάρος προσώπων λόγω της φυλής, του χρώματος, της θρησκείας και της εθνικής ή εθνοτικής τους καταγωγής.
-η συλλογή, επεξεργασία και η κατάλληλη αξιοποίηση πληροφοριών και στοιχείων που αφορούν τη διάπραξη ή την προπαρασκευή αδικημάτων με ρατσιστικά χαρακτηριστικά.
- η συνεργασία με κρατικές, κοινωνικές ή άλλες Υπηρεσίες και Οργανώσεις καθώς και κοινωνικούς Φορείς με σκοπό την αποτελεσματικότερη διαχείριση περιστατικών ρατσιστικής βίας.
Οι πολίτες μπορούν να απευθύνονται:
-Στην Κέρκυρα στην Υποδιεύθυνση Ασφαλείας Κέρκυρας (Αλυκές
Ποταμού- Κέρκυρα) στα τηλέφωνα 26610 29176-29170 και στο fax 26610 22214
-Στη Ζάκυνθο στο Τμήμα Ασφαλείας Ζακύνθου (Λομβάρδου 62-
Ζάκυνθος) στα τηλέφωνα 26950 24490-24494 και στο fax 26950 44871
- Στην Λευκάδα στο Τμήμα Ασφαλείας Λευκάδας (Ηρώων Πολυτεχνείου 30-Λευκάδα) στο τηλέφωνο 26450 29375 και στο fax 26450 22941
-Στην Κεφαλονιά στο Τμήμα Ασφαλείας Αργοστολίου (Βιομηχανική Περιοχή Αργοστολίου) στα τηλέφωνα 26710 27842-27843-28404 και στο fax 26710 25270
Επιπλέον έχει τεθεί σε λειτουργία ο πενταψήφιος ειδικός αριθμός κλήσης - 11414 - στον οποίο, καθʼ
όλη τη διάρκεια του 24ώρου, είναι δυνατή η γνωστοποίηση ή καταγγελία διάπραξης κάθε άδικης πράξης με ρατσιστικά χαρακτηριστικά ή κίνητρα.
This on Corfu Country - Κερκυραϊκή Xώραposted by the journalist Dimitris S Karidis - Δημήτρης Σ. Καρύδης - in Corfu:
THURSDAY 24 JANUARY 2013 ~  Opening of an Office of Response to Racial Violence in the Ionian Islands
The General Police Directorate of the Islands Region, announced the establishment of Offices of Response to Racial Violence in Police Departments in Corfu, Zakynthos, Kefalonia and Lefkada.
The Racial Violence Response Offices staffed with specially trained officers to: ...
- pursue indictments and respond to complaints
- investigate offences or incidents that can lead to discrimination, hatred or violence against persons because of race, colour, religion and national or ethnic origin.
- collect and analyse information and data that relates to the commission or preparation of offences that may be racist.
- co-operate with governmental, social, or other agencies and organisations and also other social organisations in order to achieve more effective management of racist violence.
Citizens can contact:
- Corfu Subdivision Security (Alykes River-Corfu) to 26610-29176 to 29170 phones and fax 26610-22214
- Zakynthos Security Department (Lombardia 62 - Zakynthos) to 26950-24490 to 24494 phones and fax 26950-44871
- Lefkada/Lefkas Security Department (University of Heroes 30-Lefkas) on telephone 26 450 and 29375 fax 26450-22941
- Kefalonia, Argostoli Security Department (Industrial Area Argostoli) phone at 27842-27843-28404 and 26710 fax 26710-25270
Moreover, there is also a dedicated 24 hour phone number - 11414 - on which it is possible to report or complain about any act that is or appears to be racially motivated.
DESTROY FASCISM from ThePressProject on Vimeo.

Summer Song's engine

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Dave with his mate 'Quad' Dave had Summer Song’s old engine out on Tuesday and were starting to tailor the engine bed for its reconditioned replacement on Wednesday...

...more powerful and in far better condition than the engine it replaces, it’s also smaller and lighter.
“The engine bed will have to be adjusted. A cross piece welded on the engine so it can sit on new blocks on your hull” said Dave "There'll be some tailoring, lifting the engine in and out. Then there's the propeller"
I'm grateful to Dave for suggesting, before Christmas, that given the complications that might arise it'd be better to lift Summer Song from the water and rest her on the shore nearby instead of paying to have her hauled out at Vangelis at Potamos and having the engine changed there. I'd have been building up a hefty bill just for keeping her in his yard. The shore at Ipsos is free and closer to home.
Summer Song ashore at Ipsos


"The plate that lies next to the flywheel on the new engine had been attached the wrong way round. Luckily I found it before we started it or there'd have been a mess" Dave told  me "and your new control panel. It's fine but the loom's wrong" I could see the connections were incompatible "Don't worry I'll dig out another"
"What about the prop?"
"You've got a more powerful engine. It may mean a new propeller, Try to apply that extra power to the existing prop..."
"There'll be cavitation?"
The old engine was 9hp. This one is about 16hp.
"You can't fit a larger propeller. There's no room for it between the blades and the hull"
"So you might need one with the same diameter but a different pitch?"
"I know a few people"
"And what about the gear lever in the cockpit?"
"That'll need rejigging"
I'd anticipated these fine details. I can't imagine a better team of helpers - Mark who found us the reconditioned engine and stored it for us and Dave and his mate who are installing it, and the various people they know - part of the island's year round yachting economy. It was on a day in May 2011 we first set about working on getting a replacement engine. I never expected it'd be straightforward to get this problem solved while avoiding spending a lot. That's why this is taking so long; waiting for the right opportunities; being helped by friends when they have time.
*** ***
An exchange with my friend Jan Didrichsen in York:
Dear Jan. Yes indeed. Name some dates for a day trip to York.
We stopped in Naples on the way to Corfu. What a lesson in consequences of cutting public services and occluding the public domain, so that local government of a highly calculative kind has ended up being provided to its followers by organised crime - the Camorrah.
I note the strengthening link in UK between local deprivation and the scale of central government funding reductions - poor areas in the north, midlands, and inner London getting the greatest cuts despite Whitehall rhetoric to the contrary. Things fall apart but nastier forms of 'service' thrive amid what is blighted.
Yes I'd like to read more about the deteriorating relationship between the Civil Service and Government. Can you send it to me as a link or attachment?
There are so many resonances from Naples with our experiences of the inner suburb of Handsworth in Birmingham, though at the moment our gangs – Johnson Crew and Burger Bar Boys - aren't yet as far as I know offering alternative public services. My nightmare is when I first hear that some intelligent local criminals have taken up providing social care for vulnerable people and collecting rubbish. Then we are in trouble. All the best, Simon 
Simon. Send me an e-mail when you are back. I'll keep the articles from the Times for you. I am not as computer savvy as you! Have read your blog on your visit to Naples. Fascinating and frightening and regrettably not impossible even in parts of Britain if we take our eye off the ball. I agree Once 'intelligent' criminals start to offer alternative services to fill the gap left by diminishing public services we are on a hiding to nowhere. In fact it is happening on a small scale in some communities. Then it is only a small step before these 'new' criminal  organisations start to field candidates in elections. In my worst nightmare I can see alliances between 'intelligent' criminals and the top 1% wealthiest people who, as we know, are both criminal and corrupt already, as we have seen in media empires, the banks, chemical firms, police etc. This is not a happy prospect. I am beginning to think we are creating a new form of feudalism where democracy is shrinking, even disappearing, and most if not all activities will be beyond democratic control or influence and run by a new and small feudal clique Transparency will then will be non-existent. This is a gloomy forecast I know and I 'd like to think there is still time for a more positive future but the dismantling of the public sector is progressing at a frightening speed, and where there is vacuum it will be filled by something. The growth of moneylending to the most vulnerable people at exorbitant interest rates is a good example. They even advertise on TV and openly, almost proudly, charge the equivalent of between 1500 and 2000% per annum interest rates, and this is perfectly legal!  I hear that pawnbroking is one the few growth industries at the moment. Looking at developments in the NHS it is difficult not be gloomy and frightened about the future, especially our own old age. I cannot see the NHS surviving in any meaningful way once the current changes have been fully implemented. The NHS is one of the greatest creations of this country and it is disappearing quickly. It is easy to be sentimental about it I know, and there is considerable scope for improvement and change but this is not it. The only light on the horizon is that Labour's shadow minister said that they would give all health responsibilities except specialist nationwide services to local authorities. Don't know the details or how real this is, but at least it sounds promising, but by 2015 it may be difficult to reverse or overturn the current changes. At least it offers some alternative, if it is serious and not just a political stunt. We will no doubt have a lot to chew over when we meet. Enjoy Greece, did you hear Cameron's speech on the EU ?  Best, Jan D
Dear Jan. A date's is in my diary and barring blizzards and strikes I’ll see you around 11.00 at York station. I’ll let you know train times closer to that date.
Thanks for your thoughts and for that news item on Burnham’s plans for local council’s to have health service responsibilities.
I recall colleagues writing in the mid 1990s ago about ’the new magistracy’ as non-governmental agencies proliferated. I like your image of a new feudalism - which for many provided both a prison but also a sense of place and security (as indeed is the case with what we call ‘organised crime’)
For so many years we have heard talk of people - some people - becoming over dependent on the state. In that light the move towards greater voluntarism and self-help can be seen as positive. As I get peripherally involved in local voluntary activity I become aware of how complex and time consuming is such activity.
Care, street cleaning, grounds maintenance - just to select a few examples are covered by volumes of legislation, technologies requiring training and retraining and qualifications, and commensurate wages for practitioners. A watershed for me was when I first got a glimpse, some 15 years ago now, of the 600 pages grounds maintenance contract for our local park. The idea that we - the local friends of the park - might take over responsibility for overseeing and implementing this was unrealistic - 26 different ways to mow grass of different kinds at different times of the year in varying weathers!
Seeing the professional care received by my mother - which was wonderful, and which was private as she was well off, I got an inkling of what level of training and competence is required to enable a frail older person remain - as my mother did - lucid and pretty comfortable in her own bed (specially adapted) in her own home until her death.
Linda and I and several neighbours long involved in community activity took over a moribund and grant-aided handyperson service two years ago. It hired two full time workers on the grant money then available at ward level and had three vans and loads of power tools but by the time we were approached via a local councillor to help it was £20K in debt as a result of drastic grant cutbacks and accumulated overheads. We sold off two of the vehicles, a very expensive chipper and allowed the employees - who’d seen the writing on the wall and had already been making up unpaid wages by doing grey jobs for unreceipted cash - to go their way. We now have secure parking for one vehicle in the Handsworth Park compound courtesy of my long association with the city’s Park’s Service and storage for our power tools. The debt is cleared and we have, as a result of successful sales of the two other vehicles and chipper, got a healthy balance in the bank, augmented by a small local community chest grant. We - the running committee - are doing street clean-ups and a variety of local jobs for vulnerable people in our area. But Jan, we are all over 60 and I’m nearly 71. This work is rewarding but it’s tiring. We do it, of course, for free but claim expenses for fuel and so on and we still have a free charity pass to the local tip, and now and then we work with the local refuse manager who, while we pick up lighter litter, sends a truck round to collect fly-tipped furniture and mattresses. And here’s an additional problem. None of us is accredited to use our cache of power tools (mowers, strimmers, drills, angle grinder, chain-saws). If any of us even pick up a chain saw for an 'official' job, we are in breach of health and safety and uninsured. Training is very costly and time consuming. The previous workers just broke the law; didn’t have ear muffs, gloves, boots etc. That might be OK but if anyone has an injury or worse the uninsured liabilities are horrendous - financial and legal. We also have a to have a vulnerable persons policy with proof of how we and anyone employed by us will observe this when inside the homes or in the gardens of the people we are tasked with assisting. On top of that we must also have CRB (now the DBS) checks on ourselves and anyone we employ. All this makes sense but it is also something of an obstacle to getting stuck in to local voluntary work along the lines the government is encouraging as a substitute for public services. We are in part middle class professionals and so can weave our way through all the paper work required; in fact feel quite a sense of achievement at where we have arrived, but I see this sort of thing presenting big problems as larger agencies who used to pay our group to do various maintenance jobs for their social housing customers tighten up to EU standards on their procurement and commissioning of handyperson services. Bluntly we are put right out of the running by sets of rules that are more suitable for commissioning work over £100,000. OK so we find a niche being sub-contracted by the larger contractors. Feudalism? Best Simon 
*** ***
Our work continues on the upstairs bedroom floor. We ought to have the whole lot up and replaced with floor-grade chipboard at least but we'll compromise by removing the worst unevenesses and creaks.
"If this was an old beamed hardwood floor" said Lin "we'd probably quite enjoy the squeaks and bumps. It's the shoddy workmanship that gets to you."
We plan to recover pine strips from various palettes in our apothiki and top them with beading to give the room decent skirting. Then we can start to build a wardrobe with shelves from recovered wood.
"It'll start to look quite good"
*** ***
Stamatis' new café Piazza - converted from his shop - is coming along a treat, with a chandelier from Christopher Wray installed and lots of good quality fittings - workmanship courtesy of Dimitri...


*** ***
...and some elaboration from Jan D:
Jan 29/1/13: Simon…I am wary of becoming, as you say, a grumpy ol' git. I have become aware that the journey from being a ‘Young Turk’ to ‘An Old Fart’ is very short indeed. However, I can't help having a sense of foreboding and dread about the future which is not entirely due to my advanced age (I think!).
If the first casualty  of war is the truth, then the casualties  of current policy directions will be altruism and idealism. A great loss I think but not very fashionable at the moment and very difficult to quantify on a balance sheet. I am mindful of Oscar Wilde's saying that they "they know the price of everything and the value of nothing." I remain fearful that a new feudal class is quickly being established; this ‘economic aristocracy" which will be financially hereditary, will increasingly operate outside civic and democratic spheres. It will make no difference to them who is in power. They will see themselves as having more in common with their equivalents in other parts of the world than their fellow citizens where they reside. They may also become very nomadic and hence have no loyalty, or sense of belonging, to any society or community.
I think we can already see plenty of evidence that government is trying to bend the nation to the interests  of the few rather than promoting the overall national interest. The current economic policy of the madhouse is a good example. The significant transfer of resources from the poorest section to the richest (accompanied by cheering backbenchers) is a sorry sight and I fear will reap a terrible price at some future date.
Those who govern, certainly at national level, are so closely integrated with the top 1% that they are totally disconnected from the day to day life of most ordinary people and try to persuade us that the interest of the 1%  is the equal to the national interest. We have a situation where those who earn over £1 mill per year receive an additional £50000, for each million, in tax benefits, whereas those on benefits will now have a real reduction in their income and we talking about some very vulnerable people. They are not all skivers and shirkers (although I am prepared to accept some are) which is what politicians and tabloids would have us believe. You will know that a new system for assessing disabled people's ability to work has been introduced and contracted out. We now learn that a few thousand disabled people died within weeks of being declared fit for work (it beggars belief).
Figures were released recently which showed that in Sheffield people's income in real terms had reduced by almost 20% but strangely (or perhaps not!) unemployment has dropped. The starting pay for new police officers has dropped by £4000 and there has in effect been a pay freeze for almost everyone since 2008, so no wonder we are heading for a triple recession.
I never understood the logic of getting growth by reducing the economy. You will laugh at the fact that the small consultancy run by my wife and me paid more in corporation tax than Starbucks who paid nothing!! Alongside this I have seen some extraordinary facts and figures, for example the 20 richest people in the world are now worth £750 billion which would almost entirely wipe out the EU debt. The top 40 companies in the world are worth more than all governments in the world put together (that is staggering). British companies have £750 billion on their balance sheets which they are not investing (so much for being hard up) and it is almost impossible to trace where ‘quantitative easing’ monies have gone. Seems they are stuck in banks rather than invested in the real economy. To top it all we discover that despite Leveson and the reprehensible conduct of Murdoch’s media empire, the Chancellor of the Exchequer (yes, that’s right George Osborne) attended a private party at the Murdoch's last week. Is the this the right way to behave in public office? Can you imagine what the outcry would have been if it had been a civil servant or, worse still, a local government officer or member.
Incidentally I read today that two thirds of top civil servants have expressed a wish to leave the service. In the midst of all of this Local Authorities are doing everything to balance the books and cope with the dramatic changes - almost too compliant and loyal - they are taking the biggest proportion of cut backs in the public sector whilst at the same time suffering constant abuse from Eric Pickles. I am amazed and quite proud of the good will and commitment displayed by local authorities but can't help feeling we are heading for the minimalist state and only residual local authorities which I fear will only be a last resort for the poorest section of society - in effect a new form of the ‘poor laws’; a breeding ground for ‘intelligent’ and entrepreneurial criminals to flourish. I would like to think that none of this will happen and I think there are realistic alternatives but it would be foolish to think that the unthinkable can't happen. Tomorrow it is 80 years to the day – 30 January 1933 - since Hitler became Chancellor of Germany through democratic elections; not that long ago in historical terms. The unthinkable can happen but is not inevitable.
On a happier note you will be pleased to learn that the government has approved a new high speed rail link between London, Birmingham and Manchester and second one to Leeds and Newcastle. I can at least agree with them on this one! Sorry to rant on. Too much time on my hands....Jan

Small tremor

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At about 1010 last Thursday morning I felt the house tremble slightly. I’d not heard nor sensed a builder’s truck passing on the street. Peering out of the French windows onto the balcony I saw Vasiliki exchanging words with Katerina at the railing at the top of our shared steps “Seismos! Σεισμός!”
A small earth tremor. Did it suggest more to follow? Had there been something larger further away? Vasiliki continued with her sweeping.
Such lines might have started a book; a tremor, a portent for another drama of the kind we watch on the screen, off a DVD or a book. I’ve been reading Antony Beevor’s D-Day: The battle for Normandy; about those who lived and died amid this stupendous drama. Beevor compacts and intensifies events. His account disperses the fog that enveloped the real event, both for security and the chaos of battle. Confusion articulated, with maps, becomes almost comprehensible. He orders things. Traces sequences. His narration is like The Iliad; the drama Homer made of battles that would have disappeared from history, juggling panorama and detail - the interventions of fate, luck and the strategies of leaders and the actions of individuals, the stench of dead bloated cattle, shattered buildings, cities in flames, the spilling of blood, grotesque wounds, spear pierced entrails, crushed flesh in tank tracks, small and bizarre incidents, technical details of weaponry, food and clothing that add veracity and excitement as a camera zooms in and out, pans and holds. My mother told me of how her train was stopped at Clapham Junction by bombing “I went the rest of the way home on foot, the whole sky over London lit by flames.” Giants lived in those times. We enjoy the petty tremors of peace; so does Antony Beevor and his wife Artemis Cooper, recent biographer of the polymath hero Patrick Leigh-Fermor. So also sightless Homer, who said he could only write – or dictate – because undistracted by the beauty of the world.


“Coffee’s ready. Do you want a Lincolnshire sausage and a fried egg?”

“If you like?” says Lin, still in her pyjamas.



“I’ve pulled those palettes from the shed”

Lin had suggested their wood would serve as skirting for our bedroom, topped by moulded trim. Rather than risk splitting the wood by levering the palette apart I used a hacksaw eased between joints to cut the nails. Later I used a small punch to raise their heads enough to claw them out, before sanding a clean surface for Lin to varnish.


The films we’ve watched include episodes from the political thriller Homeland, from the Israeli TV series Prisoners of War.

“This stuff’s so seductively exciting. You can’t just watch one episode at a time.”

We watched a dozen 50 minute episodes in three evenings.

We’ve also watched episodes of Morse, new versions of Tess of the d'Urbervilles: and Far from the Madding Crowd, Lincoln, Prometheus, Flight, Django Unchained, Cosmopolis, Headhunters, Cloud Atlas, Looper, Shame, Killer Joe, The Impossible and - reading - we work through police procedurals from Italy, Greece and Sweden and catch up with news when we go to do our email at Sally’s in Ipsos and the Lighthouse in Kontokali. There are opportunities to hear the landscape, sounds with a different pace and without the organisation of programmed sound, whether music or speech.


Watching fiction
There are degrees of choice.

“Don’t go into lecture mode” mumbles Lin

“No, no. Well. Yes. Books give you choices you don’t get with films. Without a book you've even more. With a book. I mean a story book. You can add in so many of your ingredients to the author’s recipe. You can imagine what people look like, how they sound when they speak; what places look and feel like from descriptions in words. In a film, vision completes things, colour, sound, look, and even timing and pace.”

“On a DVD you can pause and come back another time”

“Yeah, but not like putting down a book with a page marked. Coming back another day. Most films don’t last more than a few hours. You can make a book last a week or longer. Films compact time. They force the pace of a plot. With a good book you can even weave the developing story into the pace of the real world, wondering about it as you get on with ordinary things”

“The pace of ordinary life?”

“Most of the time it goes far slower. I've lived my whole life with millions of others safe beside a dormant volcano."
I envy those who can mark time with real time, seeing the drama of the quotidian, as Chekhov did, simply by 'looking out of the window'.
***

We collect firewood from the pebble beaches of Dassia and Ipsos, a medley of old joinery and windfall tree branches floated in from everywhere – olive, deal, plane, eucalyptus, bamboo, hard wood and soft, some almost rotten heavy with seawater - to bag, bring home, sawing longer pieces to fit the stove, using a billhook to splinter thicker logs, building a pile in the garden to dry and blanche in the heat of summer.


“We can only store so much like this” said Lin “we need to put the newer collections at the back of the apothiki to season there”

The apothiki is still full of building rubble not disposed by the previous owner’s builder. We’re arranging with Paul and Lula to get this removed; to recover the earth floor with room for at least a season of firewood and a workbench. 


On Monday morning we went to the clinic at Pyrgi so Lin could get the stitches put in in the hospital at Torre del Greco, after her fall on Vesuvius, removed. How strange that she should have left her blood on a path around the crater of that amazing place.

Morning

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A letter from England:
Simon. Thanks for your comments. Hopefully the blizzards will be gone by March but you never know, as for a strike not very likely, despite attempts at portraying unions as gung ho we are very compliant and malleable compared to our European cousins.
The big story here at the moment is Chris Huhne's fall from grace. Spectacular and depressing. Another nail in the coffin of trust in politicians There has been a very muted response to Burnham's announcement, perhaps a case of Be Careful of what You wish For.  Or perhaps just fatigue at the thought of yet another re-organisation of the NHS. It'll be interesting to see how this plays out.
I am fascinated at your experience of doing voluntary work. I agree with you that self-help and voluntarism can be very positive, and regrettably officialdom has made this increasingly difficult. We have to admit that the public sector is often paternalistic (despite genuine attempts at the opposite) and off-putting rather than embracing and partnership oriented. A sweeping statement I know and unfair  in some circumstances but there can be no doubt that excessive legislation and mindless bureaucracy has grown up, mostly piecemeal, over the years, often for good reasons but sadly a whole range of unintended and negative consequences have emerged which often lead to the experiences you so graphically describe. Underlying this there has grown up an almost pathological aversion to risk which stifles creativity and initiative at a time when we need them most. There is a tendency to respond to problems by adopting legal or bureaucratic means (sometimes these are necessary) rather than solving the underlying real causes which in most cases are cultural and behavioural.  These are more difficult to deal with and do not  easily fit into a climate of Quick Fix and Sound Bites peppered with blame games and finger pointing (very different to true accountability).
I can't remember last time I heard the phrase ‘Big Society’. It has disappeared from the political narrative I fail to see how (or understand ) the reduction of the public sector or the rolling back of the state will promote the Big Society. I think the government don't understand it either or can find any credible narrative for it, hence it has been allowed to fade away. It is more likely that the vacuum will be filled by economic interests and/or ‘intelligent’ criminals. Read some fascinating stuff about what has happened in Russia in the last 20 years and the conclusion the commentators come to is that it is a Mafia State ("where there is money there is organised crime") where it is impossible to distinguish between legitimate and illegitimate activities. In fact the distinction is meaningless, ditto for politicians and criminals. A rather frightening look into a possible (but not inevitable) future.
On a slightly different topic linked to my previous observation about inequality I have come across a commentator called Robert Reich, Harvard academic and member of both the Carter and Clinton administrations, so hardly a left wing loony. He has made a film called Inequality For Allbased on his book Aftershock which are attracting attention. I have not seen it or read the book but there was a comprehensive article about his thinking in the Observer last Sunday (see also). The statistics on inequality are eye watering (e.g. 400 individuals own half of the total wealth of the USA ) and merely confirms other statistics I have seen. Interestingly he is not opposed to inequality as such but identifies the point at which it becomes problematic (we are long past this point) and why, as well as offering some solutions (higher taxes will produce increased productivity! Osborne will have a fit). Reich claims UK's austerity as a ‘cruel hoax’ which simply does not work or will work. I suspect he will not be invited to the Tory conference but it may give some food for thought for Labour. The value of property in the ten richest boroughs in London is equivalent to the value of all properties in Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland put together.          Have you seen the report on Mid-Staffordshire hospital? Depressing and a real eye opener. Clearly there is something deeply wrong in many parts of the NHS  and a reminder that being in the public sector is no guarantee in itself that there will quality and dignity in the services provided, but I remain convinced that the current changes are not the way to solve the problems which in my view are largely cultural and behavioural compounded by a large dose of managerial incompetence at every level of the NHS reinforced by a government (Labour) obsessed with targets and statistics. The patients did not get a look in. What is worse is the total contempt with which both patients and their relative were treated. Hundreds died prematurely often in traumatic circumstances. Surely some accountability is not unreasonable. A national scandal really but I have seen no evidence or heard any convincing arguments that the current changes (i.e. privatisation, fragmentation, competition, etc) will improve the service. I have heard plenty of ideology and political spin but it seems to me that cooperation, co-ordination, competence (the 3 Cs) are more relevant to success and despite paying lip service to these they are sadly absent, so is any attempt at accountability and democratic transparency. Just look at the make up of Commissioning Groups (e.g. local elected members are banned from being members). The proposed Well Being Groups have still to prove their worth (I still don't understand what they will actually do but I remain open to be convinced. Could easily become talking shops). I do however welcome the transfer of public health responsibilities to local authorities; but in itself it doesn't do anything but there is  the potential to be creative and use it as a springboard for additional duties when Andy Burnham becomes minister! Enjoy the Greek weather. Winter has returned here. Best Jan

Συζήτηση υια τις απόπειρες-διαρρήζεις

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Alarm in the village about thievery, culminating in an attempt by two youths wearing hoods – according to those who chased them off - to break into the Agricultural Co-op. The masked miscreants fled into the woods above the village where they were pursued by hunters until two in the morning. Friday morning Cinty phoned to tell me there was a meeting to discuss attempted-burglary - Συζήτηση υια τις απόπειρες-διαρρήζεις - to be held in the upper room of the Co-op - Αγροτικού Συνεταιρισμού - at 7.00pm that evening.
“Are you going?” I asked
“Yes”
“I’ll go too and you can translate for me. Lin can stay and guard the house”
I was in the Co-op by seven. There were a good number present some of whom I knew. I chatted with the Chairman of the Co-op Sebastiano Metallinos who speaks excellent English.
“It’s a fuss that plays to the right wing elements” he said. “The chances are that most of the crime that’s causing the excitement is local, people from the village who know their way around. Why did those two bother with masks? It can be dealt with by having a word in the right place. This was how we handled a similar panic when I was a councillor a few years back. You find out whose up to mischief. You let it be known you know who it is. Perhaps pay a visit or two. Have a word in a few ears. It stops. The Right blame strangers and foreigners. We play into their hands.”
Cinty arrived at 7.30 knowing nothing would begin until around 8.00, when a panel - the President and members of the Local Council - Fokion Mandilis, Nikolouzos Charilaos and Spiro Tsirigoti, also the Deputy Mayor of Corfu, Fanny Tsimpouli, and Mr Papadopoulos, Mayor of Kato Korakiana’s Local Council - τον Πρόεδρο και τα μέλη του Τοπικού Συμβουλίου (Φωκίωνα Μάνδυλα, Χαρίλαο Νικολούζο και Σπύρο Τσιριγώτη), την Αντιδήμαρχο Κέρκυρας Φανή Τσιμπούλη και τον Πρόεδρο του Τοπικού Συμβουλίου Κάτω Κορακιάνας κ. Παπαδόπουλο.
The problem was acknowledged. The Mayor of Kato Korakiana spoke of the trauma of a break in that so scared his family his young lad wouldn’t go to the loo on his own for six months. The deputy mayor of Corfu – Fanny Tsimpouli – told the meeting that there would be two new police officers at a revived police post at Ipsos - επανα-ενεργοποίησης αστυνομικού στον Ύψο. €140K had been made available for this, so villagers wouldn’t have to rely on the police station – 15 kilometres away by road - at Paleocastritsa. Hardly had she sat down up stood a small succession of enragés– familiar at law’n’order meetings I’ve attended in Handsworth and Lozells.
“Why isn’t there a police officer at the meeting?” I whispered to Cinty
“He’d probably be lynched” she replied with a grin
The evident fact as in other places I know is that the police are very understaffed.
“..and that” declared Fanny Tsimpouli was “a political issue” which required the village to make a political response. She suggested a peaceful demonstration by villagers at the Tzavros T-junction on Monday. There was a call from the Chair for a show of hands. About a dozen arms were raised from among the 50 or so residents present. The enragés were swift to decry the futility of such an action, preferring to raise their voices and gesture at the panel for their failures.
“What are we supposed to do? If we catch someone in the act and hold him."
"Will the police even come?"
"And if they do, won't they make us let him go?”
These protests were received with murmurs of agreement around the room. Outside thunder came with a mighty clap. Rain leaked through the roof above the door, the main drips collected in a bucket. Much of the meeting served as a big safety valve for frustration and impotence. But as it proceeded, voices of reason became increasingly predominant...
...with astute questions about practical things like telephones, about neighbours keeping even more watch on behalf of their neighbours, and about the need to maintain dialogue with local government and the police; to have continued meetings to debate and share information on the village’s security in these hard times. The meeting ended with a good proportion of residents signing up to be part of a village watch, with no-one quite clear what that involved. I had really enjoyed being there, understanding far more than usual with Cinty's discrete translation and not relying on my reading of the colourful non-verbal dimension of such events.
Signing up for village watch

*** ***
Thursday 14 Feb: Cinty phoned me with the news passed on to her on Democracy Street by one of the residents at the Friday evening meeting that, partly as a result of the fuss that was made that evening, Corfu police have caught a gang of ten men made up of Greeks and Albanians who - allegedly - have been carrying out the burglaries and attempted burglaries, including the one on the Co-op, about which villagers were complaining.
*** ***
By and large villagers don’t go for ‘walks’ (βόλτα). My sister’s husband came to mum’s memorial service but seldom if ever came with her to the Highlands.
“There are wolves up there” he’d grumble
In answer to his question about what she actually did when in Scotland, she’d mentioned among other things “We go for walks”
“Where to?” he’d asked bemused, even a little disparaging. He’d made a similar remark about my liking for writing letters.
“Haven’t you got something better to do with your time?”
Long letters were one of the things I so enjoyed writing to mum. Now my paper lies with fountain pen and envelopes untouched. It may be an archaic thing I will one day explain to my grandson.
Lin and I have walked since our separate childhoods. In some UK census account ‘walking’ is listed as one of the favourite recreations of the British along with gardening and DIY. I don’t mean gardening to grow food anymore than walking, in the listed sense, is to go anywhere but back to where you started or that DIY is about saving money.
Walking down Democracy Street
We walk up and down and around Ano Korakiana, threading its maze of steep and winding allies where public and private space mingle between buildings fitted like jigsaw pieces to the spaces available; wood, tile, stone, plaster and concrete grown in a manner organic, and in beneficent contrast to the accursed ferro-concrete villas sprinkled suburban style across the Corfu countryside, raising their unsightly profiles above treelines, digging concrete footings into the roots of shattered olive groves. I know the street that runs through the centre of the village, its layered archipelago of different coloured asphalt like tundra glimpsed from a polar flight, manhole covers and those variations in breadth where experienced drivers know two cars can pass one another, perhaps folding a wing mirror for safety. But we have yet to discover all the tributaries that flow into Democracy Street, though we have become familiar with the twelve or so paths that climb up from almost parallel National Opposition Street Οδός Εθνικής Αντίστασης; several running to and from its four optional bus stops, with the longest – San Jacobo– running in paths and steps from the centre of Venetia down via a metalled section to the lower road, perfect for a long circuit of the village bounds. Others descend below National Opposition Street– normally referred to as 'the road to the sea at Pyrgi via Agios Marcos' – to another serpentine road that starts with a tight hairpin junction onto a steep hill at the eastern end of Ano Korakiana to a T-junction over a mile away on the road that connects the village to the main Corfu Town-Sidari Road. Along this road the other afternoon we took a hundred metre detour to Kiriaki Church...
Lefteri's plan for Kiriaki bell tower in 2010
... where our neighbour Lefteri first told us he was helping construct a bell tower. It’s done and the church repainted.
Nearby on a wooden telegraph pole we saw one of the regularly posted death notices - this one for Lefteris' brother who died in Athens only the other day.
Walking further east into fields below we came across a scruffy flock of sheep who gathered at our passing.


On a turn at the western end of Democracy Street just beyond the shop there’s a narrow steep road surfaced with corrugated concrete that leads into Ano Korakiana’s west end, the area called Mougades. It has a traffic light to prevent impossible meetings of vehicles and leads through dense buildings to yet another road out of the village – one that passes through olive groves, high banked in places, descending about a mile and a half to join the Sidari road. I can hardly recall meeting a soul on this route out of the village. Advance a matter of yards left of the point where it meets the main road and there’s another road that goes a mile back into the village – ideal for a walk to where we started. A good thing about my attendance at the busy meeting last Friday is that more people recognise and greet us on our walks - including one of the angriest of those present who, as he worked in the garden in front of his house, smiled and waved in the friendliest way. 
"Γειά σου. Να 'σαι καλά"
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'Extremely urgent' notice on the village website
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13.02.13
ΥΠΟΥΡΓΕΙΟΝ ΣΥΝΤΟΝΙΣΜΟΥ ΤΗΣ ΚΥΒΕΡΝΗΣΕΩΣ
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Μετά τα αλλεπάλληλα χτυπήματα που δέχτηκε το χωριό μας από τις διαδοχικές παραιτήσεις του «Αρχηγού του Στρατού» και του Πάπα, ο Βασιλεύς, προ του προφανούς κινδύνου της αναρχίας, απεφάσισε να έλθη εις το χωριό μας εσπευσμένα.
Γι’ αυτό καλούνται όλοι οι μασκαράδες του χωριού να προσέλθουν στηναίθουσα του Συνεταιρισμού, την Παρασκευή 15 Φεβρουαρίου 2013και ώρα 8:00 μ.μ. για την οργάνωση των εκδηλώσεων, που θα πραγματοποιηθούν κατά το διάστημα της παραμονής Του στο χωριό μας.

Καθώς δε ευρισκόμεθα σε καθεστώς γενικής επιστρατεύσεως, καλούνται οι αρχηγοί των τριών όπλων να μεριμνήσουν σχετικά με τις χορηγήσεις αδειών προς τους καρναβαλιστάς.

Εκ του Γραφείου του Υπουργού

COORDINATING MINISTRY OF GOVERNMENT
After repeated blows received by our village from the successive resignations of "The Chief of the Army" and the Pope, the King, anticipating an obvious risk of anarchy, has decided to speed to our village. He therefore invites all villagers to attend at the Co-op from 8.00pm on Friday, 15 Feb 2013 and to help organise events that will take place during the period of these personages' stay in our village. In accord with 
traditional custom, the heads of the three armed forces will be invited to oversee the issuing of permits for Carnival. 


From the Office of the Minister

Summer Song

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D emails progress on Summer Song:
Hi Simon, up date on SS old engine out, engine bay cleaned out and eng. Beds built up and glassed in to fit new eng. fitted on new mounts, prop shaft cupling machined to fit new gear box now all lined up, all the old wiring has been taken out and will need to be re done to make good as new again, new eng. controls will have to be found as the old ones will not work, allso eng. stop controls new, new skin fitting for water intake to be replaced, new dash surround made and fitted for new eng. wiring, the hull to be scraped smooth then antifould, the paint work has been filled and rubbed down ready for the under coat and the new boot topping, also the wood round the toe rail to be re secured and rubbed down and sealed…
Summer Song's new engine control panel
D may say he’s dyslexic. We complement each other. The Greek word δυσλεξία gives a medical term for being bad (δυσ, dis or κακο, ill) with words, allowing me to invent a term for my condition. If machinery is μηχανήματα mikanimata, I suffer dismikaniaδυσμηχανία, severe dismikania indeed, which translates as βαριά δυσμηχανία– if I’ve got the endings right. In our two culture world there’s no word for such a condition, so I remain ‘kack-handed with machinery’, possibly ‘mechanically illiterate’. It’s not fair. I’m delighted at how things are going with our boat because D reads and writes machinery so well.
“Ah well” sighs Lin “it’s only money”
Later I visited D at his place and saw Summer Song's old engine
Summer Song's old engine at D's place below the village
"Blimey"
"It works. I'm going to adapt it to work as a generator"
I tried lifting it a few inches. Far heavier than the new engine and half the power; an early 9hp Yanmar good for its day, though not even intended as a marine engine.
“Your new propeller,” said Dave “imagine the present propeller revolving in a big block of butter. It’s got a diameter of 13 inches and a 9 inch pitch. One turn drives it through 9 inches of butter. Get one for your new and more powerful engine that’s 13 inches diameter with an 11 inch pitch. One turn drives it through eleven inches of butter”
“Wow. Yeah. Right"
From seeing progress on Summer Song for myself, including the work on painting the hull and plans for repairs to hatches and interior, I cycled back up the long slope between Pyrgi and Ag.Marcos, stopped off at Sebastiano’s invitation at the Agricultural Co-op where work was in noisy swing; olives, twigs and leaves into a hopper at one end, a steady stream of oil pouring into a plastic containers on a weigher at the other end, having passed through a couple of separating washers, a crusher and two centrifuges.
“Coffee?” says Sebastiano.
He offers it to two waiting farmers; cooked up on a small propane stove and served in plastic cups, a pungent dark mix of skirto helliniko. I sip mine. The others let theirs cool.
“Some oil?” asks Sebastiano
“Malista!”
He breaks off a soft warm chunk of crusty new brown bread and points me to a separate pipe. I dip and eat. Who needs extra extra virgin from F & M?

*** ***
Horrid news. An email from Richard Pine’s daughter. He’s been taken ill and hurried to hospital and won’t be able to make lunch next week. His last email on 6 Feb had said
I can't do Thursday, but I could do Wednesday at 1.30 in Perithia…Let me know. Harry's mother is doing new dishes, so it may well 'vaut le detour'. RP
*** ***
Cheering news. Handsworth Helping Hands has, via Mike Tye, won another small grant …
Hi Simon & Linda, just to say that Community 1st application will receive £1500 to help with planting proposals. Planning Application for Birchfield estate published http://brag.btck.co.uk/  Needs Birch trees to line Birchfield road, not London Plane. Scouts planning to plant more bulbs on Wellington Embankment. all the best,  Mike Tye
Also a lovely note from a local government client re Andrew’s report on the work which I and Andrew C did with scrutiny chairs just before and after Christmas
Hi Andrew, Simon. First of all a very big thank you for all the hours you spent with the Chairs in xxx and us - I am happy for you to invoice us for the sum in the bid. Cllr X had a panel meeting yesterday evening...she is a changed woman, the other panel members noticed too (judging by the look on their faces) I felt very proud of her!  Z had a meeting with Cllr K earlier in the week, he reported back to me a noticeable change in him...he is much more direct and took the lead saying exactly what it was he wanted to discuss. The seeds you have planted during your time here seem to be sprouting! I will have a look at the report and discuss with Z and get back to you by the end of this week with any comments we have. It has been a pleasure working with the both of you - I cannot speak for the others but it has certainly made me reflect on the Members we work with and come to a better understanding of what motivates them and to see things from their perspective. I think this will be important in making sure I can provide the most appropriate support possible. Cllr K is coming in on Thursday to meet with the team and discuss a number of issues. I suspect one of these will be member induction.....perhaps we will be working together again some time in the future :)  All the best, Y
This, plus a request to second mark a slightly tricky – from an assessment point-of-view – paper from one our students and, from our director, for some notes on one of my papers to be used for conference presentation next week, and a date to run a morning seminar in March for an Essex district.
*** ***
Friday was jocund; the contrast with the previous day and today, astonishing, a small shift in the sun’s angle and zenith, the movement of water in the deep Adriatic, shifts everything. The olive groves wear a sheen as their leaves turn in a gentle steady breeze, no longer carrying winter chill. Trees are budding, the cherries blossoming and the sea is blue blue. Cut pieces of driftwood from the shore at Ipsos are drying in the garden. Drenching rain should will have rinsed them of salt. They steam under an almost cloudless sky, drying in a mix of sun and breeze that resists condensation. Mere wisps float high in the blue - failed clouds over a surging updraft of warmth on which a pair of eagles glide in contra-rotating circles, disappearing and reappearing over the crags.
Self-taught plumbing continues. We've replaced the flush float in the WC. We cleaned the sitting room stove pipe, a job most people do every three weeks; the soot already sifting into the compost heap.
I put a new leg on my table, the one that goes to and fro between our side wall and Effie’s garden when she needs a rows of tables for a party. The old one had rotted at the top and, as we only just noticed, had been attached originally with its taper on the outside.
“A touch of cabriol there, Baddeley!”
“Wouldn’t that be a good way of posing a photographer’s model. ‘A teeny touch more cabriol darling’”
I sanded off a little more and gave the top a good shake
“Firmer than before”
We’ve got plans to level and cement the floor of the apothiki – our excellent Greek shed that got filled several feet above its proper floor with discarded rubble by feckless John before we came. Paul and Lula are arranging to remove the bazza, ή μπάζα. To reduce their work and our costs we are going to level the floor above the earth and concrete it.
I must remove the garden stuff that’s accumulated in there so rubble can be levelled to the top of the three sided box we’ve put at the garden-side door. Only what’s left needs to be carted away. Then we can get the place organised with a work-bench, shelves and stalls for firewood – logs separate from sacks of kindling.
 “Oh no! Ruddy hell” cries Lin “The boiler’s leaking”
For a few minutes I hoped it was a failure of the big rubber washer around the heating element. I tightened the six bolts to no effect. Drips were coming from the boiler casing, soaking towels, spreading over the floor.
“The glass lining must have broken”
“That earth tremor?”
“Perhaps it’s just a cheapo unit. Oh well I’ll phone George in Kato”
George agreed the boiler was probably shot; suggested how much a replacement ought to cost and said “Don’t just go for the cheapest”
“Thanks George”
I relayed the news “One more call to another expert this evening and then we’ll buy a new boiler and try to fit it ourselves”
And next day the weather turns wet and grey again.
Βροχή έρχεται

*** ***
Η πρώτη συνάντηση του Καρναβαλιού
Πραγματοποιήθηκε χθες το βράδυ (Παρασκευή  στην αίθουσα του Συνεταιρισμού η εναρκτήρια για το φετινό Καρναβάλι μας, συνάντηση, με παλιές και νέες παρουσίες, μεταξύ αυτών και του φίλου και συγχωριανού μας Simon Baddeley. Η πρώτη αυτή συζήτηση ασχολήθηκε με ορισμένα βασικά θέματα για το οποία θα πρέπει να ληφθούν λίαν προσεχώς οριστικές αποφάσεις. Ευχάριστη έκπληξη απετέλεσε η ομόθυμη τοποθέτηση των νέων παιδιών που συμμετείχαν στη συζήτηση, υπέρ της διατήρησης των παραδοσιακών χαρακτηριστικών του Κορακιανίτικου Καρναβαλιού.
First meeting at the Co-op to plan Carnival 2013 (photo: Thanassis Spingos)




My translation: First meeting to plan Carnival. A meeting was held yesterday evening - Friday in the hall of the Association's inaugural year for our carnival, to raise old and new issues, among us, our friend and fellow villager - συγχωριανού μας - Simon Baddeley. This first meeting addressed some key issues to be debated before final decisions. A pleasant surprise was the unanimous position of young people who participated in the debate in favour of maintaining the traditional characteristics of Korakianitis Carnival.

Issues raised. Money of course - in these difficult times - and should there be a charge for attending the dances? Also should the main evening event be in the Co-op - as was traditional - or further away below the village at Luna D'Argento? Lots of other details were covered down to chairs and tables and food and drink and the preferred route for the carnival procession. I was even asked my opinion and luckily could express it thank's to a fellow villager. George, whispering in my ear. How I enjoy these meetings - the company (I seem to know more and more every time - both the language and the people), the many moods and the cacophony of debate that brings decisions. Village democracy at work.


Greyness

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We are almost running out of things to do on a rainy day.
“It's raining in Athens” said Lefteris from the steps, which he negotiates more slowly these days, “It's raining in Italy. Raining everywhere”
“Every day? Κάθε μέρα;”
“Αύριο, και μεθαύριο και μεθαμεθαύριο...Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow”
In Athens it's really bad.
Yet even so the blessed sun reminds us of its efforts to scatter the overcast and allow us one washing day a week, its sudden beams piercing the grey to cast patines of silver around Vido, its distant warmth making enticing gaps like the glimpses of sky and bright unfurling nimbus above the heads of the cherubs in the ceiling of a rich man’s chapel. “Enough blue to make a little boy’s trousers”
I leave our cosy bed, don woolly slippers. Shave. Go to the loo. Enjoy a shower – now the new boiler’s in place. Get dressed. Put away last night’s washing up, cutlery, pans, plates. Bring up logs from the apothiki; we’re running short. Clear the ashes, make up a fire – paper, twigs, and a few logs for the evening chill. Brush teeth. Make a cup of tea. Lin sleeps. All is quiet.

Through an opening in the spinach green shutters, above our balcony rail and the rich green leaves amid our oranges and lemons and the almond blossom, an olive landscape veiled in swathes of driven rain rolls south to the backs of the high cliffs between Capes Iliodoros and Plaka. The mountains behind the airport from where Lear would often paint his exquisite landscapes of Corfu – gazing over the tarbooshed heads of two or three languid muleteers, over the twin headed outcrop of the Old Citadel, across the broad bay beyond the city, towards Trompetta and high Pantokrator - are grey outlines almost hidden by rain and mist. A ferry heads for Igoumenitsa where we'll be Wednesday evening.
*** *** ***
The old boiler is leaking
It’s not that it was a complicated job - for anyone who knew what they were doing. All the same, removing our broken hot water boiler and replacing it caused arguments that wouldn’t happen if we did it again. Self-help in the home means forever doing things for the first and often only time. Wouldn’t it be more sensible to call in a reliable plumber? They’ll provide the boiler, install it, guarantee their work and have a cup of tea as you pay their annotated bill for parts and labour. It’s not as if by now we don't know where to find workmen we trust, but this wish to do things ourselves is like our shared dislike of taking taxis, learned in childhood from my great grandmother who could well afford them but preferred to persuade bus drivers to take her where she wanted to go. You learn more that way. It’s the same with many things, especially housework, cooking and childcare.
I visited a plumbing shop near Sgombou and got prices for various boilers; phoned a plumber we know to ensure the prices were reasonable (owe him a drink) and also a friend in the village.
“Do you have baths?”
“No. Showers only”
“Then go for a 60 litre instead of your present 80 litre tank”
“What about this compression bubble beside our tank?”
“Not needed”
I still don’t understood what that item actually does, but it was the first thing I unbolted from the wall.
He added “Use the plumbing supplier on the main road by Gouvia”
“I know it”
“Spiro there is from the village”
So we collected a new tank. €120 with 5 year guarantee. Of course I couldn’t see how the old tank was fixed to the wall behind it, but guessed it was a bracket on two bolts, that the old tank, once drained and disconnected, would lift off.
So the power supply is switched off at the panel in the utility room and the three wires – live, neutral and earth - disconnected and the tank drained – something we’ve done before and know how to do. The first time, to clean the boiler and change the element, I, thinking all water had emptied out via the tap, unbolted the round hatch containing element and thermostat housing. I and the floor were abruptly drenched in rusty water and limescale. This time we are dry and ready to lift the boiler out of its bracket.
“It’s heavy” says Lin “If we let it slip it’ll smash the tile floor and hurt one of us”
We ponder. I scuttle down to the apothiki where I stored an old sculling oar we found on the beach ages ago. I shove it right up inside the old boiler and wedge the oar end in a plastic bucket of gravel beside the end of the bath/
“It’ll just sink into that” says Lin
“No it won’t”
“Yes it will”
“No it will not
I jerk the boiler upwards above my head. I’d already loosened one of the bolts with a few levering jerks of a jemmy.
“OK it’s free”
The boiler now sits on the oar, unbalanced but it's weight held.
“Gently, gently”
We gradually slope the oar, dodging the shower rail, until I can cradle the boiler in both arms.
“Now how do we get the oar out?”
“Down a bit more, bit more.”
“OK now bring it round and pull it towards you”
I back away towards the window of our small bathroom
“Now ease it out”
“As the actress said to the bishop”
I carry the old boiler away and we make a cup of tea.
“How are we going to get the new one up?”
“Wait until they come to supper on Tuesday night. I’ll ask Mark and Paul”
Next problem is that the bracket on the new boiler is lower than the old. Two more bolts are needed. I see the old ones were expansion bolts in a plastered wall made of insulating bricks. It’s dodgy getting a firm fixing with two lined up holes in that. I could see where the previous builder had made two other holes that had failed, filling them with mortar.
“We’ll use the other wall. We’ll need different length connecting pipes and a junction in the electric cable so it’ll reach”
I start drilling. The first hole is too easy. It’s old stone wall and I’ve hit a wider mortar seam between rough stone, but one of the recovered expansion bolts gets a sturdy grip in the gap. I insert a tough ring of hard epoxy glue around the wider hole near the surface. Lin then makes a careful measurement using one of the new brackets as a template and the next challenge is to get the second hole exactly level with the first. I begin drilling. Two inches in the lights start to flicker in the bathroom and the drill dies. The carbon brushes are shot and their dying sparking must have set off a sympathetic flicker in the light circuit.
“I’ve never seen that before. Have you?”
Of course my battery drill, good for wood drilling, is no way up to hammering into the rock I’ve encountered.
I phone a friend.
“Er! Any chance you could lend me a drill to finish one hole in our bathroom wall”
“Sure. Come round”
This was not do-it-yourself. Too many experts brought in to help. I was lent a very expensive craftsman’s battery powered drill. The sort of thing you don't see in shops for ordinary punters.
“Wow, thanks! You shouldn’t be lending something like this to an amateur”
“Simon. I’ve seen some of the things you’ve been doing in your house. You’re craftsmen!” I beamed inwardly and outwardly’
“Yeah yeah, But gosh thanks all the same”
Back in the house. This beautiful piece of kit drilled confidently into the rock, even so, taking me nearly 15 minutes. This time a big rawlplug went neatly into the hole followed by a coach bolt on which you could have hung a cathedral. Furthermore it was perfectly in line with the other. I returned the drill with profuse thanks.

For the next two days Lin began redecorating the bathroom and we washed in warm water from the kettle. We removed the fiddly wire shelf through which things fell into the bath and replaced it with a sturdy glass shelf.
“Amy bought this shelf on eBay, but she didn’t want it”
“Oh?”
“She’d bought babe clothes from the same address for a couple of quid and was told they had to be posted to her, just up the road, charge £6.00. Classic ebay seller trick to get profit on carriage”
“Then?”
“The same seller offered this shelf for 99p ‘buyer collect’. Amy didn’t want it but clicked ‘buy now’ and went to the address. Once there she said 'Oh and can I pick up those clothes I bought?'”
Ah, the cunning of thrift.
My battery drill served for the smaller holes needed.
Tuesday evening, friends for supper.
“Mark, Paul! Can you help?”
They went downstairs. Lifted the new boiler between them. Dropped it neatly on the bolts in three seconds, then back to the table.
Next day I bought two 50cm flexible pipes at Sgombou; removed the old pipes and after binding plumbers’ thread on the boiler and the hot and cold inlet-outlet pipes tightened everything up, turned on the water, filled the tank; then the electricity. On came the pilot light.
“We’ve got hot water again!”
Lin had a shower.
“Hm. Not sure 60 litres of hot water is enough for wash, rinse, conditioner and rinse.”
But later as she continued decorating, adding grout to a circling ribbon of small blue tiles, she said “Ohoh! There’s a leak”
I sighed and inspected. The no-return valve on the cold water inlet was dribbling steadily from the quite the wrong place.
“Shit”
I turned off the water, undid the connection. The bolt shot off under pressure from 60 litres of warm water, bruising my knuckle. It poured into bowls and buckets I emptied into the bath.
“Now what’s gone wrong?” I wondered “I’m taking this valve to the plumber at Kontokali”
Spiro checked it.
“You must not tighten the nut that connects to the valve so that it prevents it working. Just three or four turns will do” Now how could I have known that?
I bought another valve, a tap to go between tank and valve and a shorter length of flexible pipe. €11.50. Back home I wrapped plumbers waxy string carefully around each connection and gently tightened everything; turned on the water and watched.
“It’s OK!”
“Don’t say that where the boiler can hear you” said Lin
*** *** ***
On naftemporiki.gr - an intriguing interview with an academic who loves Greece, and knows the history of modern Greece in great depth, Professor Mark Mazower speaking in English with Greek sub-titles. Μαζάουερ: Ανάκτηση της αυτονομίας με σωστή οικονομία
I especially like his observations on the new generation of young Greek historians, but also his admission that so much of what is happening in and to Greece was not what he ever expected.
*** ***
Another good letter from my friend Jan D in England:
Hello Simon. I follow your escapades on your blog. Good to see that you are busy doing practical tasks. In the future (perhaps sooner than we think ) such skills will again be vital and in much demand, we may (re)discover that manual and technical skills are more important than the latest IT gizmo, after all we can’t eat the computer or mobile phone. Talking about food are you following events in Britain? These are depressing and worrying times. Quick on the heels of the Mid Staffordshire Hospital scandal we now have what is referred to as the ‘horsemeat’ scandal. This will not surprise you but it is yet another example, on top of all the others, of mismanagement. corruption and deceit in a key industry; this time the food chain and supermarket ready-made meals. The food chain has now become so long and uncontrollable we cannot be certain of what we are eating (despite the labels) or the safety of it. The Government is out of its depth  and everybody is blaming everybody else (what’s new!). Yet another example of what happens when you deregulate. The Food Standards Agency has lost of half of its inspectors (through so called efficiency no doubt), so it’s not surprising that yet again we have an industry operating outside any meaningful control or accountability. If it wasn’t so serious you’d laugh at some of the finger pointing. Monty Python could not have done better. We are being told that it is all down to Romanian horse thieves! Well if everything else fails blame ‘Johnny Foreigner’, especially if there’s a gypsy angle as well. The hypocrisy is staggering. Some of the most diehard anti-European MPs are now calling for EU actions and seeking the co-operation of our European partners. I actually don’t mind eating horse; done it many times in France as long as I know that is what it is and that it is safe to do so. However there may be some benefits emerging from this, especially around a revival of locally produced food and local food outlets. Traditional butchers are doing a roaring trade at the moment and hopefully this will extend to local markets, greengrocers, artisan bakers etc., which can only be good for local communities and ‘localism’. I don’t think this is the demise of supermarkets, but they may well operate somewhat differently in the future.
There is also a growing  acknowledgement and appreciation of the importance of a wide range of public functions. Whether this is just an immediate reaction or a longer term shift is yet to be seen. Regrettably I think the deregulators and unlimited free marketeers have the upper hand and wield enormous power and I still have a deep anxiety that we are moving toward a new type of feudalism. There was a very interesting article in the Guardian this week on the workings of so-called Think Tanks. They like to present themselves as independent and objective, but in reality they are well funded pressure groups working on behalf of some rather unpleasant, and in many cases American, corporate interests, (tobacco, climate deniers, chemicals, etc.). Frequently it’s impossible to know who funds these organisations, and to really rub salt into the wound many of them are registered charities and hence receive tax benefits. They also have considerable access to the political elite. I am not a natural conspiracy peddler but it is difficult to see how local democracy or any democracy can function properly in the economic and political environments now emerging. I would be interested to hear your views on this. I am convinced that some form of ‘bottom –up’ or ‘refocused’ consumerism is part of the answer, and in this context modern technology can be a powerful tool so I’m not a total Luddite.  
I have read some more on the developments in Russia since the fall of Communism which is good case of Be Careful of What You Wish For. We spent decades trying to bring down the Soviet Union in the (naïve) belief that a western style democracy would make it free, open, fair and governed by the rule of law. But it hasn’t quite worked out like that. Whilst the Soviet Union was good riddance, what has replaced it, according to a book by Edward Lucas, is organised crime, big business corruption, illegality and bribery on a phenomenal scale, e.g. as much as $6 billion is paid in bribes every year and half of the country’s $140 billion public expenditure is siphoned off illegally. He calls it a ‘pirate’ state (others call it a mafia state) ruled by a criminal elite heavy populated by ex-Soviet spooks and ex- secret agents and the ‘nouveau riche’. (see also Luke Harding's Mafia State) I think this demonstrates what can happen when a vacuum is created  during political upheavals and who might fill it. It makes you stop and think what could happen here as the state and public sector retreat on an unprecedented scale. The ‘intelligent’ criminal may well thrive and then local democracy or any democracy is going to struggle to survive in any meaningful way.
As more and more of society is removed from democratic accountability and transparency and power and wealth concentrated in a very small group we face a troublesome future and I can’t help feeling it has gone beyond the tipping point already. I struggle to envisage how an alternative may emerge  or what it would look like. The offerings of the left are as cliché ridden, unrealistic and unpleasant as the offerings of the right or any other existing group. A new mind set is certainly required as well as different expectations and these things don’t come easy if at all. I agree with you that a recalibration of the relationships between the citizen, the state and the public domain is crucial to the way forward. The very notions of progress, growth, well-being etc., need to find a new narrative which appeals to people and which they can actually experience as something positive and fulfilling in meeting their aspirations.
I am conscious that this sounds idealistic and naïve and it may well be that we need to hit the buffers hard in order to make a paradigm change or we may simply just drift into a very different society to the one we have had for the last 60-70 years and adjust accordingly; although in the longer run people will not put up with a new form of feudalism.
I am struggling to find ways local involvement and actions can assist us in going in a more positive direction but as I said I am convinced that a bottom up approach is necessary. Despite all the scandals and increasing loss of faith and mistrust in many public and private institutions, it is interesting to note that with one or two exceptions local authorities have conducted themselves properly (with very little recognition) and actually coped better than most (so far) with challenges facing them which are greater than most; they are almost too competent for their own good; all they get in return is abuse from Eric Pickles a particularly odious minister. Happy days. Look forward to our conversation in March. Best Jan  
*** *** ***
 I wondered if there was a name for a lunch that lasts into the early evening. Olimpia said there was 'at least, there is in Northern Italy (mostly Piedmont area): they use to call it "merenda sinoira"'*. We were at Jan M’s home overlooking the Kerkyra Sea below Garitsa, a village south of the city.
Having driven south on the Lefkimmi Road, past that doleful ruin – Kaiser’s bridge – we turned onto a thin winding ascent, negotiating a minor landslip, realized we’d missed a turn, and crossed it again. A man, perched like a statue beside the road, pointed our way up a snaking gravel drive to a Venetian country house of courteous aspect.
If a house could be polite this one was; so too its owner who greeted us almost with diffidence, as though our visit honoured her. Through a modest front door into a room of perfect proportions, large and graceful without grandeur or pretension. If only all Corfu could have learned to know and respect such architecture, instead of crusting its lovely shores with vain construction. Even from the balcony of San Stephano nested so delicately inside the landscape...

... its almost invisible, the tiers of a monster shack stuck themselves through the skyline; one of Greece’s Lopachkin’s, before running out of money, had again wounded the island with the skeleton shelves of yet another Leggotel. From its guest rooms the world offers fine prospects; from outside, the world is blighted by the plans of a new signor.

We talked and ate and drank. Jan M made being our host look easy. Local wine, local food. Over coffee we looked at a photo album – black and white portraits, of people who’d enjoyed and lived in and visited the house. Some seemed almost ready to talk - so animated their gaze into the long open shutter from long ago.
In the guest book Aleko came across the delicate signatures of his parents, guests before they were married. I glimpsed in the same book, looming in my memory, a curling scrawl of fading black ink taking up all of a page, as one who suddenly encountering a venomous snake sees it bigger than it is - the signature of Kaiser Wilhelm, last German emperor, that Abraham who slew his son. instead of the offered ram of pride, and with him half the seed of Europe one-by-one.
*Antica tradizione contadina, di origine piemontese, la "Merenda sinoira" è un pasto pomeridiano che, per l'abbondanza, tende a sostituire la cena (per questo "sinoira" o «cenoira»). D'estate, dovendo lavorare i campi anche dopo il tramonto, i contadini organizzavano delle chiassose e ricche merende, sul tardo pomeriggio.
*** ***
Upstairs at 208 Democracy Street the wood of a disassembled and de-nailed palette is being made into skirting board to hide the ragged gap between the chipboard floor and our bedroom walls; walls, which, being in places curved, require a mix of wood bending and later filling. The palette wood was first sanded and double-coat varnished. On top of the wood we attach strips of moulded trim bought from Αποθήκη Ζύλειας The Wood Shed, a timber yard on the Lefkimmi Road in Kanalia, about a kilometre beyond the airport and Simonetti’s Yard. Rather too wide at the base each strip had to be sanded down several millimetres before varnishing.
This combination was glued to the wall, held by bricks while it dried, and varnished with old nail holes yet to be filled. The improvement is remarkable.
I don't know why it took us so long to find and start using a chimney brush with rods to clean our stove pipe.
What has so far involved the exercise of taking down and taking apart the stove pipe inside the house, with attendant soot, followed by resealing the pipe joints with heat proof silver tape, now entails the simpler task of climbing a ladder on the outside wall, removing the top of the chimney and shoving the brush on two rods into the pipe so that soot ends up dropping into the stove where it can be cleared away like the ash.
“We’ll have to do this more often…”
“As the actress…”
“…instead of putting off a messy job until the stove starts spouting smoke”
*** *** ***
The Rev William Mather has sent me a copy of his address at mum's Memorial Service
Barbara Burnett- Stuart, 1917-2012

Some personal reflections; 
William Mather, 8th December 2012 
My own personal  memories of Barbara are linked with my parents, Bill and Eleanor  who were friends with Barbara and Angus in Cheshire and Manchester when Angus was working with Thomson Newspapers.
There were wonderful social events and whenever Barbara and Angus were around there was lots of laughter and fun. These always seemed to be linked with tweeds and dogs and glorious days outside, in all weathers, sharing their love of shooting and fishing both in Cheshire and up here.
Libby and I once bumped into Barbara quite by chance on one of our rare visits to London. Feeling a bit like tourists we were exploring the Burlington Arcade and on going into a very respectable  shoe-shop suddenly bumped into Barbara, trying on shoes!
When my late mother visited us here a couple of years ago we went to see Barbara at Brin Croft and I reminded her of the Burlington Arcade shoe-shop. She said with relish: “Ooh and were the shoes very expensive?!”
Barbara had a wonderful way of combining all aspects of life. Born in London she had a real feel for city life but she loved the country and all that went with it. Perhaps it was her early years escaping with her mother and sister Margot to Clavering, a totally unspoilt rural Essex village, that nurtured her love for the open air. There were bicycles and horses, paddling in the ford, developing a dairy farm and sharing in Girl Guide activities. They all loved it
During the war Clavering became a refuge from the nightly air-raids of the Blitz. During this period Barbara remembered her mother trying to  keep everybody calm with matter-of-fact comments like:  “We must remember to let the dogs out before the bombs come.”
When she married John Baddeley in 1940, Clavering became the obvious place for their home and it was there that Simon and Bay were born.
It is perhaps no surprise that following her privileged upbringing Barbara put her sharp mind and humour to good use by throwing herself into journalism, photography and publishing.
Sadly her first marriage ended shortly after the war and was followed by a long relationship with the Country Broadcaster Jack Hargreaves. Eventually in 1965 she married Angus, adding his two step-daughters, Fiona and Jennifer to the family.
Among the wonderful family films that Simon managed to do about Barbara – including memories of the Blitz,  and of life at Clavering, there is one of Barbara reflecting on coming to live in the Highlands. In it she says: “I just bless the day when Angus said:  ‘Would you settle if we went to Scotland?’ Because if he hadn’t said that, we never would.”

Settle she certainly did, settling in Strathnairn at  Mains of Faillie near Daviot. This became a home for more and more grand-children and eventually great grand-children. For most of them, in Simon’s words: ‘The Highlands became a refuge of constant pleasure and happy memories, of winter snow, wind and rain, chilly summer swims, climbs and long walks with many dogs.’
She also became involved in much community activity, including the Samaritans and becoming a ‘Friend’ of Eden Court Theatre.
This service has been specially designed with hymns, readings, tributes and photographs to try and remind ourselves of some of Barbara’s interests and loves. Thomas Hardy’s poem ‘Afterwards’ hints at some of the enjoyments and awareness  of life’s delights, eccentricities and quiet beauties – from hedgehogs ‘travelling furtively over the lawn’ to ‘watching the full-starred heavens.’ Barbara would have loved such imagery.
And her article ‘Peace of Mind’, with her personal reflections on looking at Leonardo da Vinci’s painting, ‘Madonna of the Rocks’ – written when she was women’s editor of Farmers’ Weekly– is particularly perceptive. She ponders on ‘peace of mind’ and how gazing at the painting and in particular the face of the Virgin, she writes:  ‘one begins to know the meaning of that Peace which Passeth all Understanding.’
Earlier in the same article she remembers child-hood visits to her local church at Christmas, where  in a Christmas crib-scene, she sees the figure of Jesus, ‘this tiny figure representing the Man who was to make men and women of us all.’
Barbara would not have called herself particularly religious but she was blessed with an open-heart towards life and people and with a spiritual awareness.
It is perhaps worth reminding ourselves that when she refers to the ‘Peace that passeth all understanding,’ she is quoting from the famous verse in Philippians 4-4-7. In the words of the Authorised Version of the Bible, which she loved, it is as follows:  
4. Rejoice in the Lord alway: and
Again I say, Rejoice
5. Let your moderation be known
Unto all men. The Lord is at hand.
6. Be careful for nothing; but in
Every thing by prayer and supplication
With thanksgiving let your requests
Be made known unto God.
7. And the peace of God, which
Passeth all understanding, shall keep
Your hearts and minds through
Christ Jesus.
Mum on Democracy Street in 2010
*** *** ***
Lin and I visited Richard in the Corfu Private Clinic a few days ago. He's now flown to Dublin for further treatment...sends his regular circular 'Greek voters ponder the unthinkable - cutting ties with the EU':
Please follow the link to see my column in The Irish Times of Tuesday 19 February. Apologies for .the delay in circulating this which was due to medical complications. I hope to resume a regular column very shortly. Regards Richard Pine
(extract)....A 'Grexit', as it is called, is still an option. If the Voulí is a 'council of elders', it has shown itself to be incapable of knowing its own mind or of recognising and interpreting the will of the people. What people actually want, and what they are not getting, is a way out of the economic impasse, a means of creating wealth which will counteract the recession, and lead to job creation. This is not without precedent. In the 1920s Hungary, in the throes of reconstruction, offered the state railways to foreign buyers, and even went so far as to apply to the then League of Nations for a bailout. Parallels with Greece are obvious, where state assets are on offer, not very successfully, to foreign investors and buyers. The imperatives for any struggling country, especially a small one, to look for help elsewhere are compelling. It’s even within recent memory that the UK secured IMF funding to dig it out of an appalling financial crisis. In 1977, the then president of Greece, Konstantine Tsatsos, argued for Greece’s inclusion in Europe (it was admitted in 1981) on cultural and political as well as economic grounds. He linked Greece to other southern states – Portugal, Spain, Italy – all of which, it could be argued, would have to either catch up quickly or be left behind. Their inherent assets would not be enough to sustain them in an age of technological change and wealth creation. How right he proved to be.
*** ***
Aftermath: I still haven't got the boiler right. After a couple of days the non-return valve below its cold water inlet starts to drip. I replace it with another - €3.50. It works for a while then the dripping starts again.
Paul, up the road, asks me “What’s your water pressure?”
“You mean on the gauge outside the house?”
“Yes”
“Somewhere between 7 and 8”

“It should be more like 3”
“But we’ve only opened the mains tap a quarter turn”
“That’s flow not pressure”
“Er?”
“It’s like amps and volts” says Lin helpfully
“You will find a screw for adjusting the pressure just next to the dial”
“And don’t you touch it” says Lin “until we know exactly how it works”
“Hold on you were saying the boiler was jinxed. Thinking of calling in the priest to exorcise it”
“That may still be necessary”
*** ***
Down at Ipsos work continues on Summer Song and also, as promised by the Deputy Mayor of Corfu at the meeting on 8 Feb, on the revived police station.
Says Cinty "That's good. I hope they don't make it so comfortable the new policemen just stay indoors lounging"
Restoring the police station by Ipsos Harbour

Travel

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We slipped out of Ano Korakiana during a rain shower and caught one of the smaller ferries to Igoumenitsa - fares reduced 50%, it said 'military' on our tickets.  It was dark on the mainland and we dragged our bags along the rutted concrete to the Adriatic terminal, strewn with large friendly dogs and people watching TV football. We checked in to wait for hours for the Superfast ferry to Bari. We are familiar with this place. No-one we ask behind a glass screen is ever able to tell us just when these boats, equipped with 21st century communication technology and time to milliseconds, will arrive and depart. At best it's "soon" and "maybe". The digital arrival and departure signs are inscrutable, announcing events that don't quite occur. In the end we were on quay10 as a behemoth backed slowly up to the dock and lowered its ramps gently onto the concrete, inviting coaches, trucks and walking passengers to board.




We settle in the semi-darkness of the airseat lounge; stretch across several seats, sleep - fitfully - amid the rumble of the ship. In the morning the moon's still up, the sea mildly ruffled...

... and our time of arrival familiarly untrustworthy, an A4 sheet cellotaped on the purser's counter - so she needn't repeat herself - says 'ETA 11.00am Greek time'. By 11.00, land, which has appeared intermittently to port, is vaguely visible to the north east. Then a sharp turn and Bari mole emerged from the haze. By 1120 - 1020 local time - we were boarding Bus /20, buying tickets on board and being driven circuitously through chicanes out of the harbour and to Bari Station. On platform 3 we sat in the sun, ate our picnic, drank wine from plastic cups and read, until, after two hours, the express train to Rome drew in and we took up our reservations. After a stop in Foggia, our route turned west across Italy. At 4pm we dropped off at Caserta and crossed the platform for a double decker stopping train to Naples, where we'd been seven weeks earlier.
A man with a bicycle in a field south of Caserta



Small unfinished plots drifted by. I snoozed and read. The hotel had lost our reservation and was full. The receptionist phoned around and got us a room at the same price in the Hotel de la Ville on the opposite side of the square. We ate as we had when last in Naples, at Da Ettore...then to bed to catch a bus in the morning.
At the stop outside Central Station we were intercepted by a taxi driver who promised to take us to the airport quicker than the bus
"Just give me your bus tickets"
Inside the cab he asked for €10 more.
"Oh no" says Lin "we agreed just our tickets"
But at Departures I gave him €5.
"You're too soft, Baddeley"
He shrugged and we were dropped at the airport -  only a few miles away.  In the terminal we had deep chocolate ice cream and more reading.
Another hour and we were away to England, a train to London from Gatwick, then a coach to Birmingham and - our only one - a taxi home. We'd left the village at four on Wednesday afternoon and were home by 8.30pm Friday.
Leaving Naples

*** *** ***
In our hotel I'd had an email from Mike Tye in Handsworth - some passages in red:
Hope you can all make Monday night's Special Ward meeting at Welford School, 7pm. We need to be of one voice against these proposals to reduce services...(attachment)
Service changes to make waste management savings – February 7, 2013 Posted by Cllr McKay. A number of changes to waste collection services have been announced by Birmingham City Council in its 2013/14 budget following central government cuts to the authority’s finances.
For the 2013/14 financial year the council’s overall savings requirement is £102million. Of this, £6.57million relates to waste services and includes:
Bulky waste: providing households with ONE free collection per year (maximum 6 items). For each subsequent collection (maximum 6 items), there will be a charge of £25 per collection. This compares to the existing system of 3 free collections per year, with a maximum of 6 items per collection. The new charge is in line with fees charged by other councils (that typically range from £15 to £44).
Special street collections: A city-wide subsidy is being dropped, meaning that individual districts will have to use their own budgets if they wish to continue this service, which is a service uncommon amongst local authorities. These collections are a service that gives residents in an area a fixed day(s) beyond regular bin collection dates on which to put out additional bulky waste items out, to be collected by the council at no cost to the households taking advantage.
The provision of black and green sacks: The council spends £1million per year issuing one sack per week to households. Many residents already buy their own waste sacks. Residents will now be required to provide all of their own sacks from April 1, ahead of the council plan to roll out wheelie bins at a later date.
Green waste collections: In line with many other local authorities, the council will introduce a chargeable service from February/March 2014. This will be an optional service, and those wishing to take advantage will be given a free 240-litre wheeled bin. The annual collection charge, to be paid in advance, will be £35. Those not wishing to take up the service will have the option of buying a composter, at cost, via the council’s website. Fees charged by other councils who provide this service generally range from £18 to £56.
In addition to this, other measures are set to be introduced to meet the budget challenge caused by the cuts. They include:
City centre street cleansing: There will be a reduction in the overall level of cleaning– but there will be no compulsory redundancies. However the council is introducing larger capacity bins, fitted with a compactor to reduce emptying frequencies, and more automated technology to increase productivity.
Mechanical sweeping: The number of large mechanical sweepers that clear main arterial routes and some residential roads will be reduced from 20 to 15. This will not lead to compulsory redundancies but there will be a reduction in the level of service offered.
Your City Your Birmingham: It is proposed to discontinue these enhanced services (services provided over and above the standard service) and can relate to environmental crime such as fly tipping, fly posting, littering and dog fouling etc.
Cllr James McKay, Cabinet Member for a Green, Safe and Smart City, said: “Cuts to the services that help make our city a cleaner and greener place are not something that sit easy with me.
“However, given that the controllable part of the council’s budget – which we can choose to prioritise – will be halved by 2017, we are simply left with little or no option but to consider some major changes to our waste management service. What we have done is come up with a package that tries to minimise the impact felt by citizens, embracing innovation and modern ways of working where possible – such as with the introduction of wheelie bins, to replace a system that is firmly stuck in the last century. But we want to be open and transparent about some of the less palatable changes helping up meet our financial challenge - that is why we are giving as much notice as possible of our intention to introduce fees and reduce the level of services where applicable.
At home there was a letter from Connecticut dated January 14:
Dear Simon. I loved reading of your Mother’s Service, and most of all, loved the pictures down the generations. Clearly a very beautiful woman in the pictures of her, your father (I assume) and you as young child. I can see the evolution persisting after all the years have done and favoured us with.
The Thomas Hardy poem you read is a great tribute – to one who notices things. But I wonder whether Hardy hasn’t got the generations wrong in his poem. Isn’t the real gift of the living that they have imparted to others – family, children, friends – the gift of noticing, of being curious which causes one to notice all the wonders cited by Hardy. Clearly your mother is one who did so.
The death of one’s mother, one’s father and brother or sister is so intimate. One feels a hole in one’s life – even if the time for departure had come. But the hole is not nothing. As we have come to understand in the cosmos, the black hole, the emptiness is not no-thing. It is all possibility. That, I have come to believe is the gift of death to the living – the gift of possibility. Clearly your mother imparted that to you and her grandchildren.
Best wishes and warm hugs to you and Lin. Tony
Email from Jan D:
Simon. Hope next Friday is still on. Be good to chew over some ideas with you. Every day seems to bring something new and often unpleasant. Bankers bonuses are back in the news. It simply beggars belief that what are in effect publically owned assets can allow such total misuse of resources. It is difficult to comprehend how a business loosing £5.5 billion can still be allowed to allocate £650 mill in bonuses. The real worrying factor is that democratic processes and players are powerless or unwilling to stop it, even in a nationalised business. This demonstrates how ‘castrated’ democracy is becoming. Democracy, through elected government, appears no longer able to shape events and they even struggle to react properly to them. Instead they are becoming the mouthpiece of vested interests, trying to persuade us that the interests of the 1% equals the national interest. Very different moralities and psychologies are at play here. If you already earn millions you need even more millions to stay motivated whereas if you are on benefits you need your income cut further in order to be motivated to find work – a bit simplistic I know but to quote George Monbiot ‘Our own ruling class...lives in a world of its own from which it can project power without understanding or even noticing the consequences’ and ‘frontbenchers can rock with laughter as it truncates the livelihoods of the poorest people in this country.’ In conclusion he says ‘those who govern us do not in their hearts belong here. They belong to a different culture, different world which knows as little of its own acts as it knows of those who suffer them’  Not certain I fully accept this ignorance of their own actions but this sums up nicely the new ‘feudal’ elite. There is something strange going on here whereby democracy is spawning forces which are totally incompatible with it or perhaps it is not that strange at all (remember the Weimar Republic!). Look forward to hearing your views. Best Jan
*** *** ***
Saturday morning, The waste paper basket is full of junk mail. We'd clear most of the letters needing a reply the night before. Lin went off to see her parents for the day. I rode into town to post replies and to enjoy a mug of tea and a baked potato soaked in butter in the Rag Market and to buy paperclips and envelopes but mainly to be with Oscar on the canal towpath and in and out of the city side roads and through the walking centre on what feels like the first of Spring.
Round 2.00pm I met up with Richard and Emma at Cafe Soya for a swift-served delectable all day lunch special. My son's using a friend's version of Rosetta to learn Mandarin in readiness for his and Emma's visit to Beijing in April. I described our Michel Thomas Greek course which Lin had picked up for peanuts at a table-top sale in Corfu.
"I'm suspicious of any thing that says this sort of thing is easy, but we really like the method, a sort of three way conversation with pauses between the tutor and two students who now and then make typical mistakes. We've been leaving it on as we do work round the house. We've got a good friend who tutors, but I'd be interested in the Greek version of Rosetta. Whatever works! How much is your flight costing?"
"Very good deal. We reckon it's because the air pollution has become so bad there."
Back in Birmingham
We are going to miss Carnival in Ano Korakiana this March and we've just missed the opening of Stamatis' project - the café that replaces his shop opened for the first time on Saturday

Εγκαίνια απόψε στο χωριό… Ο παλιός φούρνος του Γιάννη Σαββανή στην Πλάστιγγα, αφού πέρασε από τη φάση του μινι-μάρκετ, μετατράπηκε σήμερα σε ένα πολύ όμορφο χώρο καφε-ποτείου. Η διακόσμηση περίτεχνη, με αποκάλυψη των παλιών υλικών (ξύλου, τούβλου, πέτρας), με προσεγμένο φωτισμό και με φωτογραφικά ασπρόμαυρα ενθυμήματα από παλαιότερες δεκαετίες. Ο Σταμάτης, επικουρούμενος από τους τρεις γιούς του, τον Αλέξανδρο, το Γιάννη και τον Άγγελο υποδέχτηκαν απόψε τους πρώτους πελάτες και πέρασαν με επιτυχία τη δοκιμή της εξυπηρέτησής τους. Στη νέα επιχείρηση που υπόσχεται ζωντάνεμα της «Πιάτσας», ευχόμαστε «καλές δουλειές»… 
Opening tonight at the village ... The old bakery that belonged to John Savvani, after passing through the phase of being a local grocery, was today transformed into a really beautiful place for coffee-drinkers - with elaborate decoration, display of old wood, brick, and stone, with imaginative lighting and black and white photo memorabilia from past decades. Stamatis, assisted by his three sons - Alexander, John, and Angelo - tonight welcomed their first customers and successfully passed the test of entertaining them. The new enterprise promises to revive the 'Piazza' and provide new jobs...(note: and the grocer's shop at the other end of the village will do more trade and we can still get our bread, wine and confectionary and mail just across the street from Piazza)

Everything is changed

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Strathnairn
In the Highlands. Four months since Mum died. Her terriers, ever my companions on endless walks, are gone to their new home thanks to the kindness of Christina and James at Farr Mains. Brin Croft has the familiar furnishings. All seem poised to move. tho' nothing can go until Confirmation - Scottish version of Probate - is approved. We must empty the house in readiness to sell it. We've sorted and lined up several hundred books to be valued, hopefully sold. Mum had many more reference books than I, more reliant on the internet feel I need. It's old children's books and other old books with lovely illustrations I'm hesitant to sell. Mum had so much the same taste as me in subjects or vice versa that much of her collection I've read and have already, so saying farewell to these will hardly be a wrench.
Sorting books in the log cabin
Helen from Logie Steading Bookshop will come for tea and look the books over on Thursday. I've been trying to find places to sell or donate Mum's collection of invalid kit. It's tricky because of strict health and safety rules on second hand electrical goods. Then there's furniture with more rules about fireproofing. These things matter less in private sales but they make donation to charities near impossible.
Liz has been looking after Brin Croft. She has Amy's dog Cookie up here and Lin and I have brought Oscar from England. For the last week Amy has been with Liz, in part to help with repainting parts of Brin Croft, and part to give her best friend companionship as she goes official - included on Facebook - with news of her pregnancy, just back from a 13 week scan at Raigmore Hospital yesterday morning to circulate photos. How Mum would have delighted in this, especially as our grandson Oliver is also here.
Liz's ultrasound image
I went into Macandrew and Jenkins in Inverness this morning, up the old stone stairs and wide mahogany banisters. Stroll some of what used to be the core streets of Inverness and you get a picture of how out of town retailing and autodependency - autodependencia - has comprehensively blighted the place I've know for fifty years - few people strolling amid charity shops, Poundland, a plethora of 'for sale, lease and rent' signs, boarded windows, and pawnbrokers with euphemistic names...
Drummond Street, Inverness

I was seeing Sharon Leckie, para-legal working for James Wotherspoon, to sign a sheaf of Confirmation documents that must now be mailed to my sister, Bay, in New York for her signature. Then the real work begins - clearing and selling the house, distributing contents. Phew! We've arranged visits by estate agents to get an idea of how the market may behave and how the house should be described and should the lochan be included. Thank goodness for family. Even though I've been executor for three other wills, this seems the hardest even with the support I have.
A lovely message from Aftab Rahman this evening:
Hello Simon - I am sorry for your loss. I lost my dad nearly six years ago. Every now and then, I still cry - and wish he was hear to share in my success and failures. But, he is buried in Bangladesh - my brothers and I took him back one last time. We reached the last leg of our trip to my dad's village at night on a boat - I still recall, the night sky full of stars. I like to think that I have taken him back to his beloved land where the stars shine on him at night and the remains of his body nourishes the land he so loved. I have not been back to see his grave for some five years - I want to visit and take my daughters with me and share my joy by his grave side. I hope you happiness in this tough time. That void will never be filled - but time will heal and you will find ways to cope my friend.
*** ***
From Chris R:
Hi Simon. All is great here in Asia I have today taken the night train from old British Penang island to KL in Malaysia. 
Night train from Penang
My back has eventually recovered from the garden repair project. I don’t know why I have been so driven to so injure myself but must be that childhood on a farm and a desire to be surrounded by green growth; as the development has destroyed lots of green space.
I am sorry I will miss you in  March we both seem to have such a drive to travel and understand our world!  I shall look forward to news of strawberry’s harvested by you and not the slugs like last year!
Chani, Chris and Aftab at our 'Cultivation to Consuption' event on a rainy 19 July last year
Cultivation to Consumption - Chani uses some of my cabbage to cook delectable pakorah 
It would indeed be great to have another share your plot plus there is also much room to share at Antrobus Road, as after a constant battle to get the City’s Development to cooperate with not damaging the former gardens too much I have decided to keep a larger amount of my adversely possessed land; which is more fertile than the bit they have already given back. They have not exactly played by the rules as developers but their land transfer department has been most truthful with me and has recognised my rights over the land I have looked after for some time. Will be glad when its all settled however; (possessions possess the possessor) then I can concentrate on just growing! How great that you have sailed by Antikythera.
Sailing in Danica near Thumb island near Antikithera in 1962
I stopped by the British Museum with a friend before I flew in Feb and looked at their collection of early Victorian drawings of the ‘discovered’ great ancient Greek ruins settled by goat herding people living in low level settlement at the foot of the great ruins. It does seem that we have done very little more to advance in last 2000 years but keep repeating history. I would be very interested in discussing your living in Greece. I have tried to get redundancy unsuccessfully this year but keep hoping that soon I will get the opportunity to seriously think about another investment project eventually!
Hope you have been enjoying travels to Bari and Naples. It has been raining unseasonably in Thailand and Malaysia but not too much as yet it does have the advantage of keeping it cooler!
After a few days in Malaysia with Teo we are off to Laos via Thailand as he has an amazing four weeks off work.
Looking forward to catching up soon with our respective news of travel-happy UK landings!
Much love to you both
Yours Chris
Plot 14 - still messy but now shared with Chris

The Egg Volk - ο Εφιάλτης θα φανεί στο τέλος

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Blokko in Kokkinnia in Athens on 17 August 1944

From a recent interview with Yanis Varoufakis Γιάνης Βαρουφάκης
What do you know about the rise of right-wing Neo-Nazi groups (in Greece). What impact are they having? What can you tell us about the Golden Dawn Party, Χρυσή Αυγή?
The Golden Dawn Party is not an extreme right wing party. It is not even a neo-Nazi party. It is a fully-fledged Nazi gang. And here lies the great paradox: Greece, along with Yugoslavia, fought the most dogged, bloody, successful resistance against the Nazis during the Second World War, giving the Nazis a serious run for their money, so to speak. The bulk of the population rose up against them with great acts of valour that inspired the Allies at a time when Nazism was almost unopposed in Europe. Yet, there were collaborators – as there always are*. Hooded men that went around the towns and the villages with the SS and the Wehrmacht, pointing out the resistance fighters.
Προδότης της χώρας του
The Golden Dawn gang is their direct descendant. You see, after the Nazis retreated from Greece, quite tragically, their collaborators managed to infiltrate the armed forces (following the Civil War in which the Establishment’s war against the Left, thus giving a chance to the Nazi collaborators to remain ‘useful’ to the state); so much so that in 1967 there was a coup d’etat that put Greece under a neo-fascist dictatorship for seven years. Since the end of that sorry episode, the remnants of that regime have been sidelined by a prospering democracy. However, after the economic and social implosion of the past three years, the worst elements of that rump (who had never really gone away; instead, they were biding their time, recitingMein Kampf) re-appeared using purposely the tactics of the 1920s German Nazi party and, in particular, of Goebbels. By this I mean that they adopted a narrative on the crisis that is split in two parts: The first part is an utterly sensible critique of crony financialised capitalism (an exact copy of Goebbels’ 1927 critique of the failures of midwar capitalism). Then comes the second part: blaming the foreigner for the crisis (who can be Pakistani just as he can be a Jew) and calling for ethnic cleansing. Add to this mix: (a) offers of personal security services to hungry pensioners too frightened to step into the street, (b) free food and vegetables only for ‘ethnically pure' Greeks, and (c) stormtroopers savagely attacking migrants and Greeks opposing them, and what you get is the ‘total recall’ of the bleakest aspects of the 1920s and 1930s.
Χρυσή Αυγή υποστηρικτές στο λεωφορείο
In Axion Esti Odysseus Elytis Οδυσσέας Ελύτης, describes this Greek struggle
 ...it cannot be they without you nor can it be you without them… and you must face them without fail…those who wear the black shirt...who speak the language of porcupines, raw-eaters, water-brutes, bread-fearers, the leadenfaced and the neocondors.
*Θερμοπύλες 
Τιμή σ’ εκείνους όπου στην ζωή των
ώρισαν και φυλάγουν Θερμοπύλες.
Ποτέ από το χρέος μη κινούντες·
δίκαιοι κ’ ίσιοι σ’ όλες των τες πράξεις,
αλλά με λύπη κιόλας κ’ ευσπλαχνία·
γενναίοι οσάκις είναι πλούσιοι, κι όταν
είναι πτωχοί, πάλ’ εις μικρόν γενναίοι,
πάλι συντρέχοντες όσο μπορούνε·
πάντοτε την αλήθεια ομιλούντες,
πλην χωρίς μίσος για τους ψευδομένους.
Και περισσότερη τιμή τούς πρέπει
όταν προβλέπουν (και πολλοί προβλέπουν)
πως ο Εφιάλτης θα φανεί στο τέλος,
κ’ οι Μήδοι επί τέλους θα διαβούνε.                                                    
Καβάφης
...and some thoughts on our British Egg Volk
*** *** ***
On Wednesday morning Amy left with Oliver to drive south to her home in Birmingham, leaving Lin, I and Liz in Brin Croft. Lin and I have been working through a long list of errands. To my relief I realise I've learned enough plumbing craft to out an end to a problem of several weeks with a tap in the kitchen.
"If you turn it off completely it stops for ever" said Liz
So it has to stay dribbling a stream of cold water "and it won't turn on fast at all"
The dribbling cold tap that won't turn on and won't turn off
I get out a trusty Allen wrench after using a slot screwdriver to ease off the tap cover like a car's hubcap, then a Philips screwdriver to remove the retaining screw in the tap capstan. I take that off and and get down to the spindle. Then a few loosenings of the tap body with the Allen releases the flow but reveals a leak between the tap body and the basin; which is why it was tightened up too much in the first place I guessed. I fiddle with loosening the tap body which increases the leak but improves the flow and tightening it, which reduces the leak etc, until, of a sudden, flow is fine and the leak has stopped. I beat my chest like Kong Kong.
We've been making an inventory of mum's disability gear - an electric buggy, electric reclining chair, adjustable bed, bath lift, wheel chair, walkers - one all-terrain...
...a Pilates exercise machine and more ingenious gadgets, tricky, (like her unused sealed medications) that ought to go to other countries that need them, to give away, let alone sell second-hand, even though some have been so little used.  I will have to decide what to simply donate to charity and if I receive offers - Lin will use some of the photos I've taken to float these things on ebay.
We've has two more visits by estate agents to get a preliminary assessment of Brin Croft, one pair of colleagues we especially liked as they'd done their homework on the house, including who'd done the original valuation on the house when Mum bought it. We've been discussing whether to include Littlemills Lochan  - our secret loch - as an option in the sale.
The Lochan 
On Thursday Helen Trussell visited from Logie Steading Bookshop. Lin had read a note she'd sent describing what she was looking out for. She sorted out mum's books to meet those criteria - books about the Highlands, maps of the area, especially old canvas backed ones, plus a range of novelists. She  offered us £110 for about 100 books, pamphlets, guide books and maps which seemed a fair price to share with Bay. Helen put  us in touch with Giles Pearson who deals in antiques at Logie Steading.
Giles came over with his van on Friday and made a range of offers but these were in a rather higher price range, so I could not let him buy anything until it had been run by my sister. This process of checking and double-checking things mum willed in her estate, and being assiduous about it is essential, but it creates a problem when negotiating with a potential purchaser of anything in the house. This will become more of an issue when Confirmation (Probate) is completed - probably in early April. Linda and I are constantly pondering the best way to clear the house prior to placing it on the market. There is no auction house in Inverness now. It's moved northward to Dingwall - twenty miles away. I'd had the idea of someone coming over with a van to remove all the items not going to beneficiaries, cataloguing them and paying us the amount raised. It looks trickier. Again we can probably raise larger sums if we are prepared to proceed with DIY selling on the web.
*** *** ***
I walked from Brin Croft on the edge of Inverarnie through the fields towards Inverarnie Cottage where there's a gate onto a forestry track which leads after half a mile to another gate which has a side opening for walkers. This leads south down the strath just above the River Farnack. A mile and a half beyond the gate there's a rough timber extraction track that zig zags...
...about three hundred and fifty feet up the side of the strath to a broad gravel track that runs about five miles between Loch Farr and Mid Lairgs Quarry, close to the A9 below Daviot. I left the ascending path to cut a corner in the zig zag ascent. The terrain as I expected became tricky, made uneven by old forestry trenches and ridges, dotted with pools of still water of unpredictable depth, and criss crossed with a mess of old and torn branches discarded during previous timber harvesting. Half up-rooted stumps, some rotting, lean in different directions offering hard edges upon which to fall. As I climbed I came upon a pocket swamp full of rushes and sphagnum that I skirted until it looked shallow enough to cross without sinking in muddy peat to my knees. "I should have stuck to the path" I muttered to myself.
Old plantation terrain
My thighs ached with the exertion of walking upwards. My shoulders ached with the strain of balancing myself, as I switched my stick from one hand to the other. But I would never have met this boulder - a glacial erratic dropped perhaps a 1000 miles from where the slow glacier picked it up thousands of years ago and, as it melted, dropped it on the side of Strath Nairn.
It was good to arrive on the big smooth forestry track with the steady and agreeable Ben Wyvis - Beinn Uais Hill of Terror - away in Easter Ross marking my horizon, shifting colour and shade with the clouds and setting sun...

...and head three and half miles back to where, in semi-darkness, I could turn off west down a gentle slope towards Wester Lairgs Farm, a couple of lights in the windows and the sound of continuing work in the barn. There are new people there - Jim and Jane. They have a sprightly West Highland terrier bitch who attached herself to Oscar and Cooky last time I passed by, until I shoo'd her home. Past the farm it was less than half a mile to another turn southward above Inverarnie Woods; then a mile to the grassy bank that leads beside a trickle to a small gate. I climb over it and walk up and over the Esker and, with the dogs still as fresh as when we left Brin Croft a few hours earlier, I walked in the dark across the familiar grazing, to the cattle grid next to the gate into my mother's house. Before relaxing with a cup of tea in front of a sturdy wood fire I towelled the dogs and let them indoors ahead of me. Liz had their suppers ready.
*** ***
On 15 Mar 2013, at 16:54, K wrote from America:
I have no idea how you turned up without a search on my iPad -- but it does make me feel connected!  :-)  k 
Hi K, That baby, my grandson Oliver, was born 1 April last year. The same year my mum Barbara died peacefully, I and my sister beside her in her own bed at age 95 and lucid until she fell into a sleep three days before she left us.
Now I’m in chilly Scotland helping handle probate and suffering a dose of man-flu for which Lin has no sympathy at all.  I caught it from the bab of course and this video shows how. Oscar’s here too of course.
Lovely to hear from you. The domestic landscape is good for us, but the state of our economy is another matter. Local government and public space is being whittled relentlessly away to be replaced by an undemocratic untransparent form of modern feudalism - propped up by expensively funded think tanks. X Simon (in the Highlands)
K replied:
Sorry to get Oliver's name wrong.  Grandchildren are so amazing....it is the only thing that ever makes me want to move--but not enough to actually do so -- we love Minneapolis, except at this time of year, when winter seems interminable.  Fortunately, it is also the height of the theater season, so there are great things to do indoors.
D lost his mother a bit over two years...about the same age as yours, and living alone until the end, when he went to Virginia for a weekend and ended up caring for her for a month. She was an amazing woman, but not exactly the cookies-and-milk type mother - like Barbara as I remember her. His grieving process included shingles, an ocular migraine that mimicked a stroke, various muscular issues that are still on-going, etc. The mind-body connection is out-in-the-open at these times in our lives, and you can chalk your flu up to that, I suspect, and not playing with Oliver!
That is the video that popped up, unannounced on my iPad.  The computer genies are at it again, letting me know that I need to spend time keeping in touch with people who have been part of my life in significant ways. 
Dear k. And I thought you’d glanced at a different video of me and dog Oscar (it exists). How funny you got the name wrong because that’s exactly what I do all the time! Calling Oscar Oliver and v.v. - it’s a family joke and I’m an old git! Not you tho’
Thanks for that insight on the mind-body connection. Makes lots of sense when I think back to both my dad’s and stepfather’s deaths - long ago now. Incidentally I’m already feeling better. Lin scoffs at psychology and psychosomatic explanation. Insists I’ve caught Oliver’s cold. This complete dismissal of a way of explaining the world that I cherish is I suspect why we get on, but why? The mysteries of marriage! I recall that Patrick Leigh Fermor in his book A Time to Keep Silence talks of the impossibility of a dialogue between a champion of theology and a champion of psychoanalysis ‘because the terms of reference of the antagonists would be so different and irreconcilable, so incapable of engaging, that the match might turn into a double exhibition of shadow boxing….”.
Hope Midwest winter lessens its grip soon.
This by the way was the video I thought you’d been seeing
I really enjoyed the film Lincoln! What a fascinating story of the messy morality of the great game of hi-politics. You are ever a part of my life. Love to all. Simon (in Scotland, then England then back to Greece)
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We are missing Sunday's Carnival in Ano Korakiana:
Δημοσιοποίήθηκε σήμερα το πρόγραμμα της αυριακής ημέρας (17 Μαρτίου 2013), τελευταίας Κυριακής της Αποκριάς, αλλά και της διοργάνωσης του Κορακιανίτικου Καρναβαλιού.
Σύμφωνα με αυτό, προβλέπονται:
Εκκίνηση της πομπής του Καρναβάλου στις 4,30 το απόγευμα από το Συνερταιρισμόκαι παρέλαση στον απάνω δρόμο του χωριού μέχρι την Πλατεία, με επιστροφή στην Πλάστιγγα.
Εκεί θα γίνουν οι αποκριάτικοι χοροί και θα διαβαστεί η Διαθήκη
Ακολούθως, στο Συνεταιρισμό (όροφος) θα παρουσιαστούν σκετς.
Η βραδιά θα κλείσει με Αποκριάτικο Χορό (στο ισόγειο του Συνεταιρισμού), με "ζωντανή" μουσική, ποτό και σουβλάκια.



Carnival 2013 in Ano Korakiana

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Κορακιανίτικη Αποκριά 2013

Γράφει ο/η Κβκ   
18.03.13

Τελικά, μετά από αρκετά χρόνια ο καιρός ήταν σύμμαχος του φετινού Καρναβαλιού της Κορακιάνας. Λίγο πριν από το μεσημέρι είχαν ρυθμιστεί και οι τελευταίες λεπτομέρειες της προετοιμασίας και έτσι κατά της 5 το απόγευμα η πομπή του Καρνάβαλου ξεκίνησε από τη Μηχανή, τη «μεγάλη της πορεία».

Το πλήθος που ακολουθεί μεγαλώνει καθοδόν και τα άρματα που πλαισιώνουν την πομπή και σατιρίζουν την κορακιανίτικη και καρναβαλική πραγματικότητα, ακολουθούν αργά την προδιαγεγραμμένη τους πορεία, έως την άλλη άκρη του χωριού, στην πλατεία. Εκεί θα πραγματοποιηθεί το πρώτο μικρό σκετς, με πρωταγωνιστές τη «στρατιωτική» συνοδεία του Μεγάλου Βασιλέως.

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Στην Πλάστιγγα, θα πραγματοποιηθεί η επόμενη στάση. Καταμεσής του δρόμου, θα λάβει χώρα ο «κλασσικός» κορακιανίτικος χορός της αποκριάς με σκωπτικούς στίχους, «ακατάλληλους δι’ ανηλίκους» και αμέσως μετά, από το βάθρο που έχει στηθεί ειδικά για την περίσταση, θα διαβαστεί η Διαθήκη του Καρναβάλου του 19ου. Τα «δώρα» του, θα μοιραστούν όπως πάντα, απλόχερα σε όλο σχεδόν το χωριό. Στον ίδιο χώρο θα καεί, σύμφωνα με το έθιμο, ομοίωμα του Βασιλέως και η συνέχεια θα δοθεί στο Συνεταιρισμό.

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Εκεί, στον όροφο, θα παιχτεί όπως και τις προηγούμενες χρονιές το «σπονδυλωτό» σκετς των νεαρών καρναβαλιστών, ενώ όπως και πέρυσι, ένα άλλο σκετς, θα παρουσιαστεί στην κάτω αίθουσα του χορού, λίγο πριν από τα μεσάνυχτα.

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Τα σουβλάκια που ψήνονται από καρναβαλιστές στον εξωτερικό χώρο, το ποτό και η ζωντανή μουσική θα δώσουν το έναυσμα για τον αποκριάτικο χορό, που θα κρατήσει μέχρι τις πρώτες πρωινές ώρες…

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Υ.Γ.: Όπως κάθε χρόνο, από την αναβίωση του κορακιανίτικου καρναβαλιού το 2008, έτσι και φέτος, για την επιτυχή διοργάνωσή του εργάζονται εθελοντικά περί τα σαράντα και πλέον άτομα, τα οποία χρόνο με το χρόνο ανανεώνονται. Επομένως, η δημόσια αναφορά επιλεκτικά σε τρία πρόσωπα, ήταν ατυχής…

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Drumochter Pass
For us the long journey south from Inverarnie to Birmingham, leaving the Highlands by Drumochter Pass, the great Boar of Badenoch our marker for the steady descent to the Lowlands, Blair Atholl, Pitlochry, Dunkeld and Birnham.


Handsworth Park History Tour

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Aftab Rahman:  Hey Simon that image looks really good. We have thrown a stone in the pond and now we will see the ripples.
Simon: Yes indeed and it's our pond and we watch those ripples - assiduously! Let no-one assume that in thinking up and developing a Heritage Trail for East Handsworth and Lozells, we not are also recognising, as did those Victorian predecessors whose lives we are striving to recover, that we live amid the pathologies that beset all cities, and that our project is not some detached indulgence but one which directly - and with the same concern and commitment as characterised the concerns of our ancestors in this area - addresses the conditions presented by deprivation and its effects in misery, crime, anomie and ill-health. The money invested in this project is an investment in reducing crime, and in improving education and health.

On Saturday morning I was guide for a history tour of Handsworth Park - at first called Victoria Park, like many others at the time, in honour of the Queen. The chilly weather and the snow, still falling now and then, did not deter over 15 people turning up. I've been doing tours of Handsworth Park for years.
A photo of the opening - in pouring rain - of Victoria Park Extension on 30 March 1898
This one was included in a more ambitious enterprise dreamed by my friend Aftab Rahman of Legacy West Midlands. Handsworth Park is one of ten other places with historical resonance included in the East Handsworth and Lozells Heritage Trail (see local press)






Aftab designed a poster for the project, set up a website and includes many pictires of places on the Heritage Trail on the pages of Facebook.

Legacy WM won a Heritage Lottery Fund (HLF) grant to develop a heritage trail for Lozells and East Handsworth training 15 volunteers in a greater appreciation and understanding of local history so they can give guided tours. Legacy WM is working with South and City College to develop an accredited course, being run at St Mary's Convent, with the aim of launching the trail on the 25th May 2013. Once trained the volunteers will give guided tours to the community, people across the city and visitors to Birmingham, tours that will include
This was how Tom Rowley described the tour in The Telegraph in February....

Birmingham's new tourist trail - but will coach parties want to visit East Handsworth?

Do tourists really want a guided tour of the once riot-scarred streets of Birmingham?

A snowy day in Handsworth: Aftab Rahman with Tom Rowley on Hunters Road, Handsworth







Walking tours of Oxford begin by the gates of Trinity College. In Bath, the eager participants gather at the Pump Rooms, and in Edinburgh the route starts at the foot of The Mound, near the Royal Mile. But our rendezvous today is the Asian Resource Centre.
I’m the first visitor to sample Britain’s newest – and most controversial – walking tour, and my eager guide, dressed in hardy boots and a baggy cagoule, is Aftab Rahman. Rather than lingering by a Bridge of Sighs, though, the two-hour route will see us walk through two of the country’s most deprived and notorious neighbourhoods – Lozells and East Handsworth – in search of their industrial heritage.
The wards, two miles from Birmingham city centre, are not an obvious tourist draw. One in four of the population is unemployed and a recent police newsletter warns of anti-social behaviour, prostitution and drugs. More than four-fifths of locals are from ethnic minorities. It was here that racial and economic tension sparked the riots in 1985, when two brothers burnt to death in the Post Office they ran and 45 shops were looted. In 2005, further rioting claimed another two lives and injured a police officer.
It is perhaps surprising, then, that the Heritage Lottery Fund has given £38,000 to launch the tour. When it begins in May, volunteers in Victorian garb will guide visitors around the area for free each Saturday.
The local MP, Khalid Mahmood, thinks it is a huge waste of money. “We’re talking about the middle of Birmingham,” he sighs. “I don’t think it is picturesque. We haven’t got the sort of sites they have in York, for example. Of course we have some history, but we’re not in that league. We’ve got to understand where we are. We’ve got better things to spend that money on than walking a group of Japanese tourists around.”
Lottery funding should go towards regenerating the area or helping residents find jobs, he argues. “I think they should provide pamphlets for people to explore the area themselves. Then visitors could interact with local businesses and put some money back into the community.”
Undeterred, we set off in driving snow, and Aftab dismisses Mr Mahmood’s concerns. “The MP should be promoting his own area, not putting it down,” he tells me, as we pass the “Eat Well” Caribbean vegetarian takeaway on Hamstead Road.
Aftab, 42, emigrated from Bangladesh to Lozells with his family when he was six. He admits that the area has generated a bad press over the years. “I came here in 1976 and it wasn’t always rosy,” he recalls. “There was a lot of violent racism in the early days and the riots when I was 15 were devastating. Shops were burnt down, there were petrol bombs and stand-offs with the police.”
Walking tours in unlikely areas are a recent phenomenon and not confined to the West Midlands. Visitors to Belfast will soon be offered a walkabout that includes a dozen sites associated with the worst atrocities of the Troubles. Last year, an enterprising bus company launched a £15 tour of the M25. The chance to spend four hours in a jam seems unlikely to become a major draw. Aftab, on the other hand, is determined that his tour will work. “Ultimately, I want people from London and across the world to come,” he insists. “We have enough to showcase here for the world to see.”
It is impossible not to be cheered by Aftab’s enthusiasm. Whether he is pointing out Soho House, a grand Georgian home where the industrialist Matthew Boulton lived in the 1700s, or “one of only six bandstands in the West Midlands” in the park, he is proud to call himself a local.
Aftab, a former youth worker with Worcester city council, is an energetic supporter of the community and has set up several charities to help young people into work. He will run the walking tour in his role as director of Legacy West Midlands, an organisation he set up to promote the area’s history.
But some of Aftab’s showpieces are, frankly, of limited appeal. The “first Halal slaughterhouse in the West Midlands”, where customers used to be able to select a chicken to be killed, is, perhaps, of minor cultural interest. Similarly, a row of nine Georgian houses, sympathetically restored, have little to commend them beyond charming sash windows.
But the route also takes us into St Mary’s convent on Hunters Road. Built in 1841, it is the work of Augustus Pugin, more famous for much of the interior design of the House of Commons. Two of the nuns greet Aftab warmly and show us Flemish carvings and a grandfather clock by Pugin.
Our final stop is St Mary’s church, back on Hamstead Road. The Norman tower is magnificent but Aftab heads straight to a marble mausoleum where James Watt, the Scottish engineer and inventor whose improvements to the steam engine were key to the Industrial Revolution, is interred.
“This is what my trail is all about,” he says. “We have these hidden gems here that people don’t know about. It is beautiful and we need to make a song and dance about it. People think of Lozells and East Handsworth as a riot hotspot with gang affiliation. But it is not like that. Give this area another 10 years and it will be one of the most desirable places to live. What was Brixton like 10 years ago? The community is growing slowly and it is just a matter of time. Give it a chance.”
Our tour may be over, but Aftab will never tire of walking around his neighbourhood – even if coachloads of tourists fail to turn off the M40 at Junction 16.
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“We’re talking about the middle of Birmingham," said Khalid Mahmood“I don’t think it is picturesque. We haven’t got the sort of sites they have in York, for example. Of course we have some history, but we’re not in that league. We’ve got to understand where we are. We’ve got better things to spend that money on than walking a group of Japanese tourists around.”
Our MP's words angered Lin
"He's rubbishing his own constituency'

I enjoy quotes like this though. They are a challenge. Handsworth, modern Handsworth where we've lived since 1979, has a reputation I rather enjoy, not only because it discourages visits by the kind of people who made comments like this below Rowley's carping piece...

....as you can work out for yourself, the area is a dump. you could work out your own guided tour out with a book on birmingham architecture. i wouldn't recommend someone white do it, as your safety could not be guaranteed. it still has a black presence so mugging is a distinct possibility, and it is now overwhelmingly muslim, so not to be recommended for non muslim women, especially white women, as some of these people regard non muslim women as easy meat (especially if you happen to be very young, white, and from a dysfunctial background). thinking about it, as a brummy i have to say it would be better to take a trip out to worcestershire or gloucestershire and see what england use to/should look like. birmingham is rapidly looking more like a 3rd world country, and i can't see why anyone wishing to sight-see england would want to look at that. sorry to disappoint.
...but much more important because the history that resides in this area is entirely formidable. I've been taking people around Handsworth Park, including my entranced Japanese students, for decades, telling them how "in this place the modern world was invented"
Showing my Japanese students around Handsworth

For years I've lived amid the echoes of this astounding source. Only in the last twenty years or so have I begun to grasp the causes and consequences strewn around me - this place where the industrial revolution was seeded. 
Another history tour of Handsworth Park (photo: Lee Southall)
I cherish the concealment that hides this significance from so many people, including our MP who talks unknowingly of "understanding where we are". It may seem a paradox but I don't want this area to become a museum replete with commodified history. I value it too much for its present life including its risks and the things that anger me as well as those things in which I rejoice. 
Our home in Handsworth

I'm protective, even possessive, cherishing Handsworth the way I might cherish a chest of private family treasures that, as an old man, I might ease open with false reluctance in response to the pleas of curious grandchildren, encouraging their small eager fingers to touch and hold; their ears to listen, uncritically, to my crafted accounts of amazing things; their innocent eyes to gaze untroubled, wondering and happy at what one day they will be taught as 'history'.


Talking about Handsworth Park in the Sons of Rest -  run now as a café by Mark Bent and family



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Dear All. I enclose the Minutes of the Handsworth Helping Hands meeting on 21 March’13
I have collected the HHH van from Mike and parked it at the compound in the usual place. The new battery started the engine instantly even though it had been sitting with both leads connected in very chilly weather for nearly a week.
As it is for extra assurance I have disconnected one battery lead and also ensured that the jump leads previously in the back of the van have been left in the driver’s cabin.  The driver’s log is up to date.
By the way Mike T has now heard from Michelle Climer, via Luke Kennedy (Assistant Service Manager, BCC Fleet and Waste Management) that unless there is a shift of policy, or some specific discussion of the idea, we cannot use our charity waste disposal licence for any waste other than that we can carry in the van
QUOTE: Hello Luke. The charity permit is not transferable, it has been issued on a specific set of criteria. Charity permits cover small quantities of waste from charitable activities, not the clean up of areas and any further work, especially on a larger scale would need to be discussed in detail.  The cost to the Birmingham City Council is quite considerable and would need to be considered against operations that we already provide in the area. Regards, Michelle Climer, Waste Data & Operations Manager, Veolia- 0121-303-7377 END QUOTE
Best wishes, Simon
Thursday night's meeting of Handsworth Helping Hands

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A note from Waseem, one of our ward councillors:
Hi Simon, Received this email this afternoon with the attachment in response to my email to the chair of planning and licensing & public protection committees. Doesn't really say anything positive on how an elderly resident is protected.  Many thanks. Best wishes, Waseem Zaffar, Councillor for Lozells & East Handsworth Ward
Dear Cllr Waseem Zaffar Thank you for sending me the copy of James Wagstaff’s letter of 25 March 2013, also copied to Cllrs Sharp and Dring, in which he responds to your concerns about work at xx Beaudesert Road, Handsworth (refs: 2012/1754/ENF & 2012/05049/PA)
Over six months a woman in her 80s living alone since her husband was taken into care has suffered life threatening harassment in the form of dangerous building and excavation involving heavy falling debris, late night noise, trespass on and damage to her home at the hands of an uncommunicative and insensitive neighbour while we, also her neighbours (Simon Baddeley, Chair Beaudesert Road Residents), her ward councillors (Cllrs Mahmoud Hussain, Hendrina Quinnen and Waseem Zaffar), along with officers (Philip Whittaker, Maxine Brown, Katie Moriarty as well as Waheed Nazir, Director of Planning and Regeneration, Chair of Planning Cllr Mike Sharpe and James Wagstaff, Principal Enforcement Officer at Birmingham City Council) have found themselves powerless to help her as she continues to receive demands from that same neighbour to complete the work he began without any attempt to meet or consult with her before he began major extension work on his property with the consequences that followed.
There has to be something seriously wrong if local government with its formal duty of care for vulnerable people can only suggest to this old lady that she resort to civil action to gain redress for the injustices perpetrated against her.
As you may imagine I could not agree more that James Wagstaff’s exculpatory letter says nothing 'positive on how an elderly resident is protected.’
I am happy for you to circulate my thoughts on this miserable situation.
Yours sincerely, Simon Baddeley
Excavation damage to and trespass on a neighbours property 
....and a comment from my friend Jan D:
as always you hit the nail on the head .As far as this sorry saga is concerned it is shameful and sadly illustrates the parts of local government I do not like and tried with only various degree of success to confront in my time. I can't help feeling that this is the response of a middle ranking bureaucrat and jobs-worth who is hiding behind rules and regulations to justify doing nothing and covering his back. No doubt everything in the letter can be evidenced and I suspect it has been 'authorised' by the legal department who generally speaking are pathologically risk adverse and defensive. It fails to address the issue which is the Council's Duty of Care to Vulnerable people and as such you may have grounds to take action against the council on these grounds.You could draw it to the attention of the Director of Adult Services who is Peter Hay, but whereas they may help the old person they would not on their own have powers to deal with the neighbour. This require a council-wide response. I think the only options now are a sustained publicity campaign and civil legal action. Not a happy scenario! Best of luck, J 
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Aleko Damaskinos, unsuperstitious and collector of unconsidered trifles sends this from Corfu about το Στριγγοπούλι, πάτσα νυχτόβιου αρπακτικού - a nocturnal predator, probably the tawny owl, but perhaps a barn owl:
CORFU SUPERSTITIONS
The bird that 'brings death'
A bird that nobody talks about is this one…
Nobody has ever seen it, but only hears it in the night!
It is called the striglopouli (The screaming bird).
If anyone hears its call near their house it means that some member of the family will die! If though the bird is shot and killed the curse will be lifted!
Nobody has ever managed to do this, and then they would then know what this bird looks like!
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In Athens Greek Independence Day celebrations on 23 March were sombre, overshadowed by news from Cyprus. As I'd expect Nick Malkoutzis writes as intelligent a piece as I've yet read about the financial mess there. While I ponder the idea that Cyprus, an economy hardly the size of Minneapolis (as a friend observed), has in this crisis sent shivers across the globe not to mention the repute of the Eurozone; that dubiously enriched Russian oligarchs are getting a just haircut and therefore "so what?'; and being sure that if I'd been making decisions made by the  'technocrats' in recent days I’d have made the situation worse and the only lessons is one that reinforces the old ballad....
It’s the same the whole world over:
It’s the poor what gets the blame.
It’s the rich what gets the pleasure;
Ain’t it all a bloomin’ shame. 
Nick writes:
At the beginning of last week, Cypriot politicians insisted they would not choose a 'suicidal' option for their country. By the end of the week, they picked one that would inflict mortal wounds instead.
Nicosia’s handling of its unprecedented predicament has been cataclysmic. But the approach adopted by the European Union and International Monetary Fund to Cyprus’s problems has also been disastrous. The eurozone has been building up to an omnishambles moment throughout the debt crisis and it finally struck in a small island state in the Eastern Mediterranean.
The agreement arrived at in Brussels early Monday, following hours of talks involving Cypriot officials, eurozone finance ministers and EU and IMF chiefs, is being billed as the least worst option after all sides took successive wrong turns on the way. That may be the case but it will be little consolation to thousands of Cypriots who have lost a big chunk of their deposits and face uncertain times ahead.
For those looking at the longer-term picture, the island is in for years of extreme difficulties. Its banking system and concomitant services made up about half of the island’s economy. This has now been obliterated. Depositors are unlikely to trust Cypriot banks for some time to come and young Cypriots will have to choose to become something other than lawyers, financiers and accountants. Many will have to consider a future away from their homeland, which faces a double-digit recession in 2013 and more years of economic contraction ahead....
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Lovely and satisfying reactions in Thurrock a few days ago - just one example of across the board reaction among participants to a seminar on Managing in Political Space
I'm invited to do further work on this later in the year.
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