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My plot

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For Father's Day beloved Amy gave me a glossy kitchen-garden porn mag

Early Tuesday morning - about 3.00am - I went downstairs to join Lin who was up late in the kitchen after collecting Richard and Emma from East Midlands off a midnight flight from Turkey.
"I've been having a nightmare. Make me a cup of tea...Please"
"Go on then"
"I was taking an exam.... Thanks...I was taking an exam...on gardening. I thought I was going to do quite well. But I couldn't answer any of the questions. Somehow I lost my paper. Lost everything I needed to at least write something. Time seemed to speed up. My second pen didn't work. I couldn't find the exam room. I had to ask the invigilator, a young American soldier, who made me stand to attention while I asked for assistance. He was unhelpful. It was humiliating. The fiasco seemed to go on for hours. One problem following another. I couldn't complete a single question. Didn't even start on one!"
Amy's friend Liz, who was also up late suggested - via Facebook - that my dream might have come from looking at the gardening magazine Amy gave me for Father's Day - along with a large Toblerone bar.
It is so tempting to use apparent short cuts when dealing with problems on my allotment. For example why not deal with weeds, especially couch grass, by spraying them with glyphosate? Why not lay into slugs and snails and the many other insect pests with organochlorines, organophosphates, carbamates? Punish them! Notwithstanding endlessly rehearsed environmental arguments, I'm beginning to grasp that there's something else I'm supposed to learn about gardening. There's no substitute for constant attention, daily maintenance, alertness, growing experience and learning, steady work and intelligence. I must use my wits. I realise now that 'pottering' is not something to be mildly ridiculed. If I hit nature head on - or try to - I may think I'm 'winning' for a while. Insects will die; weeds will wither  - for a while. Nature hits back by committing temporary suicide or becoming dependent on my shop-bought nutrients. As in intensive agriculture this deal involves growing crops in a more or less sterilised medium regularly re-sanitised and re-fertilized for successive crops. The off-shoots of this more or less effective process are sold on via a confusing repertory of proprietary products to ordinary gardeners across the land. Of course I risk drowning in the fruitless study of endless abusive argument - Rachel Carson versus Dr. J. Gordon Edwards. ....'continued page 94' as 'Private Eye' would say)

For the moment I am delighted at my allotment. Two years ago I was served an official notice to the effect that if I didn't show more signs of working my plot I would be asked to surrender my lease. Nearly four years ago I was struggling. I didn't always look forward to going out to the plot - just 5 minutes cycle ride away. Now....
Plot 14 in 2011 - same bike and same Oscar

I returned from abroad to find proper onions, planted last September, swelling their hips above weedless dark soil...

At last there's stuff coming out of the plot to which Linda will give the time of day. None of this would be possible had I not realised that I have the inestimable advantage of not having to run the allotment like a business. I made a decision last spring - that regardless, or almost regardless of what i could afford, no expense would be spared to make my allotment a success. Of course I've have miles to go before I sleep; the task is as endless as a piece of string. What's been achieved so far would have been impossible without investment in 'black gold' compost - six builder's sacks of it over a year, two similar sacks of topsoil. Add to that my decision to make a network of paths around separate beds that would ensure that in no case would it be necessary to step on the earth when digging, sowing, weeding, or cropping. Add to that my partnership with Winnie who gardens the plot when I'm there and when we're away.
Next we set about making our own compost. Winnie riddles by the composting bays at the back of the plot
Jerusalem artichokes left, rhubarb and parsnips to the right, with Winnie and Oscar under the shed veranda on Plot 14
The other day seeing black fly on the tops of the broad bean plants I prepared a mix of detergent to spray. Coming back the next morning prepared to kill by drowning and slipperiness I found that this years plentitude of ladybirds had done the job for me in one night. Instead I pinched out the tops of the beans to keep the growth in the pods that are already croppable - delectable little beans that take a while to strip from their pods at the kitchen table.  Of course I can't always rely on ladybirds, but the very health of the crop as a result of the attention to the plot and the good compost worked into the top seven inches of the soil helped, especially as so many of large stones and other hard debris have been systematically removed as we've worked the earth. These several hundred carpet tiles, recovered from an abandoned garden we were tidying with Handsworth Helping Hands have been useful, allowing swift temporary paths and as a supplement to the weed-suppressing fabric pegged down by Winnie across the plot. People visit me on the plot. Ron was round the other day to discuss Sandwell Council's consideration of a S106A to build on a third of Black Patch Park.
Tony Jacks "The picture reminds me of days gone by when men tended their allotments and chewed the cud."

I got permission from Dannie, VJA Secy, to crop the hay from the hay from the allotments next to mine; a chance to give Winnie the tutorial she wanted on using a scythe.


A swift learner she called me her 'ballet teacher'. "Flex your legs, Winnie""Sweep the ground!""Get a rhythm" Sharpening too, and adjusting the lay and the grips. The hay we've scythed is piling up nicely against the fence at the bottom of the plot, to add to the compost factory there. At least half a dozen frogs leapt clear into the long grass left along the hedge of plot 15 and the foot of plot 13 where there's a sturdy bramble patch to gve us blackberries late summer. Getting organised I've mapped the plot...
...to help me keep a record of plantings and croppings; to start rotation and queued sowing to avoid gluts.
 There's also been a small calamity. I hardly want to dwell upon it. A letter to the allotment committee just before the meeting the other week:
Dear VJA Committee. Re bees. As you know we had a problem on the allotment last Sunday 7th June. For reasons still unclear but experts suspect was a missing queen following a swarm, the bees which for 3 years have been fine and so welcome, went 'feral', stung two people and frightened away several families from their plot that afternoon. In under 30 minutes I was on my plot with my apiarist friend – Gill Rose - who had come more immediately to the 'rescue’ after a phone call from me. Arriving at my plot I experienced a threat - even on the path while well away from the hive - from a dozen angry bees, and had to back off slowly. Another experienced apiarist – Nigel Fleming (Birmingham Beekeepers Association) - joined us and it was very regretfully decided by him and Gill to apply apicide to the colony. I support their judgement. So now for the first time since June 2010 we have no colony of bees on the VJA, tho' there are still some wild bees roaming the site. I have met and spoken to people affected including the people stung and the people with young children who'd been threatened and had to leave the site. All understood the dilemma. We are preparing the case for reintroducing bees on the allotments and want to make sure we've covered every angle on top of the hazards we had anticipated when the bees first arrived – liability insurance, accreditation of the apiarist, risk assessment, netting around hive, first aid kit to hand, approval by committee after consultation with plot-holders. Everyone I've spoken to seems keen to see the bees back and is sad that such drastic action was needed. Any advice? What is the view of the VJA Committee on re-introducing a bee colony to the site? Did the people directly responsible respond the ‘bee crisis’ swiftly and responsibly; call to Simon from Danny W at 15.37 on Sunday? - attendance at the hive by 16.10; - decision to apply apicide when all bees had returned to hive; - 18.15 Simon notified by Gill that colony has been destroyed; - from 16.00 Simon on site talking to people affected, with follow up on subsequent days and via Facebook and email to VJA committee members Kindest regards, Simon, Plot 14, VJA
Two days after the bee colony was killed I ventured into the net surround of the hive. Gill had removed the top tiers. In what was left of the massacre was a plastic sandwich box. Lidless. Lining its bottom, a mass of small scorched corpses. Blackened. Around the edges of the hive a few bees still stirred weakly. I set about clearing up, putting the remains on the compost.
The bees on Plot 14 in happier times
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In Ano Korakiana last weekend - a party with music, singing and dancing at Piatsa...
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"Γλέντι μετά μουσικής"στο καφέ - "Piatsa"διοργάνωσε χθες το βράδυ (Σάββατο 20 Ιουνίου 2015) ο ΠΑΟΚ, με ποτό, σουβλάκι και μουσική από την ορχήστρα του Γιώργου Μαυρομάτη, που μας χάρισε όμορφες μελωδίες, μέχρι μετά τα μεσάνυχτα, δίνοντας παράλληλα έναν τόνο ζωής στο χωριό μας.Οι παρέες είχαν πιάσει διάφορες γωνιές στα παράπλευρα του δρόμου και απόλαυσαν τα τραγούδια του Γιώργου και των συνεργατών του...Στις ζεμπελιές διέπρεψαν ο Κώστας Σαββανής και η Αγγέλα Θύμη!
 

The Greek Crisis

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A few days ago Oliver and Hannah were staying with their other grandmother, Christine. She introduced them to kite flying...
Oliver and Hannah (Photo: Amy Hollier)
...while yesterday Lin and I were entertaining them.
Hannah sits in the high chair that was my mother's, mine, and our childrens'









This morning I walked with Oscar and Oliver to the allotment and worked through the morning with Winnie, watering and weeding...
Oscar and Oliver ~ the flag was described recently as 'an ode' to a famous photograph taken 45 years ago










...cropping more broad beans and a first batch of peas, shelling them at home...











A sage item from the minutes of a recent VJA committee:
Flags. – Simon has a union jack flag on his allotment and it was questioned whether this was appropriate as it has negative connotations and could give the wrong impression of the allotment. The flag in question is an ode to a photograph taken close to the allotments that has cultural significance and is therefore an artistic and cultural expression.
Boy with flag, Handsworth Park by Vanley Burke 1970 - 1979 (c.)
Celebrating a rainy Diamond Jubilee on the Victoria Jubilee Allotments

Yesterday Amy brought Liz to the plot. She'd not seen it for two years.
"Wow!" she said "You've done good"
Liz can't walk anywhere for more than five minutes...complications with pregnancy means taking care moving about. Baby due in two months.




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Yannis Varoufakis, Greek Finance Minister, wrote recently, about a book he had just written 'talking to my daughter about the economy'...
Yanis Varoufakis, Finance Minister of Greece "Democracy did not have a good day in yesterday’s Eurogroup meeting"

...a book about 'how economic power has emerged from the shadows of political and military might before gradually taking over human societies. The narrative combines history, literature, science fiction films and down-to-earth economic analysis to impress upon teenagers, and various beginners, that economics is an epic drama. Rather than a technical science, it is a battleground on which armies of ideas clash mercilessly and where concepts with a capacity to move mountains emerge; and all that in a war for our own allegiances which are being fought over by powerful interests usually at odds with ours...That, looked at through a piercing eye, behind every economic notion, every theory, there lurks a fascinating debate about human anxieties that only poets, dramatists and musicians have managed to address with any degree of efficiency.'


As it happened – Yanis Varoufakis’ intervention during the 27th June 2015 Eurogroup Meeting
posted on 28th June 2015 The Eurogroup Meeting of 27th June 2015 will not go down as a proud moment in Europe’s history. Ministers turned down the Greek government’s request that the Greek people should be granted a single week during which to deliver a Yes or No answer to the institutions’ proposals – proposals crucial for Greece’s future in the Eurozone...

Greek Lawmakers Approve Decision to Hold Referendum
by Stelios Bouras, Wall Street Journal June 27, 2015 Greek lawmakers gave the green light early Sunday to a proposal by the coalition government to hold a referendum on whether austerity measures demanded by lenders in exchange for further aid should be accepted by the crisis-hit nation...

Greece Will Close Banks to Stem Flood of Withdrawals
by Landon Thomas Jr. and Niki Kitsantonis The New York Times 28 June 2015 ATHENS — Greece will keep its banks closed on Monday and place restrictions on the withdrawal and transfer of money, Prime Minister Alexis Tsipras said in a televised address on Sunday night, as Athens tries to avert a financial collapse....

Travel to Greece: Advice for those travelling to Greece
by Simon Calder, The Independent posted Tuesday 16 June, 2015 Many concerned prospective holidaymakers have got in touch this week as Greece’s financial crisis deepens. A worrying time for the Greeks – but should holidaymakers worry?...
by Viktoria Dendrinou & Gabriele Steinhauser Wall Street Journal June 27, 2015  The eurozone rejected a Greek request for a one-month extension to its bailout Saturday, plunging the country into a period of high uncertainty and raising concerns about wider financial fallout when markets open on Monday....
by Alex Barker Financial Times June 27, 2015 Greek banks are on the edge of failure. Deposit flight is accelerating and Greece’s funding options are running out. Every euro withdrawn from cash machines is backed by emergency funding from the European Central Bank. Without an extension to Greece’s bailout, these ECB emergency loans are in doubt. Alexis Tsipras, the Greek prime minister, has 
Reuters June 27, 2015 Greek Prime Minister Alexis Tsipras called a referendum on austerity demands from foreign creditors on Saturday, rejecting an "ultimatum" from lenders and putting a deal that could determine Greece's future in Europe to a risky popular vote...
Associated Press June 27, 2015 German Chancellor Angela Merkel has emerged undamaged from the global financial crisis, European bailouts, an astonishing U-turn on nuclear power and the crisis over Ukraine. Now, with the future of efforts to resolve Greece's fiscal woes up in the air, the long-serving leader looks well-placed to emerge strong even if they fail.
by Hugo Dixon Reuters June 27, 2015 Alexis Tsipras has taken a massive gamble on Greece’s future. By calling a referendum on whether to accept the creditors’ latest offer of cash in return for unpopular reforms, the Greek prime minister is offering the people a choice between the bad and the extremely bad. Meanwhile, the world may be about to face the biggest default in history... 
by Peter Spiegel Financial Times June 26, 2015 Alexis Tsipras, the Greek prime minister, has announced a national referendum on whether his country should agree to creditors’ demands that would release desperately-needed bailout aid to avoid national bankruptcy. In a televised address to the nation after a late-night meeting of his cabinet, Mr Tsipras announced that the plebiscite would be.... 

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'Ευρωπαϊκή Οικονομική Κοινότητα ~ The European Union' 1980 by Aristeidis Metallinos
In the week before we last left Ano Korakiana, Linda, I and Angeliki Metallinos, completed a list of nearly all her grandfather's sculptures and marble reliefs. After three and half hours we had a re-numbered list based on the year of the carving, with dimensions, brief description, and whether in local stone or in marble from Kozani...
Aristeidis Metallinos (1908-1987) catalogue draft
...giving us the raw material for a catalogue which, talking to several gallery curators recently, I believe should be created as a website. I'm not dismissing a hard copy. I'm recognising that having information about Aristeidis Metallinos on the web is a better goal. From such a site, easy to edit, different catalogues with varying emphases can be made into temporary hard texts. The web option, avoiding colour or even half-tone printing is also a deal less costly.  I am still exploring who should write about the laic sculptor. On 21st June, I was excited to receive a letter from the scholar - Dr. Eurydice Antzoulatou-Retsila, since 2009 professor at the School of Cultural Studies at the University of Peloponnese in Kalamata - who had first written about Metallinos in 1985, when he was still alive:
Dear Simon.
At last I can communicate with you, because I had terrible problems with my computer all this period, being afraid that I had lost all my archives, but finally all has been arranged well.
So, let me first thank you deeply for your interest in the work of Metallinos. I was feeling the same when in 1982 I had discovered him and I had faced all negative attitudes from all parts of communities in Corfu. But I insisted and I wrote my article then . My husband , now, says that nothing goes in vain and he is very glad with your initiative , because he, himself ( as artist, he is film director) had believed in this work.
Perhaps my interest those days was founded in my work as curator at the National Museum of Greek Folk Art (in Athens) and my interest in what is humble and simple. After all, this had been my first speciality (history archaeology, art focused on Greek folk art, my PhD dissertation was on the wedding crowns of modern Greece, those created in gold and silver and kept in local churches or in museums).
I will be very glad indeed to contribute in the volume you are preparing and actually I am planning to visit Corfu again in September to meet with my old friends there (I was professor of museum studies and cultural management at the Ionian University there from 1994 to 2009), to start a new research I am planning and of course I will enjoy seeing again the works of Metallinos.
This last period has been very hectic for me, because I am retiring  end of August and lots of things in the administration must be arranged (I am dean since 2011…).
I am planning also my new career  (my third one!!)  in music this time (piano and singing as soprano) and I am really very excited. My first career was as curator at the museum (and also creating lots of museums all over Greece), my second as university professor and now as musician. Not bad for a variety in life !!!
So, dear Simon, thank you again for these wonderful ideas you have, I am sharing your interest and I will be glad to contribute. But the greatest pleasure for me is your interest in Greek things, expressed in this very sensitive way, especially this period, where this country and this society is really in a very bad situation.
Be well, take good care, greetings to Linda and let us try to meet soon
Best,
Eurydice
Plaque on the front of the Aristeidis Metallinos Museum in Ano Korakiana - the year the builder became the sculptor
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The amount of greenery to be salvaged from crops, from neighbouring fallow allotments just scythed - in weeds, pods, tops and hay...all for long term composting...
Windrows raked from the scythings of fallow allotments either side of plot 14

...while the bays by the fence may have produced some humus by this time next year...with one bay providing almost usable soil though full of annual weed seeds.
This bay includes much of the couch grass weeded out over the last year
I've realised my friend Ziggi's point that it's not good just growing stuff, however successfully. You must grow it to eat and ensure that you bring it for cooking by agreement with the cook. Don't just turn up like the 'hunter-gatherer' with a bag of veg and expect Lin to be grateful. Check what's needed. Scarf what's to be cropped into her plans for meals. Allow also for the extra time involved in preparation compared to veg off the supermarket shelf.
Lin didn't ask for these but I needed to do some thinning of the parsnip bed



Once cropped every one of these sweet little parsnips needs to be topped, tailed and scrubbed.

That took me half an hour at the sink, slightly less time than it took me yesterday to shell fresh peas for two, or today, for Lin to shell a saucepan full of broad beans. The same goes for the many small new potatoes that were 'ordered' for a Sunday family supper..
From Amy who brought the cakes to finish the meal: Thanks mummy for cooking dinner for all of us was very yummy and much needed. Liz says thank you too smile emoticon
Et in Arcadia ego 

Hanging out to dry ~ 'the nightmare of Greek history'

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'...Under their thundering rage at Syriza, those who will vote yes are also afraid, not just of losing their privileges as some on the left would have it, not just of the deeper collapse that will surely follow default, but of being torn from Europe and the stability it’s meant, of being thrown back into the nightmare of Greek history.'
'As Greece fractures, old wounds are reopening'Maria Margaronis is the finest of commentators on her country - eloquent, informed, wise on how history waits in the wings.
Ano Korakiana

Handsworth

Ano Korakiana
Jodhpur
Handsworth
Liapades


'Immoral chapter'Aristeidis Metallinos of Ano Korakiana, 1985 (cat.220 marble relief 75 x 59)
'God's Law - the poor make children so the rich...'Aristeidis Metallinos of Ano Korakiana, 1986 (cat.237 marble relief 40 x 59)
These are pictures of two of at least 260 works made during the 1970s and 80s - by the sculptor Aristeidis Metallinos of the village of Ano Korakiana. With the support of the Metallinos family Linda and I with the sculptor's grand-daughter, Angeliki, are working on listing all the artist's works. Accompanied by titles and explanations these will be displayed on a website to be constructed over the next few months. These marble reliefs - a tiny sample - capture the laic sculpture's pungent ribald take on injustice. This pungency is only part of his work. See his record of the disappearing pastoral economy of his village - Ano Korakiana in relief.
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How I would vote in the Greek referendum
Joseph Stiglitz ~ The Guardian, Monday 29 June 2015
...And, sure enough, what we are seeing now, 16 years after the eurozone institutionalised those relationships, is the antithesis of democracy: many European leaders want to see the end of prime minister Alexis Tsipras’ leftist government. After all, it is extremely inconvenient to have in Greece a government that is so opposed to the types of policies that have done so much to increase inequality in so many advanced countries, and that is so committed to curbing the unbridled power of wealth. They seem to believe that they can eventually bring down the Greek government by bullying it into accepting an agreement that contravenes its mandate.
...By contrast, a no vote would at least open the possibility that Greece, with its strong democratic tradition, might grasp its destiny in its own hands. Greeks might gain the opportunity to shape a future that, though perhaps not as prosperous as the past, is far more hopeful than the unconscionable torture of the present.

Sunday

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Oliver and I harvested peas, broad beans, onions, garlic and potatoes for Sunday supper

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The European Commission released a statement on the Greek referendum result:
Brussels, 05 July 2015. The European Commission takes note of and respects the result of the referendum in Greece.
President Juncker is consulting tonight and tomorrow with the democratically elected leaders of the other 18 Eurozone members as well as with the Heads of the EU institutions. He will have a conference call among the 'Euro-Institutionals' (with the President of the Euro Summit, the President of the Euro Group and the President of the European Central Bank) on Monday morning. He intends to address the European Parliament in Strasbourg on Tuesday.
Earlier today Martin Schulz, the President of the European Parliament warned of difficult future situations for Greeks following their choice on Sunday.
An urgent Eurogroup Working Group meeting will also take place tomorrow.

Referendum poll in Corfu; probably a greater 'No' majority than anywhere else in Greece....
ΕνημέρωσηΕνσωμάτωση:Ψήφισαν
06-07 00:40222/22262.613
100,00 %57,35 %
 Ερώτημα%
Δεν εγκρίνεται / ΟΧΙ71,25
Εγκρίνεται / ΝΑΙ28,75
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In Ano Korakiana, Corfu...

Παιδικές συγχορδίες
choropatras062015b.jpg
Χθες το βράδυ, ο αύλειος χώρος του Αγίου Γεωργίου γέμισε από κόσμο, κυρίως παιδιά και το ζεστό, υγρό αεράκι της καλοκαιρινής νύχτας ανέμισε τις φωνητικές συγχορδίες από τη μια άκρη του χωριού στην άλλη. Οι εμφανίσεις των παιδιών (και των δασκάλων τους) των παιδικών Χορωδιών της Κέρκυρας και της Πάτρας στο χωριό μας ήταν μια άλλη πνοή, μια ένδειξη στο ότι η «ζωή (μπορεί να) είναι και αλλού», μακριά από την πλημμυρίδα των τρεχουσών  «εξελίξεων» (το σημερινό δημοψήφισμα). Με το ίδιο το γεγονός της χορωδιακής σύμπραξης να προσδίδει ένα άλλο νόημα στην κοινή μας συμβίωση, όπως άλλωστε τόνισε ο Σπύρος Π. Σαββανής, αλλά και ο Δήμαρχος Κέρκυρας Κώστας Νικολούζος, που μαζί με τον Τάκη Μεταλληνό, το Δημήτρη Μεταλληνό, το Σταμάτη Απέργη, το Γιώργο Ρεδεστινό και τον υπόλοιπο κόσμο, παρακολούθησαν την ωραία εκδήλωση.
choropatras062015a.jpg

Διοργανωτές της εκδήλωσης ήταν οι Ενορίες Αγίου Γεωργίου και Αγίου Αθανασίου, η Φιλαρμονική Κορακιάνας και η Δημοτική Κοινότητα Κορακιάνας.

Glut

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My allotment ia at last fertile; as productive as I'd hoped. There lies this year's problem. Glut.
Lots of broad beans (photo: Winnie Hall)
I have been concentrated on getting things to grow; delighted at the plot's fecundity; taking home onions, potatoes, peas, broad beans, garlic. I have to ensure this fertility continues but that it's planned to avoid glut...as well as shortage. 
Says the Royal Horticultural Society: Gluts and shortages are common to most vegetable gardeners. However, with some planning and by sowing seed little and often in batches, it is possible to ensure plants are ready to harvest in succession throughout the growing season.
Little and often. We've just picked a good thirty kilos of broad beans all maturing in the last few days. Our deep freezer was already full; not organised for gluts. And anyway it's freshness we value; food picked and on the plate the same evening. I've given bags of broad beans to neighbours and family but there's still loads too much to eat in the next week. At least I can leave potatoes in the ground, to dig up when needed. I can pull dry and store onions and garlic.
All the same I feel muddled. It's the plot's next chapter.
I've been sowing more runner beans, and trying the first time with beetroots and parsnips - but still not 'little and often'. I spent a couple of hours rejigging the freshest compost bay, full of recently harvested leaves, stalks and pods. I raked out about two thirds of it. I spread a two inch layer of soil on what was left riddled from the heap of earth full of weed, twigs, stones and rubbish removed from the plot half a year ago. On this I sprinkled a whole kilo bag of organic compost activator given me by Winnie's dad the other day. Then I put back a foot height of greenery and repeated the process of riddling an earth layer on which I spread Garotta. I added the remaining greenery and covered that too with black earth sprinkled with the last of the Garotta. This afternoon I reached into one of the vent's I'd driven into the pile and found it pleasingly hot. Now to get the other heaps working.
Two of my compost bays. One working at last.

Winnie added to the glut pulling potatoes from a bed where they are still coming up slightly scabby and in some cases showing signs of attack by wireworm and slugs.
"That bed is entirely too busy"
"It's a mess" said Winnie
The potatoes are too compressed, along with onions planted in their midst and the soil is probably too rich - a complete turn-up for the books.
"Yes at the start of last year I dug in manure up this end and then 6 months later I was adding compost. We'll not put more potatoes in there for a bit. Perhaps level it off and use it for turnips?"
Dennis has been helping Winnie who's been away for a week on rare sick leave.

Digging up the broad beans, I saw something I'd only read about and seen in black and white illustration in Gardener's Earth...Quite fascinating! I wouldn't have had the slightest notion, even had I noticed them, of the significance of the small white nodules on the roots.

Now I know these are mycorrhizal fungi (μυκός/mikos=fungus, ρίζα/riza=roots) - beneficial fungi growing in association with plant roots. The fungi have formed on the broad bean roots and have been taking sugars from them ‘in exchange’ for moisture and nutrients gathered from the soil via fungal strands. If the soil is too hard or dry the association between plant and fungus cannot occur. As it is these mycorrhizas greatly increase the absorptive area of a plant. They are extensions to its root system.
  • Marilou Scott The white nodules are caused by nitrifying bacteria not fungi. These bacteria fix nitrogen gas from the air and nitrogen products are stored in the white nodules on the roots of legumes eg peas and beans. This is an important part of the nitrogen cycle...See More
    18 hrs · Unlike · 2
  • Simon Baddeley Thanks Marilou. I know I ought to get out more but explain which things in my image are bacteria - which I thought were invisibly small - and which bits are fungi which I thought were visible. What exactly do you call the white nodules caused by the bacteria you mention? Thanks so much for the other advice BTW
  • Marilou Scott Simon the white nodules on those roots contain the nitrogen fixing bacteria and the store of nitrates. You cannot see the bacteria inside as you say.
    I can't actually see any mycelium of the fungi in your pic. They may be there but not visible or dried
    ...See More
    16 hrs · Unlike · 1
  • Simon Baddeley Ah-ha. Got it. Pulling them out was bound to destroy the delicate mycelium web....I learn more every day. Wow!

    Simon Baddeley's photo.
    14 hrs · Edited · Like · 1
  • Simon Baddeley ...this is what I read, and now I understand more exactly with your help what I'm seeing (and not seeing). The diagram here shows the broad bean roots and the nodules but not the fungi filaments -mycelium - in the image I got from the web (see above)

    Simon Baddeley's photo.
    14 hrs · Edited · Like · 1
  • Jude Ongeri If you cut a nodule in half it should go red like blood because of the iron in the chemical the bacteria uses to fix the nitrogen.
    2 hrs · Unlike · 1
  • Marilou Scott That is interesting Jude. I've just looked it up and it acts like our haemoglobin and makes oxygen available for the respiration of the nitrogen fixing bacteria in the nodule without inhibiting their nitrogen fixing enzymes.
    1 hr · Unlike · 1
  • Simon Baddeley I'm going to get a microscope to help me understand and see more of what's going on in the soil of my plot. I was so grateful to the friend on FB who got me started on this by referring me to a book written in 1944 under war time economy conditions called Gardener's Earth by Stanley Whitehead. I usually read police procedurals but I found I couldn't put this book down! It is written clearly but it does not attempt to simplify the incredible complexity of the earth in which we grow our vegetables http://democracystreet.blogspot.co.uk/2015_05_01_archive...



    DEMOCRACYSTREET.BLOGSPOT.COM|BY SIMON BADDELEY
  • Simon Baddeley So beautiful Leghemoglobin...

    Simon Baddeley's photo.
    1 hr · Like · 1
Working with Winnie and her son Dennis on Plot 14, Victoria Jubilee

All these threads

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I seem to have a lot; maybe too much on the go.

We've just spent nearly £300 getting the clutch master cylinder replaced on the HHH van - the result I suspect of so much short term stopping and starting for myriad jobs up and down the streets of Handsworth. The work was done swiftly by Allen and colleagues at Villa Cross Garage. We're back in business. Second: to qualify for our latest grant application - a bid for cash from the Mobilising Communities Small Grants Fund 2015/16...
Our latest committee meeting

...all committee officers of HHH have to go through the Disclosure and Barring Service (DBS) process - to check we can work in and around gardens and premises where there may be children and vulnerable people. We also have to show the granting agency our policy on the protection of children and vulnerable people (see 'files' at the top of this FB page). Third: All four of us qualified to drive the HHH van must now give details to our insurer of the new DVLA 'licence information code'. This has required scanning both sides of each driver's licence; sending the images plus other details to the insurer. Soon after these details had been transmitted on PDF files, the insurer apologised and said they'd mislaid our details asking Lin to send them again by which time the DVLA code had expired and each of us had to generate another via their website.
As it is I struggle to write grant applications, detesting forms, finding means to procrastinate.
Cat Flea relaxes on some Handsworth Helping Hands paperwork



On a rainy day a few weeks ago Lin and I, Nick and Denise were in Handsworth Park to be be presented with a cheque for £200 by Shaana Shabir, Community Life Colleague from Asda Stores, Perry Barr - part of Asda's 'Chosen By You' top prize for community groups. Denise's nephew and Oliver enjoyed the puddles on the path running along the top of the park pond.


*** *** ***
There's the Black Patch too. 16th of June last we had an interesting meeting in the Soho Foundry Pub with Tony Deep MBE of Eastside Foods....
A meeting with Tony Deep Woura at The Soho Foundry Pub

... His company wants to build on part of Black Patch Park. Sandwell MBC officers are entertaining the idea - an impossibly vague one - of a S106 Agreement with Eastside who want to use the site to build an autoclaving plant in return for contributing to the rest of the park's regeneration. The meeting was good tempered, polite. We agreed to respond in a fortnight. Ron Collins our chair came out to my shed to discuss our response...

...A few days later Phil Crumpton and I met at Urban Coffee in the city centre to work up a draft letter which we all reviewed. Andrew Simon, our secretary sent a final version of a reply from the Friends to Sandwell MBC's senior planning officer, Hayley Insley, copied to Tony Deep:
Dear Hayley
TheFriends of Black Patch Park much appreciated the opportunity to meet with officers from SMBC, Tony Deep and colleagues from East End Foods Plc and Smart Waste Ltd on Tuesday 16th June. We agreed that we would respond as promptly as possible with our initial views on the proposed development.
As a Friends group we have no problem with engaging in a constructive dialogue with SMBC and East End Foods Plc concerning the future of Black Patch Park and the surrounding area. However, as we expressed at the meeting there are a number of key issues that we would like to share.
The Black Patch in winter

Our constitution states: “The Friends of Black Patch Park is a group committed to the retention in perpetuity of the whole of Black Patch Park and to the improvement of the Park for the benefit of all local people.“ Endorsing a development that would see a significant proportion of the park disappear is therefore a major step for the Friends to take and will in our view require much more detailed information on what is being proposed and dialogue on how any proposed development might be done in such a way as to minimise the social and environmental impacts, while maximising the benefits to the park – its heritage and biodiversity – and the current and future and park users.
We are concerned that the current proposals do not appear to be part of a more comprehensive cross-border plan. There are significant residential areas in the neighbouring authority that represent the main users, or potential users of the park, and are likely to be the people most affected by any proposed development. Cross border consultation would seem to us to be paramount, especially given the proposed boundary review to report in 2017.
We are also not convinced by the arguments that housing is not a better option for Kitchener Street and Foundry Lane. We believe that there are plenty of good arguments to be put forward for housing as a preferred option. In our view the infrastructure is no worse than that available to existing residential areas in neighbouring Soho Ward and significant improvements could be made with little cost, for example pedestrian access through Merry Hill allotments to the Metro stop.
While we appreciate that the proposed developments might bring much needed investment for the park which we all desire, we are not convinced that this is a “last chance opportunity” for such investment. Black Patch Park and its surroundings has huge potential – adjacent as it is to Soho Foundry a major landmark in the history of the industrial revolution, birthplace of Charlie Chaplin, and a centre for Romany culture.
We very much appreciate the interest shown by Tony Deep and East End Foods plc in the Black Patch area and we would like to re-iterate our willingness to meet further with representatives from SMBC, East End Foods plc and SmartWaste Ltd to discuss the proposed developments in more detail and the issues raised.
Yours sincerely
cc Tony Deep – Chair, East End Foods plc
*** *** ***
Lin and I have been making trips down to Lydbrook to sort the higgledy-piggledy mix of furniture, books, tools, kitchenware that seems to have been strewn around Rock Cottage during its restoration. The place is carpeted. the bathroom and kitchen  have been renewed; the windows replaced and properly sealed and the whole repainted...
The path up Bell Hill to Rock Cottage





...Oscar has joined us on each visit.
I've replaced the front door lock. I brought down two armchairs, a sofa, a washing machine and Lin's spare sewing machine and a new mattress for our double bed. I've rehung a large shelf. A pile of books have come out of cardboard boxes, been brushed clear of dust and mould and put back on it. Small jobs succeed small jobs. No single room upstairs is clear. We've still no bedding. The washer has yet to be plumbed in. I've no storage for tools. The garden is overgrown, though kept in check after I paid for £150 worth of strimming by Evolution Trees. Lin and I bicker about the slowness of the process. I'd hoped the place would be livable this summer but I suspect we'll need to extend that goal - to the autumn.
Amy's washer moved to Lydbrook. Our neighbour Craig Aston helped me cart it up Bell Hill and lift it into the cottage

*** *** ***
These last nine months the health of Lin's mum and dad. my parents-in-law, has been a major preoccupation. Arthur's 97. Dot 91. Both are taken for hospital visits by the local NHS transport service but on those occasions when Lin needs to talk to doctors, nurses and consultants, she goes, as well as helping take care of her parents' garden. Dot has been receiving both chemotherapy and radiotherapy. It's an ordeal for them both. Lin too.
*** *** ***
I've told Angeliki Metallinos that when we return in September to Ano Korakiana I will have a draft catalogue of her grandfather's works. I have met with my son. Richard assured me on Wednesday afternoon that he has started work on a web version of this. There will a website - a portal to articles about Aristeidis Metallinos, and most important, an accessible list of all his works with photos. Richard Pine sent me details of his latest book - out in October - which will include a photo by Rob Groove of one of Metallinos' marble reliefs.
I really hope that after her letter to me in June, Eurydice Antzοulatοu-Retsila, will come to Corfu in September, visit the village museum, again see the works of the laic sculptor and write us an article building on what she wrote in 1985 when he was still alive....
...So, let me first thank you deeply for your interest in the work of Metallinos. I was feeling the same when in 1982 I had discovered him and I had faced all negative attitudes from all parts of communities in Corfu. But I insisted and I wrote my article then . My husband , now, says that nothing goes in vain and he is very glad with your initiative , because he, himself ( as artist, he is film director) had believed in this work. Perhaps my interest those days was founded in my work as curator at the National Museum of Greek Folk Art (in Athens) and my interest in what is humble and simple. After all, this had been my first speciality (history archaeology, art focused on Greek folk art, my PhD dissertation was on the wedding crowns of modern Greece, those created in gold and silver and kept in local churches or in museums). I will be very glad indeed to contribute in the volume you are preparing and actually I am planning to visit Corfu again in September to meet with my old friends there (I was professor of museum studies and cultural management at the Ionian University there from 1994 to 2009), to start a new research I am planning and of course I will enjoy seeing again the works of Metallinos....
When I read the letter Alexis Tsipras had written to EU ministers just over three weeks ago and considered the humiliating circumstances surrounding his words I thought of C.P. Cavafy...
 ...of his 1910 poem Satrapy ~ Η Σατραπεία

What a calamity that you who are made
for beautiful achievements and renowed,
should always be, through your hard fate, denied
occasion and success; that you should always
be hindered by the mean observances,
the littlenesses, and indifferences.
And how unblest the day when you give in
(when you have lost yourself, and you give in),
and you depart, a wayfarer for Susa,
and come before the monarch Artaxerxes
who welcomes you with favour at his Court,
offering you satrapies and things akin.
And you, despairing, you accept those honours,
those that are not the honours you desire.
Your soul is hungering for other things:
the praises of the Demos and the Sophists, —
the difficult, invaluable “Well done”;
the Agora, the Theatre, the bays.
These — how should Artaxerxes ever give,
how should you ever find in satrapies;
and what a life will yours be now, without them.

Τι συμφορά, ενώ είσαι καμωμένος
για τα ωραία και μεγάλα έργα
η άδικη αυτή σου η τύχη πάντα
ενθάρρυνσι κ’ επιτυχία να σε αρνείται·
να σ’ εμποδίζουν ευτελείς συνήθειες,
και μικροπρέπειες, κι αδιαφορίες.
Και τι φρικτή η μέρα που ενδίδεις,
(η μέρα που αφέθηκες κ’ ενδίδεις),
και φεύγεις οδοιπόρος για τα Σούσα,
και πηαίνεις στον μονάρχην Aρταξέρξη
που ευνοϊκά σε βάζει στην αυλή του,
και σε προσφέρει σατραπείες και τέτοια.
Και συ τα δέχεσαι με απελπισία
αυτά τα πράγματα που δεν τα θέλεις.
Άλλα ζητεί η ψυχή σου, γι’ άλλα κλαίει·
τον έπαινο του Δήμου και των Σοφιστών,
τα δύσκολα και τ’ ανεκτίμητα Εύγε·
την Aγορά, το Θέατρο, και τους Στεφάνους.
Aυτά πού θα σ’ τα δώσει ο Aρταξέρξης,
αυτά πού θα τα βρεις στη σατραπεία·
και τι ζωή χωρίς αυτά θα κάμεις. 

Cavafy was in Alexandria, shortly before he began to be known and esteemed as poet, writing in this poem about his own life. How his musing resonates with the present circumstances of his nation; with the grievous personal humiliation of all Greece.  Tsipras and his colleagues have tried. They have failed. Greece continues to pay back its impossible debt, one that the IMF has proclaimed unsustainable, even if she implements all the conditions of the third bail-out agreement.
No-one in the world has yet managed to grow an effective grand theory that can stand against the neo-liberal paradigm. I suspect there are dormant seeds in many places, even unseen seedlings sprouting in unexpected soils; sturdy perennials which are yet indistinguishable at this stage of their growth from transitory annuals.
Only some later history will claim, with the inestimable benefit of hindsight, their contribution to an idea stronger than those that now rule us; a new set of ideas and practices as robust and truthful as those ideas and practices that have taken so strong a possession of our common sense. No great idea (the heliocentric theory of the solar system, the evil of the death penalty, the wrongness of slavery, the rights of women, the theory of evolution, the equality of races) came to flourishing growth in the lifetime of those who first intimated its innate truth and rightness. Stand against neo-liberalism? Commit yourself to loneliness, doubt, ridicule, humiliation, and despair - yet still be brave, happy, good humoured and sweet company.
In that respect I give high marks to Yanis Varoufakis...
...but I credit too how, on the Ano Korakiana website, my friend and neighbour, village historian Kostas Apergis - Κώστας Απέργης - has written:
"Μνημόνιο"... ΓιονάτικοΗ τραγική επικαιρότητα για τη χώρα μας δεν είναι ούτε πρωτόφαντη ούτε μοναδική.Η εφαρμογή σκληρών οικονομικών πρακτικών αποδεικνύεται συνεπής και διαχρονική,διότι στηρίζεται σε «αλάνθαστους»,όπως φαίνεται νόμους του Καπιταλισμού, δηλαδή στην εκμετάλευση των μη εχόντων από τους έχοντες.
Η επιστροφή της οικονομίας της χώρας σε συνθήκες μεσαίωνα και φεουδαρχικού συστήματος δεν νομίζω ότι μπορεί να αμφισβητηθεί με οποιοδήποτε δικαιολόγημα...
Ας δούμε όμως μια περίπτωση δανεισμού του 1801.Το μέγεθος δεν έχει σημασία.Οι όροι και οι συνέπειες είναι αυτές που καθορίζουν τη σχέση και την ηθική του συστήματος...
«Στο κάνγγελο εμού νοταρίου στο χωρίον της Κορακιάνας.....οι Γιωργάκης και Δημήτρης αδέλφια Ιωνά του Ιωάννη από παρόν χωρίον, εσυμφώνησαν με τον Σπύρο Κένταρχο ποτέ Μανώλη από παρόν χωρίον και του δίνουν δανεικά 228 τάλαρα ασημένια και υπόσχεται ο άνωθεν Κένταρχος να τους τα επιστρέψει την πρώτη του ερχομένου μηνός Ιουλίου μέ τόκο....και από σήμερα μένει υποθήκη προς τους αδελφούς το κοπάδι του Κένταρχου, πρόβια και τραγιά κεφάλια 98, και ο Κένταρχος υποχρεούται να δίνει το τυρί που θα κάμει και τα μαλλιά στο σπίτι των αδελφών. Εκεί το τυρί θα αλατιέται και θα το πουλεί ο Κένταρχος και τα χρήματα θα υπολογίζονται πάνω στο χρέος, και αν δεν πιάσουν το ποσόν των 228 τάλαρων να συμπληρώνει ο Κένταρχος πουλώντας και το κοπάδι και αν πάλι δεν συμπληρωθεί το ποσό να υπολογίζεται το υπόλοιπο σε λάδι προς ενάμιση τάλαρο η ξέστα, λάδι λαπάντε μέχρι τον Ιανουάριο 1802...
Μάρτυρες:Δήμος Μαρζούκος ποτέ Σπύρου και Θοδωρής Κοντοστάνος ποτέ Στέλιου όλοι από παρόν χωρίον» Η πράξη έγινε στις 3/2/1801
Τύφλα νάχει ο Σόϊμπλε και οι υπόλοιποι Ευρωπαίοι «φίλοι μας»!!!.Επειδή το ένα μέρος των συμβαλλομένων είναι Γιονάτες έτσι καταλαβαίνω και τον κουμπάρο μου...
ΚΩΣΤΑΣ ΑΠΕΡΓΗΣ
*** *** *** ***
In Handsworth, our water rates are over £800 a year. In March we ordered a water meter from Severn Trent Water. Their publicity assured us this could halve the cost of our water. In June we came back to England and read the meter. Having started a zero it showed that in our absence 40 cubic metres of water had leaked from our supply pipe. A team from the company came out to check. They found the leak was on our side of the meter. our responsibility. We paid £200 excess to our insurance company and were promised a refund on the cost of the water leaked - a one-off arrangement STW provides with meter installations. A pleasant water engineer turned up with sounding kit and other tools....
Terry finds our leak
...in twenty minutes he'd located the leak in the thin thick-walled lead supply pipe, under the roots of the old cherry tree we had cut down nearly 10 years ago as its roots were pushing down ours and our neighbour's garden walls.
A section from our water supply pipe
"We'll be back" said Terry "after we've got permission to dig up the pavement. Then we'll run an alternative pipe up your drive. We won't try to dig into the tree roots. You don't have to do anything more."
*** *** ***
I am impatient about progress on the project to digitize my stepfather's tape-film archive; something I've been working on over several years, since the archive of 16mm film and 1/4" reel-to-reel tape was recovered from the South West Film and Television Archive in 2012. In late May while in Corfu, Chris Perry of Big Centre TV said the project had been assigned a new editor - Simon Coward.
Simon Coward and Chris Perry with me at the Walsall Studio base of Big Centre TV





Days passed through June. Pressing the matter I found that Ascent Media in London had hardly started to digitise the film and tape I'd brought them last March. No invoice had been generated. I got an apology from Simon Warren at Ascent - now, to add confusion, called Encore - and a batch of five episodes of archive Out of Town was given to Simon Coward for editing a fortnight ago. I knew this wasn't ever going to be straightforward. It hasn't been all along, but I'm hoping we are now in slightly faster production than so far.
*** *** ***
Our son dropped round on Sunday evening. He and Lin shelled the whole batch of broad bean pods I'd harvested. Lin blanched them, put them into plastic bags and into the deep freeze. The pods will go on the compost. Nothing wasted. Glut waste avoided.

The smoke again

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Brompton at New Street

A day trip to London by cycle and train. These days when I've stopped reading newspapers, seeing the newsstands is a reminder of why not, tho' I enjoy stoking generalised choler with Private Eye, the middle-class monthly that drove Punch, into decline decades ago.
New Street stationers

Even I’m finding London quite hard work, so thick is the traffic. Road cramming motorists in buses, cars, vans and trucks with bikers and cyclists filling spaces between, and the law more alert to cyclists breaking rules, like cutting lights or venturing along a pavement. I’m taking my Brompton to London for its annual service down in Battersea. Once through the Strand, and down Whitehall to Parliament I’m free to go on the still newish embankment blue cycleway. From Phoenix Cycles I take a 170 bus to Victoria where, finding an Italian run greasy-spoon, I order a mug of tea and a 'Full English' breakfast. My order arrives – baked beans, bacon, hash brown, soft fried egg, sausage and buttered toast. 



Half way through it a man in the cramped space of the café starts playing the BBC news – pictures and sound on his smart phone. Loud. Intrusive.
I wait a while, hoping he’ll have picked up a particular item that interests him, then turn it off. But no.
“Turn that off please. It’s really annoying” I say
The resultant exchange is neither a debate nor an argument, just an enraged reaction – verbal with many an F-word intensifier backing various primate threat behaviours including shoulder hunching, jaw advancing, and finger thrusting. Once a skilled fencer I parry in the air, riposte, counter-parry and riposte again. He rises to his feet to increase the threat. I do the same, taller by six inches. The waitress asks us to stop-it and suggests I go to a table in another part of the tiny space. I apologies to her but explain that I am unwilling "on principle" to move. The noise-maker continues, cursing under his breath, but is asked by the waitress not to use such language here “please sir”.
How absurd we must look. I imagine her thought-bubble "Men!".
My adversary departs. I follow and the waitress again apologises to me.
“Please” I say “I apologise to you for such idiocy. It was a great breakfast”.
I stroll down Wilton Street looking in windows – a flâneur. Three fire engines arrive with sirens and bells and nine men and one woman get out to examine a panel in the side of a hairdressers.

Successive firemen try to remove the panel. Impossible. The women fire-fighter squirts the grooves around it with a high pressure hose, pushing out cigarette ends and sweet wrappers that might be a fire risk. The fire engines depart.
I wander on, to meet Charles Webster at Seafresh to discuss next steps in creating a new DVD box-set from archive Out of Town sound tapes and 16mm film - and consolidating my ownership of Out of Town rights. Between us we made several phone calls to clarify progress on the editing and restoring that is being carried out as part of my deal with Big Centre TV in return for letting them show episodes from the existing OOT box sets.
Simon and Charles
Good meeting but - lots to do. Then on another 170. Free! The concession card that I use for free bus and train travel in the Midlands now works in London.

My bicycle's ready at Phoenix, worked on by Mike and Tom; a new front wheel, break-pads replaced and tightened, new handlebars ("What have you been doing with them to get them that misshapen?"), one new pedal, new tyres and general tightening up of gears and chain. The bill £240. Not bad for an annual make-over. How much would I have spent on maintaining a car over a year? My bike feels so slick and efficient as I head back over Battersea Bridge, along the embankment, up Whitehall, Charing Cross Road to Euston and my train back to Birmingham.
Euston newsstand
*** *** ***
Digging the plot with Oliver I've lifted a whole bed of potatoes...

... putting the smaller ones aside for seed potatoes, laying them in a covered cardboard box in the dark of the garage, hoping they'll stay dormant until January next. My spade as I felt the earth touched on a 1914 penny, bruised by old digging.

Rainy summer days

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It was the wettest chilliest day this July but on the 24th Hannah Rowan was one year old - a Friday, and the only day that week her dad was off-work selling cars.

The family and friends gathered over the afternoon on Plot 14 where Winnie and I had set up a gazebo, laid out tables and chairs. Sophia with her mum Liz, whose son, Henry James, was still in hospital after an early birth; her parents...

...friends from Amy's baby group; Oscar dog, of course, Linda and I and Richard; Amy and Guy and Oliver and Hannah. Will she have recorded some fuzzy images of the day to recall? Received opinion which I doubt says not. Memory's so fallible that I wonder if memories of that age are made up later. A BBQ was intended. Instead Amy, having strung bunting, laid out a table of cold snacks. Well clothed the children enjoyed running up down and across the paths of the allotment, riding in the plot cart...

...before joining the grown-ups for food and a one-candle cake, "Happy Birthday dear Hannah..."

...after which we played 'pass the parcel' in the gazebo. On went the rain. The boys discovered puddles. By the time we all headed home they were soaked to their skins and happy.
"What rubbish weather" agreed the grown-ups - parents, grandparents, one uncle and several friends "but we'll remember Hannah's first birthday!"
*** *** ***
At the last meeting of the Friends of Black Patch Park at Bishop Latimer Church on 21st July I agreed, somewhat reluctantly, to turn up the following Sunday at Ted Rudge's annual celebration in the Soho Foundry Tavern of the Gypsy connection with the Black Patch. Our chairman Ron Collins who'd normally represent us couldn't be there. No-one else volunteered. Sunday morning it was raining steadily. I put on my long waxed oilskin coat; with this buttoned up and wearing my waxed newsboy cap I can stand under a shower and stay dry. I cycled off to the Black Patch, under 2 miles away over Soho Hill.
Black Patch Park between Woodburn Street, Perrott Street and Foundry Lane in Smethwick

It's long been rumoured, contrary to the unproven claim of the official website, yet on the basis of small, but rather telling evidence - a letter from Jack Hill to the star...
... which, despite the thousands of fan letters he received, he kept in a secret drawer at his home in Switzerland, to be found by his daughter Victoria after his death - that claimed Charlie Chaplin was born in a Gypsy caravan on the Black Patch on 16th April 1898. The supposition which will aways remain a mystery has been strengthened in recent years by several visits made by Charlie Chaplin's son Michael to the Black Patch where he's met Ted Rudge and Gypsy friends, descendants of those families long ago expelled from the Black Patch to make it into a park, and Ron Collins. Michael agreed to be a patron of The Friends of Black Patch Park. On Sunday he visited again in the company of his son-in-law; a nice and unassuming man who clearly enjoyed the company of the Gypsies, strolling amid the rubbish in the park...
Michael Chaplin, son of Charlie Chaplin, walks through the Black Patch (photo Michael Scott )

...and standing on the bridge at the junction of Boundary and Hockley brooks, where he unveiled a stone memorial commemorating the Romany connection with the Black Patch, I filmed our visitor saying that "a lot of the things he (Jack Hill) said in the letter have been verified...."

Though it would be tricky to get these suppositions into official records. We got good coverage for the Chaplin visit in the local papers - Express and Star and Birmingham Evening Mail. I know that repeating things in the newspapers creates no more than amplified rumour but it's quite good to have some background chatter on this - even in Wikipedia
Michael Chaplin, Simon Baddeley (Friends of Black Patch Park) with Oscar and Ted Rudge (photo Michael Scott )
I got Michael Scott a free lance photographer standing by to snap us. Ted was keen to get everyone out of the wet and back for a meal at the Soho Foundry Tavern. I wrote to Ron suggesting a meeting of the Friends as soon as possible:




'Born in debt'

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'The compromise to save the nation' Greek cartoon 1893
My brother George Pericles sent me this cartoon on Facebook. Nancy Katsalis and Aleko Damaskinos sent me translations of the old Greek. George thought the bemedalled beribboned figure on the right represented Germany.
"Nothing changes, eh?" Not quite so.
I've been told this, and read it, over and over; that Modern Greece, founded in 1828, was "born in debt". Yet most debates, interviews, editorials and op-eds I've read and heard and watched in recent years seem informed only by events of the 15 years since Greece joined the eurozone, rather than by those of the preceding 127 years.
Hellenic Parliament Monday 30 Oct 1893 Charilaos Trikoupis “Unfortunately, my dearest gentlemen, we went bankrupt.” 

In 1893 - date of the cartoon - the government of Charilaos Trikoupis declared bankruptcy. In return for debt relief, partial control was imposed by Greece's creditors - France, the Netherlands, Russia and Britain; all eschewing interference in the cat's cradle of Greece's internal finances. The government, over half of whose revenue, in 1893, went to service loans, was, as everyone knows, beset by clientelism - a complicated and deeply embedded part of Greek society....
Heinz Richter in The Globalist, June 2015: Unless one understands the history and the manifold ways in which the clientelistic system has metastasized, one has no chance of improving Greece’s prospects. Alas, most Europeans do not understand the phenomenon of clientelism and react in a peculiar way – such as the oft-made claim of 'lazy' Greeks.
Come to think of it, inside the EU, it is only the Austrians who – due to their past as a Balkan power – have some understanding of what’s really going on inside Greece’s structures. The other EU nations simply project European political ideas and ethical principles onto Greece and the other Balkan countries. They lack the understanding that these ideas and principles — noble and/or commonsensical as they sound — are alien to the society and the political culture of Greece.
After the national bankruptcy of 1893 - Greece's third - fruitless negotiations continued for years. In the cartoon the sack born by Hellas bears the words:
The compromise to save the nation - 99% with an eternal monopoly under foreign control of markets in tobacco, raisins, bread, wine, meat, olive oil.
and on the basket:
Loan 850.000.000 (drachma)
Those products listed are the pre-industrial exports upon which the Greek economy largely depended from the 1850s.
19th century Greece had a weak governmental financial system; persistent budget deficits; high debt to GDP ratio. Lenders - France, the Netherlands, Russia and Britain - demanded that Greece make, as a condition for loans, major institutional changes in her public finances - changes relating to the power, the credibility and the bureaucratic capacity to tax sufficiently to cover the government's expenditures and undertake budget reform. As I said Όσο πιο πολύ αλλάζουν τα πράγματα, τόσο πιο πολύ μένουν ίδια. See Gerassimos Notaras, head archivist, historical archive, National Bank of Greece:
From the beginning, our state had no other choice than to live on credit. We were born in debt.
A wise writer, Athina Rachel Tsangari, in the Greek film Attenberg– which Lin and I liked a lot, watching it twice in as many weeks – says, through the mouth of one of its main characters, Spiro, as he gazes over an ekistical Doxiades settlement laid out in Euboea –
bourgeois arrogance…especially for a country that skipped the industrial age altogether…from shepherds to bulldozers…from bulldozers to mines, and from mines, straight to petit-bourgeois hysteria…we built an industrial colony on top of sheep pens and thought we were making a revolution.”
Tsipras as Sisyphus ~ David Simonds The Observer 1/2/15



Winter work

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Simon in Greece with a Mayday wreath; stepfather Jack Hargreaves in his shed in Dorset with a film from Out of Town
In the last three years we've worked on the production of two commercially available box-sets of my stepfather's TV broadcasts on DVDs. Now I've bought the rights in Out of Town held by Endemol, I'm earning royalties on their sale through Delta Leisure, as Jack intended. The next challenge is the more complicated one of securing his remaining material, most of it not shown since it was broadcast in the 1970s. The box-sets consisted of material more or less ready to show, but this older material does not exist in the form of complete episodes. It comes piecemeal, incoherent, muddled up...
Jack Hargreaves - the invention of the camera from Simon Baddeley on Vimeo.
When he died twenty-one years ago, my stepfather left an unwieldy but intriguing collection of 16mm film and 1/4" reel-to-reel sound tape - incomplete components of his long-running television programme Out of Town. For nearly three years I've been striving to organise this precious stuff into a secure archive.
On January 12th Lin and I had tea with Christopher Perry.
He lives just streets away. We met at his house to discuss his offer to speed up the process of digitising, synchronising and remastering the archive of my stepfather's silent films and tapes that I've been storing in a scruffy lock-up near Spaghetti Junction since April 2012.  So far this exercise in recovery has been going at sub-snail pace, because of time and equipment constraints on Francis Niemczyk's work. In the last two years just three episodes have been remastered. Good work but leaving close to two hundred archived episodes yet to be recovered.

Chris Perry is a pioneer of Kaleidoscope. A film and tape archaeologist, he helped recover 'The Lost Episodes' of Out of Town published by Delta in 2012. A month before Christmas Kaleidoscope won a bid to take over local TV ....
Kaleidoscope TV Limited has been awarded the licence to broadcast a new local television service for Birmingham, the Black Country and Solihull via Freeview channel 8 and Virgin Media cable channel 159. It is expected that the channel will launch early in 2015. Ofcom has stipulated that the new channel should be on the air no later than February 28th, 2015. The new company, formed specifically to hold separate Kaleidoscope’s broadcasting venture from the existing organisation, is jointly owned by Mike Prince who will be a familiar face to Midlands television viewers as an on-screen continuity announcer for ATV and Central Television during the 70s and 80s and Chris Perry, head of Kaleidoscope, the Birmingham based classic television organisation. KaleidoscopeTV will launch as part of the government’s initiative for a national network of local television channels. The licence had originally been awarded to City TV, a company that went into administration before getting on the air. After administrators Duff & Phelps Ltd took control of City TVs assets, numerous bids were received for the company’s licence. Kaleidoscope TV was the preferred bidder and after a stringent examination of the company’s finances and programming plans, Ofcom has agreed to transfer the licence to Kaleidoscope.
Tea with Chris Perry


In return for being allowed to broadcast these episodes on KalTV Chris offers to remaster the film-tape archive.
"Draw up an agreement. Get me 33 tape-film matches to start. The digitising can be done in London. You can oversee synchronising and editing tape and film at Walsall Studios prior to broadcast."
On Wednesday Lin and I went out to the lock-up with our list of tapes and films. We brought home all the sound tapes, organised the films into the numbers attached to the cans while they were at South West Film and Television Archive, and removed one box of film. Once home we got the tapes checked against our list and marked them with the numbers on the films. That done we matched three of the films in the one box brought home.

Two days later we returned to the lock-up and dug out all the films with the listed numbers; Lin digging in the film boxes and calling out the numbers as I ticked off them off on the list.
It was chilly work. Once home and warmed up we started matching films and tapes - relying on the numbers on the boxes and cans, but also checking titles written on both containers. By the end of the day we had 70 matches.

"Tomorrow we'll select 10 of these matched film-tape pairs to take to London"




Extract from an 'Agreement' with Kaleidoscope TV ~ signed by Simon Baddeley and Chris Perry and witnessed

My plot

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'Above all remember; allotment gardening is fun, it's healthy and it's a great way to meet people. So the most important thing is to enjoy your allotment.'
Advice from the Allotments Section at Birmingham City Council suggests it takes 3 years to get a new allotment in order, but that's if you are already skilled and organised.

I and Lin and now my waged help, Winnie, have been digging over and over, weeding, weeding, weeding (dragging out those sinuous creeping white couch grass rhizomes especially)....
Winnie and Simon on Plot 14 (photo: Sue Hall, Winnie's mum)

....laying permanent paths, cutting out and pegging down porous weed control fabric, making temporary paths by moving around stacks of the industrial-grade carpet tiles I picked up for free during a garden clearance for Handsworth Helping Hands. Making separate beds accessible. The plot is just over 200 square meters, but with the shed and paths only half of that area is now working soil.
Potatoes planted in a bed dug over and over, weeded; new topsoil and compost raked in; all easily worked from surrounding paths

I love it. I do. I really do. But this is not a 'working man's' allotment from which i can proudly feed my family - the ideal of small holdings - urban green spaces whose legislative protection grows weaker by the year. Mine is a hobby plot - a word I dislike; a fact I accept, as a man seven generations from the land. My family have been townspeople, even when enjoying life in the country, since my ancestor Samuel Lees in Oldham became an iron master, then cotton mill owner, in the early years of the Industrial Revolution. True my stepfather could work the ground, handle stock, and grow vegetables in large numbers while my grandmother, Bar, abandoned metropolitan life to start the dairy farm where I was born in March 1942 and spent a lot of my childhood - an idyllic place I first heard described, when I was in my teens, as 'a hobby farm - by my stepfather.
Mill End: Simon on Gypsy, Bar on the haywain
I can't say I'd rather my allotment wasn't just a hobby. That's silly. I don't quite know what I was thinking. I suppose I think of it more as an experiment; a test even.
January 2007 - a picture in The Birmingham Evening Mail"When will the company who bought this green space in Birmingham and built on a third of it lay out the allotments that were part of planning gain deal agreed with Birmingham City Council?"
A hobby is 'a regular activity done for pleasure during one's leisure time'. Campaigning ten years to stop the Victoria Jubilee Allotments from being built over and, after that busy time - lobbying, writing, filming, speaking - getting the opportunity to work this plot, has hardly been a leisured activity. I've never been that keen about dividing activities into ones that are leisure, and one's that aren't. I've a distaste for how that distinction defines 'work'.
Starting on Plot 14 in 2010

I want Plot 14 - one Lin and I chose when the Victoria Jubilee Allotments opened in June 2010 - to prosper. I want it fecund, thriving - a source of pride and good food, I want to agree with the advice that an allotment should be enjoyable.
I've invested money on help, on topsoil, on compost, striving to get the ground closer to how I think it needs to be, and all the time I'm learning, with help from other plot-holders far better than me at growing their own - especially my friends Ziggi with her plot in north London and Vanley with his on the Victoria Jubilee, just a few yards away.
Winter sown broad beans with a sprinkle of potash to rake in
I'm going to make this work. But I'm reminded of Douglas Adam's remark "Flying is learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss" or Winston Churchill saying 'success involves persevering from one failure to the next', The gardening guide books I read aren't helpful. They begin at a point I'm still striving to reach. They hardly mention soil filled with rubbish, as well as stones, nor do they seem to give much attention to the emotions aroused by the depredations of slugs, onion fly, pigeons, snails (with their exquisite shells I find impossible to crush), and human pilferers - the ones that stole my garlic last year! How I do not envy new plot holders as inexperienced as I, trying to get vegetables to grow on adjoining plots that are like mine was four and half years ago, perhaps worse.
Stones continue to come out of the soil at every dig....

....but they never appear in the books
...and this worthy tutor teaches me more or less nothing about how to dig my plot

I emailed Clive Birch, BDAC, for advice:
Dear Clive.  Happy New Year 2015.  I hope you're well. I've a favour to ask. Since 2010 I have struggled to get my allotment working. You’d not expect less when I’ve invested so much in getting it in the first place. My favour is also a question. We have by all accounts rather uneven topsoil on the VJA. I know that allotments officers on the council were hesitant about accepting the new plots from Persimmon under the S106A of 2004 because the land was not adequately prepared by the developer. Those of us pressing to get the allotments up and running pressed the council to let people start gardening. A minority of plot holders are doing pretty well but all I’ve spoken to admit they’ve had to do a lot of work getting the soil manageable and productive. It is full of stones, bricks, and other debris, as well as chunks of clay with - in some places - ground heavily compressed by building plant machinery. A lot of us have invested in manure, compost and extra topsoil. I would - now that I am beginning to feel more in control - be so grateful for someone coming to look at the soil on my plot to give me an assessment and tell me the best way to continue improving it. All the guide books speak of adding nutrients and getting a balance between acid and alkali, but I’m in the dark as to the starting point on soil composition. It would be great if someone with much more experience and knowledge than I could drop over and give my plot soil an assessment and diagnosis with suggestions as to the what would now be the best treatment to get healthy crops. Would this be possible? Best wishes Simon 
Simon. An experienced allotment holder visited your site and had a good look round, concentrating on the soil structure. Some plots were thriving, some were struggling and some were vacant and overgrown - the overgrown plots obviously were able to support plant life! You can test the acidity of soil [test kits available at DIY/ Nursery] - often the only balance used is lime for the brassicas. The answer to improving the plot - clear rough debris - stones etc [stones can be buried to provide drainage] Clay - working in compost - leaf mould is one of best ways - over wintering will help here. Adding as much rotted compost/manure is great. Leave on surface for a while then dig in [note some crops do not like fresh manure!] You could import topsoil but beware it could include weeds etc even Japanese knot weed! Perseverance is needed. Hope this helps. Best wishes, Clive
So really there's almost nothing in that I don't know, except for the hint about brassicas and the use of stones for drainage. Yet I'm grateful for the confirmation. The depth of my ignorance shared with Lin had me putting my seed potatoes under our bed to chit.
"They need the dark" Lin insisted, so under our bed they went.

I checked this up in books and on the internet
"No Linda! They need light not dark!"
Since the only chitting spuds we'd ever seen were the ones that start sprouting in the veg cupboard in the kitchen we'd assumed that darkness was needed. Out came the spuds from under the bed. Now I have them laid out in the conservatory.
A potato from the kitchen cupboard
Seven months ago the plot looked lovely - the greenery of mid-summer covering a multitude of sins. How will it look this summer? Much depends on what i do in the next few weeks.
June 2014


***** ***** *****
That other plot...
"We didn't reach an agreement. It was never on the cards that we would"
Yanis Varoufakis meets Wolfgang Schäuble in Berlin. The first 10 minutes of the clip has journalists and camera-folk preparing to see and hear statements. Then 'the curtain rises'. There they are, by god! Varoufakis has earned a concession before the conversation began. Greece is talking through Varoufakis to the Finance Minister of Germany - not to the Troika who Tsipras told his voters would not be the new Greek government's first port of call after the election. At 23.25 the German turns with courtesy to the Greek who with the journalists has been listening to the most sober and grave re-iteration from Schäuble for the European Project, an address not really to beloved and beleaguered Greece but to a far wider and more fragmented and unreliable audience across our continent.
Aristeidis Metallinos, Ano Korakiana's laic sculptor, depicts the EEC (EOK) as a broody chimaera
In my head there plays as background to this press statement I hear music - the 'Song for the Unification of Europe' composed by Zbigniew Preisner, sung in Greek by Elżbieta Towarnicka - an abridged version of 1 Corinthians:13, from the soundtrack of Krzysztof Kieślowski film 'Bleu'. Varoufakis is also in government but he speaks eloquently, poetically, to the people of Germany; pleads to them for their support in fighting the threat of fascism in Greece. I feel I am watching two statesmen at work; two men who know their trade.

I had an exchange with Richard Pine a few days ago. He wrote in The Irish Times
Tsipras appears to be naively idealistic, innocent, ingenuous and transparent, but he needs to be secretive, cunning and dishonest to succeed in the minefield he has created. As Maurice Manning once said of Garret FitzGerald, it is difficult to trust someone who pours a glass of wine without reading the label on the bottle. Tsipras wants to do the impossible, but if he is to succeed as a political leader he must learn the art of the possible and acquire the killer instinct.
So Richard suggests Tsipras must imitate the Greek hero Odysseus - famous for escaping terrible dangers more through cunning than face-to-face combat. My email:
Richard. I recall writing this in a paper published in the 90s about political skill in civil servants and politicians.....The constant negotiation of this moral minefield is part of life and certainly part of government. An additional layer of complexity is added to these circumstances by the fact that in families, as indeed in government, many people recognise the presence of these dynamics and may actually impart “in confidence”, something intended to be passed on. A process of negotiation is occurring where one person appears to be trusting another to risk being untrustworthy. The novelist Iain McEwan describes public figures who move around in this moral maze by navigating the complicated channels that run between truth and lying: 'with sure instincts while retaining a large measure of dignity. Only occasionally, as a consequence of tactical error, was it necessary to lie significantly, or tell an important truth. Mostly it was sure-footed scampering between the two extremes. Wasn’t the interior life much the same?’  (McEwan 1988:182)....McEwan captures the moral nimbleness that accompanies grown-up behaviour - public and private - where corruption and probity are proximate rather than polar and, where rules are at best casuitical; maintaining integrity requires wit.  What I struck me about Iain McEwan’s words is that self-query 'Wasn’t the interior life much the same?’  My tolerance of politicians about whom you are much more judgemental (I think) is that politics - certainly the politics of government - is that it’s so like my internal life and I suggest I’m not alone in that. Best, Simon 
Richard: You mean you lie to yourself and let not your right hand know....? 
Simon: That’s what Iain McEwan is suggesting. I care about the environment and do many things that harm it. I shop at supermarkets while praising the survival of small shops. I think lascivious thoughts about other women. The list of my moral inconsistencies is endless and I don’t let them worry me or lessen my expressions of concern about the sins of my fellows.
My interior life is a parliament of debate with every now and then a rare internal argument from which the whips are withdrawn and I have a vote in which I must truly interrogate my conscience - but most of the time I’m bladerunning ‘the complicated channels that run between truth and lying”.
I think you have so hit the spot when saying how Tspiras must be. The killer instinct etc. Do you think he has it? Could he grow into it? Is his partner going to help? Peristera Batziaka. ‘Tough cookie”? This is riveting. S 
R: I don't have that problem/advantage. I never argue or debate with myself. I am conscience-free when I wake, and the same when I go to sleep. Thanks for the Batziaka article - interesting that "peristera" means "pigeon" or "turtle-dove". R 
S: 'Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves.'Matt 10:16"I never argue or debate with myself. I am conscience-free when I wake, and the same when I go to sleep”. People will make pilgrimages to seek your advice - the sage of Perithia. You make me think of that other writer Nikos Kazantzakis “I hope nothing. I fear nothing. I am free. This is true happiness: to have no ambition and to work like a horse as if you had every ambition. To live far from men, not to need them and yet to love them. To have the stars above, the land to your left and the sea to your right and to realise of a sudden that in your heart, life has accomplished its final miracle: it has become a fairy tale.”  S
Draw me a picture....

In other words just 10.6% of the €254 billion funds 'state operating needs'



'Though inland far we be...'

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My grandson and I have been working the allotment

"Here’s a thing, Oliver. Suppose I get this allotment producing a regular supply of vegetables. Suppose I sort out my confusion about whether this is a serious exercise in producing healthy and tasty food, if not cheap; that this is not an allotment in the old sense – the means by which a working man may feed his family including you – but a hobby, a leisure activity that maintains my mental health and physical shape. Suppose I sort all that out by spending money on soil improvement and paying Winnie to help work the plot with me, there’s yet another challenge. What do I do with what I grow. Does your nan cook it? All of it? Do I give it away? Some of it? How do I grow and supply what I grow in a way that gets things to the table in the right way, instead of producing gluts. As well as growing things - my main purpose - do I have to master the art of storing things? Preserving fruit and pickling veg? That’s a whole other aspect of the project, requiring crafts as tricky to learn to do well as those I’m ever so slowly learning about cultivation. What do you think? While you're thinking about this put some more water in the kettle"
  • Nick Booth "can you grow ice cream?
    19 hrs · Unlike · 2
  • Mickey Lowe My God what a lucky little tyke that is to be with you and learning all the time! Bless ya both !!
  • Mickey Lowe Any extras you grow could surely go to any food bank or homeless shelter!! 
  • Tony Jacks Excuse the language Simon, but that is an awful lot of bloody thinking.
  • Simon Baddeley Of course. Just insert the liquid and the ice crystals grow in it
    19 hrs · Like · 1
  • Ann Marie Gallagher There is a super project called the Real Junk Food Cafe - cook up surplus food - Payl pay as u feel - or u could give to a local place of welcome ?
    19 hrs · Unlike · 1
  • Simon Baddeley A friend has just sent me a message...'Re your allotment quandaries ... I'd been going for a while before i got the hang of preserving. I have to say that its one of the things that is most exhausting. After working at the allotment i drag the produce home and have to start working again to prepare it for the freezer/pickling/chutneying etc. It adds a whole other level. And it makes giving stuff away even more joyful at the time of inevitable gluts - you will not be able to avoid gluts.There are plenty of books about preserving.' But why not just go to Fortnums or Harrods' Food Hall next time in London. It's cheaper in the end. Apple and Mint Chutney £4.95 a jar. Off my allotment the same would cost nothing in materials and around £150 in labour (:))...and you want me to give that away to the poor?
    19 hrs · Edited · Like
  • Sue Tsirigoti Your friend is right! we are sooo lucky not to be in a "needs must" time.. well not much anyway. There is a great deal of pleasure in growing and eating ones own produce and the sad thing is at the time you havea glut so does everyone else too! Well here at least where we all have gardens of varying sizes. Even the effort of harvesting and blanching ready for the freezer is so too much for me once summer season has started. I remember my mother salting beans because we of course didnt have freezers. I would have to buy a new freezer to accommodate all our produce and even then we would be struggling to eeat it all before the next crop next year. At least some of it oes to the chickens which continue with the circle f life and turn it into eggs and chicken soup, or Kokoros pastistada. It is the eternal question isnt it?
    18 hrs · Unlike · 2
  • Zena Phillips I was lucky. It was my own garden so it included fruit trees and soft fruits. All my surplus requirements went to the village shop. We split the proceeds half and half. Sometimes there were people waiting for me to arrive because they knew stuff had been harvested a maximum of half an hour before I got there. I never made a fortune but it covered next year's seeds and needs.
    18 hrs · Unlike · 3
  • Andy Mabbett That looks like a proper shed.
    15 hrs · Unlike · 1
  • Simon Baddeley Got in on freecycle. Had to cut two panels in half to get them in the van! I recovered the roof, added the veranda and rain gutters and downpipes. https://flic.kr/p/a5qBJ7 Got the slabs after a neighbour's front-yard make-over. https://flic.kr/p/a5qBJ7
    13 hrs · Like · 3 · Remove Preview
  • Poppy Brady Are you sure you haven't tied Oliver to that chair?! And who sits on the chairs on the tables?
    11 hrs · Unlike · 1
  • Simon Baddeley How else can I get anyone to listen to me (:))
    11 hrs · Like · 3
  • Paul McGovern I think you should let Oliver take over and take up fishing x
    4 hrs · Unlike · 1
  • Maureen Carter I keep a log of the produce i use and give away for every year and the chutneys i produce and its quite amazing how much you do produce. It takes a few extra minutes daily but you can then see what was productive to grow and what wasnt worth the effort but it does at the end of the day , depends on the weather. I this winter didnt grow enough winter greens but it is a very big learning curve. The neighbours quite happily look after my plot when i go away as they pick and use the produce !
    1 hr · Unlike · 1
I've invested in topsoil and compost; dropped off in builder's bags from the lane at the top of my allotment. When needed Ollie and I barrow it down to the bed we're working on.
We passed Vanley on the way down to Plot 14 yesterday. I haven't seen him for a while. Oliver strolled on with Oscar on his lead. I reflected on my hopes and cares for the plot.
"The paths are much wider"
"Yes. And when you want you can always make your beds larger and thin the paths again"
"This March is going to be important. That's when I'll do a lot of planting, now I've done more weeding and digging over and added in more compost and top-soil...but both plots on either side of me have been abandoned"
"They may turn up when the weather gets better"
"Yes but I wish I had plots next to me that were thriving. There are so many plots that people have given up on after covering them with bits of wood and plastic and....someone came for three weekends in August last year and then disappeared. That other covered the plot with polythene last November but hasn't checked in since. I keep putting her weed suppressor back in place but the wind is always..."
"Allotments are a metaphor for life"
Oliver, Winnie and her son, Dennis

Dennis and Oliver moving earth

There have been big winds rising. How they gust across this dishevelled site, showing scant respect for structures not well secured, tattering plastic covers, blowing over poly-tunnels...

...shifting one greenhouse onto a neighbour's plot; getting under people's weed suppressing fabric; blowing it around until it's in shreds. On Plot 14 everything's tied, pegged or weighted down.
The bottom bed was collecting water, producing lots of mud. To get it workable I dug a trench at its end. Oliver and I filled it with rubble. Splash! Splash!

I barrowed the earth I'd shovelled out to the top of the plot; brought back lighter topsoil and good compost to mix in the earth I'd forked over and weeded yet again.

After removing its fabric, I covered the fly-tipped bed-frame I dragged to the site yesterday with insect netting - Veggiemesh - using my gun tacker.


On a nearby bed I've planted parsnip seeds. I've done this twice without success, so here goes again but with more compost and bed preparing. I bought a resistant strain of seeds. Archer.  Have I done this right? I'm already thinking I should have waited for warmer weather despite the Feb plant packet advice. Perhaps as a safeguard I should try germinating the parsnip seeds I've got left on a damp kitchen towel in the conservatory.
As it is I checked instructions on depth and spacing - but I wonder how much to trust the retailer's instructions. I semi-sprinkled the small disc-like seeds along rows. The instructions - read in several places as well as from the packet  - say that parsnips dislike transplanting, so these are not to be cultivated in my frame-covered seedbed then moved. What I should expect to do is to thin the sprouted plants and expect to harvest something around Christmas or beyond. I'm slowly realising that there's no substitute I've found for the time it takes to make judgements based on experience I've only just begun to acquire.
The plot now- this bed ready for potatoes
The plot 3 years ago









Starting on a shed from Simon Baddeley on Vimeo - 2010

I've finally found a book on gardening that I like. I was told about it by Barry on Facebook - a veteran pro gardener....
 'Simon. Look for a book called “ Gardeners Earth“ by Dr Stanley Whitehead. I had a copy for horti exams I had to do yearsssss ago. I managed to “keep“ it LOL'
**** **** ****
Even so we miss beloved Greece....in memory land...an Easter Sunday five years ago...a lamb roast at Mark's and Sally’s. At one in the afternoon, having been up until nearly four the same morning enjoying food – singing and conversation with our dear neighbours, we strolled down Democracy Street. The spitted lamb was turning over a bed of charcoal. Our assembly came from most parts of the UK, some long inhabitants of the island – citizens - others like us still new and some visitors, one in Corfu for the first time. Angie and Martin we’d met before but I learned they knew Richard Hill’s part of the world, and indeed, when I mentioned his address, knew his street. I explained Richard’s craft and the finely re-carved roach I was so looking forward to holding in my hands in May. We came onto Pompey and the writer Graham Hurley who’s given me so much pleasure.

The view from the balcony - greenery to the blue Kerkyra sea and the mainland mountains in their distant detail, while behind us the three crags, on one of which some lads had raised a flag – not the patrida, because it was red and yellow, but we couldn’t make out the pattern. “Could ever a village be better placed?” Swallows darted among the houses. Our company spread across two tables on the balcony; smoke from the roasting lamb full of rosemary rising upwards; cheerful conversation. We ate olive-oiled pitta bread from a barbeque, helping ourselves from dishes of pasta mixed with glazed carrots and sausages; dressed salad; small roasted fowl to be eaten delicately. “This is just the first course" reminded Sally. There was wine, which could be diluted with ice and sipped for hours; also beer and water. Then the lamb – I honoured with half the head. “I’ve never seen anyone trying to eat a lamb’s head with a knife and fork”. True the only way to tease the meat from a skull is to pick it up and feed in the old way.
EASTER LAMB ROAST IN ANO KORAKIANA from Simon Baddeley on Vimeo.
But Angela Papageorgiou in Corfu shares this picture, tagged : "What was that about wishing you were here"?
Southerly gale on the Old Fort, Ormos Garitsas  ~ Friday 6th March

**** **** ****
Catching the 9.10 train to London is altogether a fussier business than the purposeful 7.30 that goes non-stop to London and is full of serious commuters. This is my second visit to London carrying films and tapes from the Out of Town archive for the first stage of turning them into broadcasts.
Leaving New Street for Euston

It doesn’t help that I’m carting an unwieldy old suitcase weighing over 20 kilos containing eleven episodes of ‘Out of Town’ – rusty film cans of 16mm location film with, cello-taped to them, my stepfather’s commentary as recorded in his studio ‘shed’ at the time of broadcast – over forty years ago. I needed a taxi to New Street. It didn’t arrive quite on time. The traffic after eight was heavy – parents to school, commuters into the city centre – congestion I’d slide by on my bicycle, but for this freighted journey I’m a penguin ashore. Desultory chat with the young driver; peering at my watch. I got a receipt at the drop-off.
“Keep receipts” says Lin “If you ever make any money from this I’ll need it for your tax return”
At New Street it’s a literal drag from the drop-off to the platform. A Virgin platform helper consulted his tablet.
“The 9.10 is coming in the wrong way round. Your coach will be up that way”
The platform was crowded. Travellers for Coventry and International. My train arrived. I trudged towards Coach D. My guide was swiftly behind me, grabbed the hefty case to the right door and heaved it on board for me.
By Coventry I was in an almost empty carriage. At Euston I’ll hope to find a trolley and another taxi to Deluxe Soho.
Dear Mark. As arranged I expect to be with Deluxe Soho around 11.00 this Wednesday morning with a second batch of ‘Out of Town’ film and tapes. Looking forward to seeing you again. I shall come to Mearde Street. Best wishes, Simon 
Morning Simon. I'm actually in meetings, so please ask for my colleague Graham Jones, who will make you a nice cup of tea upon arrival. I will hopefully see you a bit later. All the best, Mark 
I have taken up Christopher Perry’s offer. We’ve signed a witnessed contract. Big Centre TV on air in Birmingham and the Black Country Saturday Feb 28th  - will pay for processing the films and tapes in the archive I’ve been looking after these last few years, in return for being able to broadcast some of them.
At Deluxe Soho with eleven film-tape pairs for digitising
This deal includes showing episodes from the Delta box-sets that contain over fifty complete easily broadcastable episodes of Out of Town. This gives us time for the old archive film to be digitised in London by Deluxe Soho and brought to Walsall Studio School for the key work of turning it into broadcasts – a process that requires film and sound to be synchronised, titles and credits to be inserted along with the Southern Television logo at start and finish, and - probably the biggest challenge - editing decisions made about what do with the sequences of Jack’s commentary where we have his voice but no picture. We’ll almost certainly remove him talking about an unseen object on the table in his studio ‘shed’ hoping to create sensible transitions from his commentary in the ‘shed’ to the location film. I’ve enjoyed quite a lot of chat on Facebook– nearly 900 members now – about what images to insert in the ‘shed’ sequences; stills from the episode itself, silent moving film from the episode, portraits of Jack – stills and moving. One helpful adviser even dubbed my stepfather’s imageless commentary onto a sequence clipped from a different episode where the studio is shown. It fooled a few people including me until after a few seconds I spotted the subterfuge.
From Euston where I had further help - a trolley for the hefty case from the platform to concourse and a station uniform to guide me to the lift that took us down to a taxi. The taxi took me to the centre of Soho, to Meard Street, where I lugged the case into Marie Fieldman's workroom at Deluxe Soho.
With Marie Fieldman starting work on the next Out of Town batch


After a coffee I picked up my pleasingly light suitcase and started walking north. I bought delectable lox and cream cheese bagel to eat in Soho Square......
...walking north towards Euston Road and the mainline station.
Euston Road - a phone booth in old London town

On Monday 2nd March, 10.30-11.00am, Big Centre TV broadcast a half-hour episode of Out of Town. The next episode goes out same time on Friday, and thereafter at same time on Mondays and Fridays. I'm keeping careful tabs on what's shown - the deal being to show only 50% of the contents of each of the two box sets. That gives us just under 15 weeks before we go on to do the trickiest and most interesting broadcasts - the archive material I've been taking to Deluxe Soho. Now I'm more familiar with the people at Deluxe Soho, I've asked Chris Perry to get me together with editors at Walsall Studio School - the people or person who'll be synchronising and editing the digitised material sent up from London.
Dear Chris. Not sure if we were clear on the advertising of Out of Town on Big Centre TV. I saw the announcement of future episodes being shown Monday and Friday mornings, but we agreed there would be, at the end of each episode of Out of Town (as you suggested and we agreed), showing a 10 second commercial for the Delta Box sets with a link to Delta’s website for OOT.
I have told Delta this would be happening so I could check with them the effect of that publicity. Sales of the box sets pay me the royalties I need for storing the archive and expenses associated with the restoration of the archive, the main part of which Big Centre TV will be covering once we arrive at broadcast quality episodes from the archive.
I anticipate you have about 15 more weeks drawing on the existing box set material. If all goes well the first of the recovered archive episodes should be ready to broadcast in the first week of June. These will be unique, not seen since first broadcast in the 1970s.
Remembering I will be out of the UK, the sooner I can get together with a Studio School editor with digitised material to hand the better. It may help that I have three such episodes already processed by Francis Niemczyk. Best wishes, Simon
Email from Chris:
Hi Simon. As soon as we take some delivery of files, I can fix you up with an editor. I planned to give Steve until end of week and then chase him at Deluxe. I have fixed the caption issue - playout server couldn't see it.  c

Work up Bell Hill, Lydbrook

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The Rock Cottage restoration project hovered over us for several years. A favourite place reached by walking up a steep path from the middle of Lydbrook, Gloucestershire. The place has been neglected as the children grew older and my parents-in-law found it more and more difficult to climb the narrow path up Bell Hill from the car park below, and Linda and I met Ano Korakiana. Meanwhile, a nice man but, as it turned out, a wholly inadequate builder, subject to excuses about instructions 'lost in translation' made partial improvements which made the place worse. Its neglect hung over us. Then last July, our friends Martin and Sandra met us in Lydbrook. They inspected. Martin wrote later:
Hi both. Glad to hear you're feeling a little better about the task ahead...I must confess I was shocked to see the condition of the Cottage. I always visualise it as it was in May '92 when I did that veranda roof - and I used my motorbike, we lived in Gloucester. It was a glorious summer that year, Sandra would come over in the afternoons (after work) and sunbathe in the back garden. The ride there in the cool mornings, and the ride back with my jacket tied around my waist because it was so hot - ahhh!, happy days indeed. We'll have to see if we can recapture some of that. Martin X 
No builder or decorator could have been expected to achieve what our friends have, treating their work, mainly carried out by their son Adam and two other young men who work for Martin's company - work for which we paid - but also by Martin and Sandra who except for material have worked on the cottage for free. First, back in August of 2014, a pile of building rubbish and rubble left in the overgrown garden was barrowed or carried away. Phil from Lydbrook Stores gave permission for us to place a large skip where the path met the road. Adam and his mate Jack filled it over a weekend. Timber for logs was piled in the garden. Where, already cut, it was stacked under the lean to at the south end of the cottage. Foliage and other pieces of rotting wood were heaped for burning. Then work began on the interior - first the kitchen (transported from Amy's and Guy's home in Birmingham after new building there( and then the bathroom. The old bath was rescued from the garden, re-plumbed and combined with a shower.


Walls were plastered; stonework cleaned up and repointed, and two walls at the north end of the house were dry lined. Lin and I would go down now and then to see the place 'coming along'. Martin sent me conscientious costings for materials and the lad's labour. I'd send needed cash on-line. We downloaded Martin's photos of the work while we were in Greece in September and October.
Last year - Sandra at work in the hall
The hall being dry walled
The hall this Feb
New catches were fitted to the highly unsatisfactory windows installed by the previous builder which allowed them to open where previously they had merely cantilevered. Leaks around the window frames were made up. Martin would light the wood stove helping dry the place out.
"So much of the problem of damp is being caused by condensation" he said, dismissing prolonged discussion about water ingress via roof and walls that would have had us spending lots of unnecessary money with the previous builder.
Martin set the new windows on a trickle opening to make up for their lack of ventilation strips; set central heating to come on now and then when the house was empty. It began to dry out, helped via the tree clearance I'd paid Dave at Evolution Trees to carry out in January 2014. Lin and I had backed this up with substantial lopping and sawing of the garden trees and shrubs we could get to.
This February - just over half a year later, the body of the restoration was complete.
We went to look at carpets at a Birmingham showroom...
Our grandchildren, Oliver and Hannah play as Amy and Lin discuss carpets for Rock Cottage



Early February, Lin, ferrying her mum between hospital consultants, couldn't come with me. I got permission from the HHH committee to borrow the van in return for a full tank of fuel. With strict instructions from Lin, I took her selected carpets to Lydbrook and carried them up the hill where they were fitted in sitting room, and bedrooms, by Dave, locally recommended. He also laid new lino in the bathroom.
Our bedroom - carpeted and cosy 
Dave at work in Rock Cottage sitting room



Looking out across the Lydbrook valley


Of course there's more to be done; not least recovering the garden, especially the lawn where we lay in summers. For now Lin and I need to re-arrange the furniture stacked upstairs, so we have a couple of working bedrooms and furniture for the sitting room where we eat. The kitchen's fine, but needs a washing machine.
While Dave was fitting carpets Oscar and I set out on an old and familiar walk towards the top of Bell Hill. I wondered if the way had changed; a climb among tall beech trees. So, as we haven't for nearly 10 years, we set out - left turn, up a narrow steep track for 20 yards, then sharp right for a 50 yards and a short turn left and up the hill...

Up Bell Hill
Coming to the top of the first slope I could gaze down on the village...

...How this changes with the summer greenery, yet the beech trunks, once coppiced for chair making, are now so elongated, as they reach for the light, you can still see through them to feel the sense of being overhead, ascending towards the high ridge from where it's possible on a clear day to see the Brecon Beacons. A little further I saw the familiar car dump that reminds me Lydbrook is still its slightly scruffy old self rather than being a smart Cotswold Village.

I didn't rise so, but kept on the path round the village side of the hill...

...greeting Nigel Aston and shaking hands - "Not seen you a while" - descending to the Hangerberry Road just above its junction with Lydbrook's long central street. Dave had nearly completed his carpeting. The rooms felt warmer; the bedrooms cosier; the sitting room almost ready for family and friends. I paid Dave. Oscar and I headed happily back 75 miles to Birmingham.
*** *** ***
On our allotment, Gill, our friend, neighbour, and apiarist was inspecting the hive on Thursday to give the colony sugar feed and Apiguard against Varroa mites. A couple of years ago I persuaded her to keep one of her colonies on our plot. The first colony lasted five months but died during the first winter. The second died in February, a year later, after carrying damp into the hive after an early warm spell had brought the bees out foraging the winter bulb sprouts. The third colony Gill introduced was invaded in July 2014 by another colony which, after killing the tenant Queen, took over. These bees seems to have survived the worst of this winter and are, says Gill, the strongest colony yet. They should even give us honey, as well as pollinating across the allotment and beyond.

Oliver and I have continued to enjoy the plot, one day with Dennis and Winnie, who continues her work on the plot. Last week we cleared a mess of rotting wood, shrubs and other combustible rubbish, my first bonfire in years, good dry stuff, creating little smoke; buckets of water to hand ready to douse the flames in a hurry...



...Oliver is planting for the first time, watering and helping move earth...
I've moved the unsightly pile of weed-filled earth that's sat next to the shed for too long, and am making compost bays from pallets...
One more bay to come: compost from bay 2 will turned into the empty bay 3, so that bay 1 can be turned into bay 2.





I'm steadily planting things - winter peas, winter broad beans, onions, garlic, rhubarb, and I couldn't resist a scarlet rose - but the next few months will be critical if this year's growing is to be far better than previous years'. I've pruned the small trees; top-dressed them. Winnie's been creosoting the shed; continuing to place recovered bricks around beds and along paths. Where seeds are sprouting I've put up nets over hoops. The contest with couch grass continues with every visit to the plot.
I'm away soon to Greece - alone. Lin must care for her mother, who's fallen ill, and needs ferrying between different consultants at different Staffordshire hospitals - tests, diagnoses, treatments and more tests....
Hannah with her great grandmother at Staffordshire General
Linda and her mum wrapping presents last Christmas Eve

I've got lots to do in the next week. Winnie and I will stay in touch across the miles using photos to check progress. I really hope we've choked off the worst of the couch grass but it remains a presence for all the stripping out of those cursed winding white rhizomes. I'm hoping that I'll start a parsnip crop, growing them direct. but also to ensure germinated parsnip seeds grow straight and do not divide, I've sought advice and been told to plant them in tubes. I didn't have any round cardboard tubes to hand, so made cardboard triangle tubes, stapling the open edges. I filled them with damp compost, then Linda, to a background of 'Gardeners' Question Time' on the BBC, used tweezers to pick up the seeds that were showing little roots. I'd germinated the seeds on a damp kitchen towel over the last 10 days. She put two seedlings into a small indentation in the compost in each tube and put soil gently over them. If I get sprouting seedlings I'll thin them down to one per tube and then use a crowbar to make a hole in the bed I have ready for them on the allotment, and slide the tubes into the ground with no cardboard showing. If this works then I'll make up more tubes. Once in the ground I'll cover them with veggiemesh and over that, for a few weeks, lay a covering of fleece. Now all depends on TycheΤύχη, the blind mistress of Fortune, protecting the young parsnips from Sod's Law, holding s sheaf with a sandalled foot on the shoulders of a suppliant farmer...
Τύχη είναι η υποτιθέμενη «δύναμη» που αποδίδεται σε έμψυχα ή άψυχα αντικείμενα και η οποία είναι σε θέση να επηρεάσει, πέρα από τον έλεγχο του ανθρώπου και τους φυσικούς νόμους του σύμπαντος, γεγονότα και καταστάσεις ώστε να έχουν θετική κατάληξη. Στην αρχαιότητα η τύχη ήταν θεά, κόρη του Ερμή και της Αφροδίτης, και λατρευόταν από τους αρχαίους έλληνες ως προστάτιδα των πόλεων. 
A gauge of my ignorance. I thought the little white tentacles emerging from the germinated seeds were growing upwards - stems rising with the seed earthward. I had to wait a few days and look closer to see these were stems rooting in the damp tissue carrying the seed skywards. Can it be that some of these tiny fragile things will become the delectable parsnips we may enjoy next Christmas?
Germinating parsnip seeds

*** *** ***
Birmingham's Lord Mayor Shafique Shah has to be outside party politics, but representing an inner city ward, he was well aware of the issues HHH volunteers discussed over biscuits, tea and coffee in the Council House last Tuesday morning. Thanks to our ward councillors for arranging this, especially to Cllr Waseem Zaffar MBE, with us for our hour with the Lord Mayor. A useful meeting and for all the civility and pleasant ritual (HHH got a certificate!) not idle chat.
Coffee, tea and biscuits in the Lord Mayor's Parlour


Cllr Waseem Zaffar MBE, Charles Bates, Jan Horn, Lord Mayor Shafique Shah, Mike Tye, Linda Baddeley, Simon B, Denise Forsyth, Nick Jolliffe
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Working in Cornwall Road - another 'Skip-it Don't Tip-it' day - tea, courtesy of a resident

...and the next day Denise and I were working with a family to clear rubbish, including a collapsed rotting sofa, left by the previous tenant.





Kinopiastes - Κυνοπιάστες - is Ano Korakiana's sister village south of Corfu Town. Courtesy of John's Corfu World blog I've come across a film - 50 minutes - showing one of the best depictions I've seen of Corfiot rural life in 1970-71. Praise to Kinopiastes in Corfu and to the film-maker David Shaw-Smith, his family and Greek colleagues. This is the finest documentary I've ever seen of a pastoral economy still at work 45 years ago. At 36.21 I see a working threshing-floor (aloni, τ'αλώνι), horses used to loosen the chaff from the grain. My friend Jim Potts wrote a few years back...
"...an objective, physical structure and space, but also as a potent literary, cultural and folkloric symbol throughout Greek history, literature and folk-song, from ancient times, until the present day. It's sad to see many threshing floors abandoned nowadays, their surrounding walls crumbling, their beauty and function almost forgotten. As people start to go back to the land, maybe some, at least, will be restored. Will the circle be unbroken?" 
I enjoy the way the Greek commentary mingles with the children's English. Watching it, for all my realism about the back breaking labour of working the land, I ache for what's been lost by modernisation and its effect on the life of villages everywhere. 

This coming Sunday evening, at 19.00, there's a meeting in Kinopiastes Philharmonic Hall to consider rural revitalisation, including the revival of rural housing....
Η αναζωογόνηση της υπαίθρου
Μια εκδήλωση - συζήτηση με ευρύτερο ενδιαφέρον πραγματοποιείται την Κυριακή 22 Μαρτίου  και ώρα 7.00 το απόγευμα στους Κυνοπιάστες, σε συνεργασία με το Κέντρο UNESCO Ιονίου. Αφορά στο πρόβλημα της εγκατάλειψης της υπαίθρου και στην αναζωογόννηση των χωριών μας.
My translation: An event - exploring a matter of widest interest - will take place on Sunday, March 22 at 7.00 pm in Kinopiastes, in collaboration with the Centre for Ionian UNESCO. It concerns the problem of the rural exodus and the revitalisation of our villages.
The fast passing pastoral economy was fixed in a series of marble reliefs by Ano Korakiana's laic sculptorAristeidis Metallinos who died in 1987.






Rapid changes in the countryside, in the rural economy,figured over and over in my stepfather's broadcasts.
"The past is passing away in the English countryside at a rapidly accelerating speed. The change is amazing"
In the mid 1980s Jack Hargreaves uses a visit to a farm sale, where a family that's lived in the same place for centuries is leaving their farm, selling their home to a market in which such places now change hands, on average, every seven years; selling off their agricultural equipment - old and new - to buyers who want them for museums, as garden and pub decoration...
 
Jack Hargreaves - farm sale 1 from Simon Baddeley on Vimeo.
Out of Town has preoccupied me these last few years. In spring 2012 I found the unruly archive of film and tape at South West Film and Television Archivebrought it back to a lock-up in Birmingham; struggled with the task of getting 16mm film and 1/4 reel-to-reel sound tape matched up. Charles Webster at one of our lunches at Seafresh sketched an outline.  'Jack loved Dickens' I said "Call the project 'restored to life' - as in A Tale of Two Cities"
Charles Webster's note
A freelancer, Francis Neimczykand then late last year got the offer from Chris Perry to do a deal - letting the new local TV company, Big Centre TV, show existing episodes of Out of Town in return for having the post-production company Deluxe Soho digitise the archive material and Big Centre's editor, Sean Anthony Lee, synchronise and edit this material so that it too can be broadcast.
With Sean, 'my' Big Centre TV editor, at Walsall Studio School on 11th March

One other element of this risky quid pro quo is a 10 second commercial after each broadcast of 'Out of Town' for the Delta box-sets that my friend Charles Webster helped bring to the market..
My son came with me to interview Mike Prince at the formal opening of Big Centre TV on 6th Feb 2015

So now I sit at the kitchen table - 10.30-11.00 these last four Monday and Friday mornings monitoring my stepfather's broadcasts, transmission quality, on TV and on-line, aiming to ensure the commercials are shown, and that no more than 50% of the episodes in each box set will be broadcast (so no-one can download what others have bought). The event that I await is the first broadcast - so far unprecedented - of one of the reconstituted tape-film matches from the archive.
Oscar's got fleas and I'm watching 'Out of Town' on Big Centre TV
*** *** ***
"Cunning is, in fact, integral to Greek integrity, hence the disfavour it incurs from Anglo- and Teutonic mindsets" writes my friend Richard from Corfu. Greece is playing the game of her life, and how she plays the game despite holding a folding hand, will determine the history of the coming future. Being geographically small, Greece and Greeks value the classical merit of cunning - the talent of metis* referring in Greek to wisdom or craft or nous, and to the goddess of wisdom and prudence - η Μήτις. Cunning in Hellenic culture stands higher than it does in ours (tho' Greeks have seen perfidious Albion as a mirror). We are more wary of cunning. It can be ruefully respected, but also detested - no part of our understanding of integrity. Of necessity it's different in Greece. Richard Pine, in his latest op-ed for The Irish Times, written from Perithia, speaks of Yanis Varoufakis Γιάνης Βαρουφάκης.
Varoufakis plays consummate Cretan 
hand with EU ministers

A caricature depicts Greek prime minister Alexis Tsipras  and German Chancellor Angela Merkel during the traditional rosemonday carnival parade in the western German city of Duesseldorf. Photogaraph. AFP/Getty Images
A caricature depicts Greek prime minister Alexis Tsipras and German Chancellor Angela Merkel during the traditional rosemonday carnival parade in the western German city of Duesseldorf. Photograph. AFP/Getty Images
I am very pleased that Germany’s chancellor, Angela Merkel, and Greece’s prime minister, Alexis Tsipras, took my advice about the need for compromise. The two most entrenched hardliners in Europe – on either end of whatever spectrum you choose – moved together as if orchestrated by newspaper columnists, with Nobel laureate Paul Krugman the chief puppeteer. 
Nevertheless, a kissy-kissy scenario and swapping family photos isn’t on the agenda yet. Behind whatever smiles they can manage for the photo opportunities, Merkel would dearly love to cut off Tsipras’s feet at the shoulders.
If it were not for a growing sense in southern Europe that the underdogs may still be able to snarl a bit, many in the north (and Ireland) would have no hesitation in killing Greece – or at least the Greece led by Syriza which, Charlie Hebdo says, is “the future of Europe”.
It seemed at one point that the palpable sympathy of most Europeans for the Greek plight would not translate into votes, with several around the euro table determined not to let heart rule head when it came to getting re-elected.
As Krugman has pointed out, austerity policies, which the International Monetary Fund admits were ill-founded, caused such a shrinkage in the Greek economy as to jeopardise any possibility of recovery. 
Tsipras knows his government is on sale or return. Crying “Wolf!” is no use, if his election promises (of a new vision of the Greek future) are outperformed and negated by the realpolitik of Brussels and Berlin, and his 20-20 vision is severely impaired. He may well accept by now that, as former governor of New York Mario Cuomo put it, you campaign in poetry but govern in prose. If Tsipras had capitulated to Brussels and Berlin he would be facing another election before the end of this year. And that is still on the cards.
Speaking of cards, Greece’s finance minister, Yanis Varoufakis, who taught game theory at Athens University, denies he has been bluffing. “Nothing is farther from the truth,” he said on the eve of the crucial meeting of EU finance ministers. But Varoufakis comes from a Cretan family, and it was a Cretan who famously said: “All Cretans are liars.” If he was speaking the truth he was lying, and if he was lying he was speaking the truth. 
Poker wasn’t around when this was first mooted in 600 BC, but when Varoufakis says “It would be pure folly to think of the negotiations as a bargaining game to be won or lost via bluffing”, he was in fact saying the opposite. And that is how he won the last round of talks. 
When he insisted there was “a red line beyond which logic and duty prevent us from going”, he wasn’t merely stating Syriza’s ideological bottom line: he was also admitting that although the cards in his hand couldn’t beat a royal flush they could force his euro zone colleagues to show their hand. This he achieved, and they respected him enough to let him into the next round of the game. 
Of course Varoufakis was playing the game of his life. Everything in his manner – dress code, body language, approach and withdrawal from the table – proved him the consummate Cretan. And he got what he wanted – what he knew he could achieve, without overplaying his hand. To sit as a neophyte at that table with the big boys (including a scornful Michael Noonan) was to play the Cincinnati Kid against Edward G Robinson, but this time he won. 
To change the analogy, if an Indian army officer couldn’t pay his mess bills, his fellow officers gave him a revolver and told him to do “the honourable thing”. Tsipras and Varoufakis walked out of their meetings with their fellow officers, holding the gun but with no intention of doing anything honourable other than abiding by as many of their election promises they knew they could afford to keep. 
Tsipras returned home cautiously claiming: “We won the battle, not the war. The difficulties lie ahead of us.” Influential figures such as the German finance minister Wolfgang Schäuble are not helping anyone by suggesting Greece won’t be able to deliver on the essential reforms. The simple fact, as Krugman repeatedly emphasises, is that if Greece cannot pay all its debts there’s no future in insisting it should do so. 
Noonan, too, doesn’t help when he so clearly relishes his rehabilitation on the good-boy side of the table, adopting an unseemly attitude to Varoufakis, comparing him to a “celebrity economist, good in theory but not very good in practice”. I think Varoufakis will prove to be a better player than Noonan. The next game could be Russian roulette. Smiles don’t cost anything but they don’t come cheap. Handshakes and hugs, as we know from Northern Ireland, take a little time.
* My footnote: Marcel Detienne and Jean-Pierre Vernant published a book in 1978 called Les ruses de l’intelligence: la mètis des Grecs, translated in 1991 as Cunning Intelligence in Greek Culture and Society.
...There is no doubt that mêtis is a type of intelligence and of thought, a way of knowing; it implies a complex but very coherent body of mental attitudes and intellectual behaviour which combine flair, wisdom, forethought, subtlety of mind, deception, resourcefulness, vigilance, opportunism, various skills, and experience acquired over the years. It is applied to situations which are transient, shifting, disconcerting and ambiguous, situations which do not lend themselves to precise measurement, exact calculation or rigorous logic.. 

Αγαπητέ Καγκελάριος

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Letter sent prior to a meeting in Berlin today between Alexis Tsipras and Angela Merkel

Dear Chancellor 
I am writing to you to express my deep concern about developments since the 20th February 2015 Eurogroup agreement, which was preceded two days earlier by a letter from our Minister of Finance* outlining a number of issues that the Eurogroup ought to resolve, issues which I consider to be important, including the need:
(a) To agree the mutually acceptable financial and administrative terms the implementation of which, in collaboration with the institutions, will stabilise Greece’s financial position, attain appropriate fiscal surpluses, guarantee debt stability and assist in the attainment of fiscal targets for 2015 that take into account the present economic situation. 
(b) To allow the European Central Bank to re-introduce the waiver in accordance with its procedures and regulations. 
(c) To commence work between technical teams on a possible new Contract for Recovery and Development that the Greek authorities envisage between Greece, Europe and the International Monetary Fund, to follow the current Agreement. 
(d) To discuss means of enacting the November 2012 Eurogroup decision regarding possible further debt measures and assistance for implementation after the completion of the extended Agreement and as a part of the follow-up Contract.
Based on the in-principle acceptance of this letter and its content, the President of the Eurogroup convened the 20th February meeting which reached a unanimous decision expressed in a communiqué. The latter constitutes a new framework for the relationship between Greece, its partners, and its institutions.
More precisely, the 20th February Eurogroup agreement stipulated a number of points outlining this new framework and process, including:
(a) The Greek authorities will present a first list of reform measures, based on the current arrangement, by the end of Monday, February 23. The institutions will provide a first view whether this is sufficiently comprehensive to be a valid starting point for a successful conclusion of the review. This list will be further specified and then agreed with the institutions by the end of April. 
(b) The Greek authorities have expressed their strong commitment to a broader and deeper structural reform process aimed at durably improving growth and employment prospects, ensuring stability and resilience of the financial sector and enhancing social fairness. The authorities commit to implementing long overdue reforms to tackle corruption and tax evasion, and improving the efficiency of the public sector. In this context, the Greek authorities undertake to make best use of the continued provision of technical assistance. 
(c) We remain committed to provide adequate support to Greece until it has regained full market access as long as it honours its commitments within the legal framework. 
Based on this common ground, the Minister of Finance sent to the President of the Eurogroup a letter, dated 23rd February 2015, with the aforementioned “first list of reforms” [see (a) above] proposed by the government. On 24th February 2015 the said “first list” was accepted by the institutions as “sufficiently comprehensible to be a valid starting point for a successfully conclusion of the review” by 20th April 2015.
In order to expedite the process, the Ministry of Finance sent a letter to the President of the Eurogroup on 5th March 2015 urging that the process of technical discussions on specifying further the “first list of reforms” begin immediately. In the same letter the Minister of Finance attached seven examples of how the reforms in the “first list” could be developed and specified further. 
Following a positive reply by the President of the Eurogroup (dated 6th March 2015) and the subsequent Eurogroup meeting of 9th March 2015, the first round of discussions of the Brussels Group (comprising of the four institutions – EC-ECB-ESM-IMF – plus the technical team of the Greek government) took place, in Brussels, on Wednesday 11th March dealing with both political and technical issues. At that meeting it was also decided that technical teams of the institutions would travel to Athens on the following day for on-site fact-finding to assist the Brussels Group negotiations.In the context of the above, I feel it is critical to alert you to a number of developments which are either undermining the spirit of the agreement reached or making their fulfilment perilously difficult.
(a) On 4th February the European Central Bank lifted the waiver for minimum credit rating requirements for marketable instruments issued or guaranteed by the Hellenic Republic, while declaring that the waiver would be restored when an agreement was reached at the level of the Eurogroup. Moreover, even since the Greek banks were referred to the Bank of Greece’s ELA facility, the ECB has been raising the ELA’s ceiling at shorter intervals than normal and at rather small increments that incite speculation and spread uncertainty vis-à-vis Greece’s banking system. Additionally, the ECB determined that Greek banks cannot hold more T-bills than they did on 18th February 2015, thus restricting their participation to well below the T-bill cap. (Please note that, in the summer of 2012, when a new Athens government was in a similar situation to ours, ELA was being expanded generously, the T-bill issuance cap was lifted to allow the government to finance its debt repayments to our creditors, and banks were not restricted to any limit corresponding to a prior date’s holding. In that manner the government of the time and the Eurogroup were granted sufficient ‘space’ to reach an arrangement that allowed the Greek banks to move away from ELA and back to normal ECB financing methods.)  
(b) Following past failures (of the previous government) to complete the scheduled reviews, disbursements under the loan agreements with the ESM-EFSF were discontinued (while those of the IMF were similarly delayed), yielding a substantial financial gap in 2014 and 2015. This includes the profits from the ECB’s SMP-sourced bond redemptions, which the ECB distributes to member states on the understanding that they be passed onto the Greek government.
Given that Greece has no access to money markets, and also in view of the ‘spikes’ in our debt repayment obligations during the Spring and Summer of 2015 (primarily to the IMF), it ought to be clear that the ECB’s special restrictions [see (a) above] when combined with the disbursement delays [see (b) above] would make it impossible for any government to service its debt obligations. Servicing these repayments through internal resources alone would, indeed, lead to a sharp deterioration in the already depressed Greek social economy – a prospect that I will not countenance. 
Meanwhile, I also regret to report that little progress has been made in the negotiations between the technical teams in Brussels and Athens. The reason for the extremely slow progress is that the institutions’ technical teams, as well as some of the actors at a higher level, seem to show little regard for the 20th February Eurogroup agreement and are, instead, committed to proceeding along the lines of the Memorandum of Understanding that pre-dates both the 20th February agreement and 25th January 2015 – the date on which the Greek people elected a new government with a mandate to negotiating the new process established by the 20th February Eurogroup agreement. It is difficult to believe that our partners consider that a successful reform drive can be carried out under such restrictive and pressing constraints, including the financial squeeze that my government is currently labouring under. 
The Greek government remains steadfast in its commitment to fulfil its obligations to its partners within the framework of the 18th February letter and 20th February Eurogroup decision. However, I am also obliged to make clear to you that, in order to continue to fulfil our obligations, as we have done up to now, progress has to be made on a number of fronts:
(a) After 20th February Eurogroup agreement and the approval of the extension of the MFAFA by member states, and given that the technical discussions with the institutions are under way, the ECB should return the terms of finance of the Greek banks to their pre-4th February 2015 state. 
(b) The process by which the reforms proposed by the Greek government, and their evaluation, must be immediately clarified so as to make a successful conclusion of the review by the end of April 2015, as well as to specify the recommencement of disbursements with the progress of the negotiations. 
(c) The process must be specified (as well as the participants and timetable) by which further arrangements (which my government would like to take the form of a ‘Contract for Greece’s Recovery and Development’ – including provisions on Greece’s public debt in the spirit of the November 2012 Eurogroup agreement) will be agreed to before the end of June 2015.
In conclusion, Greece is committed to fulfilling its obligations in good faith and close cooperation with its partners. To this purpose we are committed fully to the process specified in the 20th Eurogroup agreement so as to begin immediately the work of implementing reforms crucial to our economy’s prospects of long term development within an inclusive Europe. With this letter, I am urging you not to allow a small cash flow issue, and a certain ‘institutional inertia’, to not turn into a large problem for Greece and for Europe.

*Letter sent by Yanis Varoufakis, the Greek finance minister, on 18th Feb 2015, to Jeroen Dijsselbloem, the Dutch finance minister who chairs the eurogroup, formally requesting an extension of the existing bailout, something Tsipras had resisted since his government's election. See also Yanis Varoufakis' blog entry for 20th March in which he picks up on the matter of a subversive video circulating on social media. 
Diplomacy in Berlin...

23rd March 2015: The German Chancellor and Prime Minister of Greece appear at 49.50 on this clip...

Leaving England

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Last Saturday in March I did some last minute sowing and, with Oscar, took a look around Plot 14 before packing our cases for Ano Korakiana.
Winnie asked me to give her notes...
WEEDS: Keep the plot free of weeds– especially couch grass (do not put couch grass or any other perennial weeds in any of the compost bays) Keep everything tidy like you do already. The annual weeds will spring up everywhere but can be dealt with by regular hoeing back into the ground, unless they’re seeding (in which case pull and add them to compost bay 2). Don’t worry about dock. The long roots turn the soil. Cut them off at soil level and put leaves in compost bay. 
COMPOST: Now and then fork and turn the waste I’ve started in bay 1 (it won’t be ready until at least winter). Cover it with polythene or carpet to keep warmth up but ensure it still gets air. If there’s a long dry spell – wet it with the watering can to stop it drying out. If it rots/ferments well and is well on its way to turning into humus (like the ‘black gold in the builder’s bags) turn it into bay 3. If things work out the compost will become humus, ending up the colour and consistency of a good Christmas cake!
Meantime put new green waste (other than perennial weeds. i.e. couch grass) in bay 2. Cover that in the same way to keep warmth up.  After moving the contents of bay 1 into bay 3, switch to putting new waste into bay 1, turning that into bay 2 when its well on its way, leaving bay 1 clear for the next lot of new waste. I'm figuring how to use Garotta or a cheaper equivalent to keep the process moving.
Re the commercial compost in the builder’s bags. If you do any digging over on the plot, add some of that – enough to darken the ground to hold more warmth from the sun and prevent cracking of the soil if it stays dry a few days - and a few handfuls of the bone meal and blood fertilizer from the big plastic buckets with the red lids. Just a sprinkle to flavour the ground.
POTATOES: Earth up potatoes as the green tops rise SLUGS AND SNAILS: Salt slugs. You’re better at this already. If frogs appear that’s great. They like slugs. RUNNER BEANS: If the runner beans I sowed on Saturday sprout as I hope you may need to give the seedlings a help to get started up the bamboo frame. ONIONS: If any onions are growing too close, thin them out and replant with more space or harvest them for yourself as spring onions. BROAD BEAN SUPPORT: Once the sprouting broad beans get higher they may need support – a net or strings stretched between bamboos. Same for the peas just sprouting. PARSNIPS: Let me know how the parsnips are doing (the seedlings under the netting and bubble wrap). Thin out any growing too close. Don’t let the seedlings dry out. Remove bubble wrap but leave netting when weather gets warmer. 
JERUSALEM ARTICHOKES: I’ve left them in the ground. They’ll probably start growing like Jack’s beanstalk in the next months. Leave. WATERING: If and when we get a spell of several days without rain do some watering with the can (but not in bright sun!) and if the water in tanks runs out attach hose to the tap and refill. It's forbidden to water direct from the hose!  
BEES: If you need to phone Gill Rose about the bees she lives at ** Beaudesert Road and her phone her number is ****. She'll be making periodic inspections of the hive. Refer anyone else on the site who asks about the bees to her.  (If another incident of stone throwing from the park occurs put that piece of paling fence between the hive and the fence)  
SECRETARY VJA COMMITTEE: Gill Preston, VJA Site Secretary, * Wood Lane B20 2AA mob: ****. She shares her job on the VJA committee with Danny Webster (They are nice - keep in with them)  
BLACKBERRY BUSHES. If anyone starts cutting down the blackberry bushes by the iron fence or debates the heap of earth and weeds at the back of the plot next to Plot 14, point out that our plot boundaries end well before the fence – especially on the edge side (there’s a plot map slipped into the back shed wall near the door which shows this)  
TROUBLE: If you have trouble like the glass throwing incident catch one of the rangers when they come by in the park in that white van or stroll up the park compound in case you can meet them there. The supervisor of park grounds maintenance is Allen Broad – nice bloke – mob:*** (keep a brief record of any incident)  
POND: Just leave that for the moment. I haven’t made up my mind whether it’s a good idea or will work without running water.  
NEIGHBOURS: If anyone starts work on the next door plots be really nice. Nothing worse than ill-will between neighbours (however irritating expereince says they can sometimes be).  
STAY IN TOUCH: Keep in touch by email or Facebook. Send pictures if possible. In emergency we can talk on the phone. In case anyone questions you being on the plot…I have given Winnie Hall - a very responsible person - full permission to work on Plot 14 during my absence from the UK including access to the site combination lock. 
From Ano Korakiana

Εμπρός γκρεμός και πίσω ρέμα.

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In Ano Korakiana, and every village across the land, edges of roads and steps and paths are being whitewashed, verges tidied, surfaces swept as Easter comes closer. Fortis and his son Lefteris set to with bucket and brushes this morning, doing edges by our home as well as theirs. From the 12.15 city to village bus I glimpsed his back – an older man in a wide hat walking near the centre of the road below the village. The driver used his horn. The figure moved a pace to the left without turning; absorbed. Andreas Metallinos on one of his regular walks – βόλτες του – a slight stoop and a walking stick, coming from his daughter’s home – which he built - just outside the village. Angeliki, grand-daughter of Aristeidis Metallinos, has set aside an hour a day from Tuesday to Saturday in the week after Easter to create a catalogue of the laic sculptor’s works. I couldn’t be more pleased at this step toward making the village sculptor better known. She suggested this over coffee at Crescendo - next door to the sculptor’s museum; told her I’m responding to a request for a picture of one of the artist's works as an illustration in Richard Pine’s latest book – this one about Greece from an Irish perspective. Tassos took photos of all 250 pieces in the museum but the one which Richard’s suggested to his publisher isn’t clear enough. With the family’s permission I arranged for Rob Groove, a professional and a friend, to visit the museum.

He uses a far better camera than mine. Publishing even one picture fits the hope Angeliki and I share of another increment to her grandfather’s public presence – in this case his craft and his gift for ribald illustration of human frailty.  Richard said “It’ll go down a treat in Catholic Ireland”
Anna, holding Stavros her little nephew, welcomed us again into their home, turned on the lighting in the familiar rooms where the stone and marble works sit on packed shelves. Rob set up lights and tripod and took pictures; used his laptop to check results.


“I’ll work on these tonight. If you could link to robgroove.com I’d be happy”
“Send your best choice straight to Richard. Copy to me”
Richard’s email re ‘The naughty bishop” – a scandal of the mid-1970s.
‘Yes, it's better - much clearer contrast. Many thanks for organising it.
You didn't say whether you'd prefer Chrysomalis or Nino's - where we were (the 3 of us) before. Please let me know. The bus I will be taking is the 4pm to Acharavi - it goes straight on from Tzavros, not turning right to go through Ipsos. Not sure if it stops anywhere from where you could get to Ano K.
SB: We’ll see you at Chrysomalis. Your bus can drop us at the turn to Ano Korakiana off the Sidari Road. Only 2 kilometres to the village.
Once at lunch – the usual disappointment starting with tourist guff about this being Lawrence Durrell’s favourite place (he did have a favoured table by the window and told someone seeking a signature to ‘f’ off’. That was half a century ago and more.) Lin’s chicken was reheated; my giant beans straight from the tin; the chips pre-cut. But at least we got a receipt.
“I’m long used to being offered with and without receipt prices” I said “and I still get them from the baker in the village, but in the last week I’ve had more avoidance receipts than ever, with excuses about broken tills, a lengthy request for tax number and other personal details to enter in the computer until I give up, and at a garage when I followed up the now familiar avoidance – despite the valuable word ‘ λοιπόν’ to allow a pause and rethink – I said “I’m supposed to get in touch about this with Mr Varoufakis”
“Ah yes well when you speak with Mr Varoufakis please ask him to drop in and mend our cash-machine”
Richard, over his tepid plate of wrinkled greasy rice stuffed tomatoes, said “You know, I know, and everyone in Brussels knows that despite the lip service absolutely nothing is being done to try and extract tax owed by the very rich. I suspect it’s impossible. Maynard Keynes at the time of the Treaty of Versailles wrote a policy paper to the Allies saying there were two choices ‘Enable Germany to rebuild her economy despite all animosities, or bring her low, gutting what’s left'"
To the bruised and vengeful allies the generous option would have been politically impossible, even morally feeble. No Marshall plan in 1919.
“The consequences for Europe and the world we all know. The troika with Merkel’s support intend to maintain the pressures that over the long term will reduce Greece to the economic condition of a third world nation” (Richard's latest article in the Irish Times)
The pace of real disaster seems snail paced against the fireworks of TV entertainment we enjoy over evening meals. Striving to stand back far enough to get a perspective on an unfolding catastrophe I wonder how in the midst of this national crisis with its wider corollaries anyone would want to watch something as invented and artificial as Black Sails, House of Cards or Game of Thrones.
Tsipras is playing a weak hand but playing it as well as anyone whose promised not to be as obedient to Brussels as his predecessor Samaras. I emailed John Martin the other day. He and Annie went to a conference at Birmingham University last week. He’d asked for my impressions:
Dear John. Sorry you seem to have missed Richard in Birmingham.
I’d like to know if the accomm at the Bull was quaint and interesting or unmentionable.
With your customary generous manners I can see you not grumbling to me as I recommended. But I’m hoping so much it was OK and you didn’t have to move out to Holiday Inn or equivalent.
Hope Cats was good. Happy Birthday to Annie.
In Corfu everyone speaks of endless rain but we’ve hit a lucky set of blue sunny days with the wood stove needed only at night to keep us cosy in the house.
General view of the ‘situation’ here is that the SYRIZA government needs its first 100 days and that Greece is playing the toughest of games despite a lousy hand. The cards? Card 1: Austerity doesn’t work. Card 2: Don’t drive us into the hands of Golden Dawn. Card 3: Russia and/or China. Card 4: German WW2 reparations -  cut us some debt-forgiveness like Germany got war forgiveness via the Marshall Plan. Card 5: We really will do something about corruption and tax collection.
Systems of tax collection have closed down here pending the new government’s resolutions on what will be stopped, modified and renewed. So even if we want to pay our taxes we can’t. All is on hold.
There is a feeling of resigned waiting, but it still feels slightly better than under the previous government.
Varoufakis seems to be lying low at the moment. His initial coverage led to vexation and some envy of ‘bandstanding’ in his own party; SYRIZA already being a loose partnership of several left wing parties.
How does it look from your perch?
Our children stepped in to look after Lin’s mum. It’s so good they enabled her to get away, but Lin’s mum Dot has an alarm button that rings with Amy, Richard and us if pressed. Dot’s been mistaking it for the normal call button. I think that’s sorted now. Love to all, S 
*** *** ***
It wouldn’t need a theologian to argue that hefting a plastic bag of just born kittens out of a wheelie bin is no act of charity. We were walking down National Opposition Street in the dusk, further than we’d planned. Distressing cries came from within.
“There’s a cat trapped in there” said Lin lifting the lid “Oh no it’s kittens in a bag” There were four of them soaked fur matted in condensation, one dead already, umbilical still attached.
Next day chatting to Katerina she gestured with a heave of her arm the obvious sense of chucking them back where we’d found them. There are feral cats in scores across the village. By then our rescued kits – two tabby, one ginger - were in a cardboard box, wrapped in a towel on top of a hot water bottle being fed Lactol solution from a syringe dropper bought at the pet food shop in Dassia.
“Lick them with a sponge in warm water” said the woman there “as the mum cat would to keep them clean”
“So what do we do with them?”
One friend advised “Take a fetching photo. Float them on local Facebook. Say if no-one claims them by the end of May – if they last as long – they’re off to the vet”
“I’d like to let them loose to take their chances with the other village cats” I said
“They’ll be eaten alive. They’re going to be domesticated by you tending them. They’re domesticating by the hour”
“Great. Why don’t I just clobber them with a spade now? Dig them into the wisteria roots like the butcher’s fresh rabbit skin”
They have all died now, increasingly enfeebled, they've faded away. Without the attention of a true dam our ministrations were futile.
*** *** ***
It rained. “We’ve had so much rain” everyone repeated. Down at the Sunday table-top sale at Sally’s Bar we skyped Amy, outside to get away from the piped sound indoors, but Lin protecting the screen from stray drops of rain. Something about a shower screen bought on ebay but sent without the bar that attaches it to the wall. Amy - in bed with our grand-daughter crawling vigorously back and forth while Oliver naked bounces in and out of vision grinning at us across the ether - checks the ebay description and seller’s details on her phone.



On the Ipsos esplanade, almost deserted, the unsightly palms bent to a wind from the south.


*** *** ***
I’ve been engrossed in a South African police procedural. Heart of Darkness stuff, in the publisher’s words ‘World Noir’, translated from French in 2008 Brian Epkeen, South African Police officer reflects on his boss’s inabiity to proceed with a politically charged case
‘Faced with competition from world markets, sovereign states could do very little to withstand the pressures of finance and globalised trade, unless they wanted to alienate investors and threaten their own gross national product. The role of states was now limited to maintaining order and security in the midst of a new world disorder controlled by centrifugal, supranational and elusive forces. No-one genuinely believed in progress anymore, the world had become an uncertain, precarious place, but most decision makers were happy to let the pirates of this phantom system continue with their plunder and to take advantage of it themselves while hoping it would all blow over. The excluded were pushed farther out onto the periphery of huge cities reserved for the winners of a cannibalistic game in which, with no prospect of collective action, people’s widespread frustration was channeled into television, sports and celebrity culture.’ Caryl Férey Zulu (2010) pp.379-380 
The plot is relentless. Good for the Christian week of despair. ‘No-one genuinely believed in progress anymore’. Is that my elderly mood or a national spirit in the few more weeks before our uncertain General Election? Re the panem et circenses comment, I enjoy some television. Watching sport and following celebrities rate with glue-sniffing. With my stepfather I'm probably living in the cracks between ever spreading concrete. In my dreams I’d like to see myself as a clerk of small works, alert to my position and the opportunity to garden, pick up litter and do the occasional small-orbit good turn, and meet good people. I’ve not got much time for public anger. Private vexation is another thing.

Small works

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Clunk!
From downstairs Lin calls “What have you done now?”
“We have a problem”
The stove, just refilled with wood, was keeping us warm. The hollow half-cone cast iron moulding that linked it to the stove pipe had dropped off onto the marble base of the stove. Six 5mm bolts sheared.
“It’s because you let the lid fall with a bang all the time” said Lin “Cast iron’s brittle.”
We opened both french windows to clear any smoke. I measured the height from floor to chimney, went down to the apothiki and found a suitable piece of sturdy plank under 60cm to prop back the moulding, now cooled in water. I offered up the moulding, pushed the plankprop under it, while Lin jammed in planky firewood wood, front and back, to hold it in place.
Sorted until the morning, I considered the problem. The sheared bolts were firmly married to the stove casing, almost invisible.
“I’ll have to drill them out and cycle down to Tzavros in the morning to get replacement nuts and bolts.”
The morning was bright; clear blue. Ripe for a cycle ride south.
First I took the moulding outside. My metal drills found an easy centre in the bolt heads. Through to the other side, the metal  drill gave a grip to a big nail used as a punch. Bang, bang, bang. A sharp tap with a small hammer and the holes were clear. I tidied the interior surface with a sanding disk on the angle grinder.
“If the rest of the job’s as easy…”
I disconnected the stove pipe and swivelled the stove to the light. Reaching inside with grippers I tried to turn the bolts. No way were they going to give. But drilling was hampered by the inadequacy of my metal drills and the difficulty of getting them centred on the sheared end of the bolts.
The solution was for Lin to hold the moulding in place so that its bolt holes gave me a centre on the stove. With the six bolt holes just pricked with the drill, I began drilling proper, having first used the angle grinder inside the stove to cut through the immovable nutted bolts. Sparks flew.
“Why bother?” Said Lin “Once you’re through the casing they’ll surely drop off anyway”
“It feels better this way”
Drilling with my metal drills was frustrating. They were the cheapest kind and lost their edge in moments.
I got out my bicycle, checking tyres for thorns at the end of the path to the lower road. The pleasure of being on the large bicycle on a fresh sunny morning – a downhill run almost the whole 7 kilometres to Tzavros. A list of small things to buy.
At Kostas’ I got the 5mm nuts and bolts, but he was out of 5mm metal drills - the cheap ones and the good ones. On to Technomart another kilometre. They had some in stock.
Now the long ascent back to the village – a test of my declining powers. I stopped for a scoop of melon ice cream and a glass of water at Emeral; rested at the Doctor’s Bridge turn and ate a choc biscuit and again, after the turn onto the village road, at the bridge over the stream. The wind was fresh and chill; wild flowers blooming; the mountain sides greening with spring leaves. It was pleasing how a five minute rest recovered my powers. Here was the steepest part in the last half kilometre. Fine on 1:1 gears. I walked up the path, rang my bell.
Lin in our small garden says “Hi”
“Right let’s see what happens now. Make me a cup of tea, woman”
“Yes master”
Each hole took the best part of 10 minutes drilling, with me switching through even my new drills.
“You need a diamond tip”
“Get me a set for Christmas”
The holes were not well enough aligned to get all the bolts through. We argued, Lin as usual using that dratted past tense containing the futile imperative “You should have…”
She left me to it and went to work in the garden. I used a larger drill from my set, a cheap one, but it worked well enough, enlarging the drill holes now the casing had been pierced. Offered up again, each bolt, two at odd angles, came through. I tightened the nuts. All flush. I loosened them again.
“Li-in! We’re ready for the fire cement.”
“Hm” she said “Well done Baddeley”
The cement – red sticky from a tube was applied as I watched. Then I tightened the nuts for good.
“Looks good” I said “I’ll just grind off the bolts an inch”
“Not too close to the nuts. While the stove’s facing this way I’ll give the back a coat of stove paint.”
That done we eased our mended stove back in place, vacuuming up ash and soot. Lin applied marble cleaner to clean scuffing on the base; re-attached the stove pipe to the next length of pipe, sealing the join with silver tape.
“Cup of tea?”
“Yes”
“And now be more careful about not banging the stove lid. I keep telling you”
“Yeah yeah”
I put my clothes in the washing basket, had a shower and felt pleasantly clean and achy from the cycling and drilling.
Later I said “The problem with the sorts of repairs we do, or the things we make...It’s not like a craftsman doing similar things over and over...improving on experience; knowing the measures and having the right tools to hand. How could we have known that stove moulding would just drop off one evening? What do I know about how it attaches…the width of the holes, the number of bolts? Now it’s reattached is it likely to happen again? Touch wood, no. Something else will break or go wrong. No wonder I sometimes seem cackhanded; always an innocent...If you get me diamond tipped drills when will I need them again?”
**** **** ****
On Good Friday, coming home from a walk in the late afternoon, we could hear singing in the large school room above us – the choir from Sokraki rehearsing one of the three Great Friday songs, ‘Ω γλυκύ μου έας’– ‘Oh! My Sweet Spring’ that I chose to begin my mother’s funeral in the Highlands. In old age, memory’s palette has more shades to mix from present cues. I allowed myself – so it felt – a tear. I wonder if there’s some reservoir of grief as yet untapped though I sense, as someone gingerly feels themselves after a fall, that my mourning’s done. The richness of her long life, her hand in mine at her last breath, Bay and I beside her bed, her genes so thoroughly, often familiarly, in me; and didn’t we both say at moments of chat immersed in favourite places, happy with the hour, even the whole day, that, come a time, these things would all pass. Once I grew out of thinking of my mum’s death as beyond bearing, the infant's nightmare, their ending became the hidden ingredient - the risky spice - of our shared enjoyments. I like seeing things of hers here in Greece – the windvane that followed us for 50 years, the pitch pine drawers used to store garden things now part of the bedroom wardrobe Lin and I built last year, the pyjamas Lin’s wearing now, the cashmere neckwarmers good for cycling in chilly winds, a small oil portrait of a woman that mum found in a junk-shop (when such places existed), seen now in the Greek light that seeps through the shutters.
Easter Saturday coming up to midnight: Stephanie and Wesley live close to the higher church. They’d invited us to a recording, in their big sitting room, of the Corfu Christmas panto, Cinderella, in which Wesley played a moustached and goatied ugly sister performing in ever expanding hoop dresses, while Steph played half an extemporised double act between the main scenes – one of two spivs in pin stripe and trilbies. Maria, also in the panto, had joined us with her sons James and Adam. The finale done, we got our coats on against the chill and strolled with candles unlit to Ay Georgias.
“The Greeks find the British enjoyment of men dressed as women and vice versa as strange” said Wes.
The annual panto’s plot is topped and tailed, characters and plot, exposed to a hybrid Brit-Greek audience by a Corfiot clown front of curtain.
The triangular courtyard of the church was full, a platform with speakers for the priest and a lozenged image of Christ risen, and, beside the church, the brass helmets and plumes of the village band. We joined the throng of familiar faces and every age. I stepped up via the back door into the smoke wax scented glistening gloom of the church’s crowded interior audience to prayer and incantation, candles all around below the lights of the big chandelier. The congregation moved slowly towards the front, lighting their candles from the original flame and walking them down to join the people outside. From the podium there were more prayers until at midnight "Kristos Anesti!" bang bang bang bang of fireworks, a merry tune struck up by the band and further away the sound of shots, hugging and kissing and handshaking, faces uplit by candles. Down the short steep hill, guarding our candles in the wax cradles Wesley had given us, to Democracy Street where villagers lined the road, more hugs and kisses and the hum of happy greetings “Kronnia Polla!” “Kala Paska” “Kristos anesti” "Alethos Anesti”. Under our porch was room for one more candle flame cross to join three from previous Easters.
** **
Peter and Elena are married and she expects a child in September. Easter Sunday afternoon, a spotless blue day, Peter’s parents, Paul and Lula invited us to a lamb roast at Elina's parents, Procopius and Xrysa's home on Filareto, beside the road to Kanoni. We’re used to filotemo here, but here, if that’s possible, the gift was amplified as we - strangers - were, from the first second of our arrival, drawn into the orbit of two Greek families joined in pride and happiness at each others’ children’s union. Starting with warm handshakes and kisses we were sat at joined up terrace tables under a veranda overlooking the narrow road from town. Between us already many plates spread with prosciutto, salami, feta cubes, slices of hard cheese and village rosé in jugs not allowed to empty, a bottle of tsipero circulating and Sunday toast. To the rhythm of songs whose lyrics all but I and Lin knew the company sang, now and then breaking off to clash our glasses and plastic cups in toasts to health up and down the tables.
Procopius
“Come” said Procopius “the spit”
He gestured the turning. I followed him to a cooking space where glistening with fat a whole lamb turned above the charcoal, watched by Anna, Xrysa's mother.
“Here, baste!” he handed me a brush and jar of olive oil and then pinched off a piece of crisp skin and juicy flesh, piquant with rosemary, salt and the smell of the roasting beast.
“Ready?” he asked me
“Thekka lepta?” I ventured
“Thekka lepta” he instructed his mother, who smiled without a hint of indulgence.
Back at the table village sausages were added to the mezes, cut six or seven times, to make delectable mouthfuls.
Lin began nudging me as I ate “Don’t be so greedy”
We sang and hummed and toasted and drank, Paul, Lula, George, Lin, I, Procopius, Xrysa  George, Rula and her daughter Eleni, Pete and Elina, his brother Kostas.
Procopius and George ready to unspit the lamb

A plate of kokoretsi passed round - a delicacy some don't like because made of lamb's intestines turned inside out, washed, rubbed with salt, soaked in lemon juice, threaded onto a skewer, wrapped with the intestine to hold the roll together, crisped over the fire. It was time to prepare the lamb for the table, unshackle its neck, draw the spit from centre, lay the cooked carcass on wood and chop it limb from sizzling limb. Procopius and George prepared the feast. Chop chop chop. Bones and sinews gave way. Rich slivers of meat and crisp skin were laid in square platters for our table. I carried one, trailing the delicious scent of the roast to the table and so to our plates to be enjoyed with the help of fingers, fatty, hot and lickable.



Procopius filled the wine jugs, led the toasts amid the eating and the singing and dancing. Two plates were smashed followed by more, with Xrysa adding the regular clanging of dropped oven and baking tins “Oopa” “Oopa”.



When the younger people had gone the grown-ups continued the meal with two enthusiastic household dogs bounding under and around the tables. We played 'conkers' with dyed red hard boiled eggs - a game I still haven't the knack to win.  As the sun sank and began to dazzle us Xrysa hung a cloth from the beams of the veranda. Procopius - or was it Paul? - threw more plates to smash in the road...
...and then we continued dancing there, waving to passing cars on their way to Vlacherna and Kanoni, some drivers and passengers waving back happily “Kala Paska” “Kronia Polla”.
Music, dancing, plate smashing, ironware clashing continued, tables were swiftly cleared, more wine poured, sweet things served on platters, and hardly consumed, before Procopius whipped the whole table cloth with all on the table to the floor “Oopa” – and danced amid the shambles swiftly tidied by Lula and Anna, who’d already swept our wreckage from the road. Then we were dancing, even I, on one of the tables. Procopius picked up the other and threw it over. Xrysa pulled a hollow brick from the garden and hurled it into the shattered debris of plates and glasses. Two girls passing outside were invited to join us. They too were soon dancing and singing, plied with food and wine
“You realise where you are?” said Paul “we're all vampires!”

Then there was coffee. Slowly the party wound down, the terrace tidied, even as the music and singing continued. In the Greek way of enjoying a party eyes never glaze over, speech is never slurred, no-one gets drunk, for all the wine that flows, and no-one whispers “You know I really like you”. Wit stays sharp. Mickey is taken. Procopius and Paul, father to father “Me Greek bastard no English! You English bastard, no Greek”. At some point I went over to Paul; gave his shoulders a hug “Thanks for asking us to this. I couldn’t be happier”. So when it was time to leave we all hugged, kissed, shook hands and went our ways.
*** ***

Anna Metallinos has brought me a rich diplo and chocolate cake these last two days as her daughter Angeliki and I work in the Aristeidis Metallinos museum listing the features of each of the laic sculptor’s works – whether marble or stone, its dimensions, whether a full sculpture or a relief, oblong or oval. Andreas has dropped in and answered more of my questions. He brought in his father's marble - Kozanis κοζάνυς. The works in stone - like one of my favourites, the small statue of a woman - came from local houses that were falling down or were stones just lying beside the road, which might have come originally from a quarry at Sinies.
"Why did he sometimes use marble and sometimes stone?"
"We don't know"
"Which is easier to work?"
"Marble"
Right now this is my favourite - smoothed stone; hardly 15 inches high



A stone shoe

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The light behind the curtains suggests another sunny day, with reservations. Enough to do laundry. Once the machine is rumbling reassuringly, the soaked mix tossing in the froth, I’ve emptied the waste into a plastic sack for walking to the wheelie bins, I boil the kettle for tea and coffee, slice two pieces of bread to toast, and take from the fridge my usual Christmas gift from Amy, anchovy paste – Partum Peperium–  ‘There’s only one shop in Birmingham I can get it, Dad’.

The balcony, where I take my tray, affords a view that spreads from Albania, across the border, along the high mountains of Epirus as far as the hazy space of Igoumenitsa over the shining sea between island and mainland. From the crags behind us...
...the island mountains disappear around to an inland cape covered in trees and shrubs from which stone cliffs jut now and then, over which, in winter, the sun will suddenly appear having risen red over the mainland peaks.

In April our sun rises further south, lighting three green hills a couple of miles away, clothed in olive trees that reach into the village, hiding the long shore between Pyrgi, an hour’s walk, and Dassia in the centre of the bay 10 kilometres wide between ugly Barbati, invisible from Ano Korakiana, and Corfu Town. Between the hills I can see, less than a mile from the Old Port of the city, Vido island. Due south the gentle undulations continue, completing the middle distance, dotted now and then with pink-violet blossomed Kokukyias, which some foreigners, including Lawrence Durrell, call Judas Trees.

Above them, usually in haze, sometimes invisible, more mountains – south of the city the saddle back around Agia Deka, 20 kilometres away, astride the island’s narrow tail, and to the west the mountains behind Cape Plaka forming precipices over the resorts of Ermones, Gliffada and Pelekas, facing the Ionian Sea – on their lower slopes, speckles amid the greenery, of villages. I call the time to Lin and prepare her coffee though she’ll lie abed another hour at least, muttering ‘Yes, maybe’. If only the swallows soaring across the distant haze of mountains gave people pensions; jocund weather converted to salaries; my joy in this place into its economy, but for all that we live here our contribution is paltry set against our detachment from the crisis whose slow and relentless development is being described on televisions behind shutters and doors, making the internet unreliably busy. The coach is turning back into a pumpkin, the footmen into mice. One delicate glass dancing shoe is turning to stone.
I had awoken from one of the loveliest of dreams about my mum; awoken happy too, rather than sad at realising I’d been asleep all along. Mum had been walking with me in the English countryside, stood at the lip of a long escarpment, surveying together a green landscape that stretched to a hazy horizon lit by a summer sun, then in the middle of Rome she’d sung from a balcony after breakfast ‘Mum’ I said ‘you’ve got crumbs on your tongue!’
She laughed and we were shopping in a fashionable arcade and she’d bought a dress in which she looked as beautiful as I’d ever remembered her. We hardly needed to speak; just comfortable and happy and at peace in one another’s company and all the time it seemed we both knew very well she was no longer here. It didn’t matter a jot.
'You know why we dream so much when we're here' said Lin 'Both of us! It's because our mattress is so hard we never get beyond REM sleep.'
That, not cheese?
*** *** ***
I was on the bus back to the village sat behind K.
‘Things are bad’
‘I know’ I said
It’s the first time I’ve heard her suggest we may return to the drachma.
Richard P had said that without money from Europe the first thing will be that the government can no longer pay its workers – civil servants, nurses, police, local government officers, refuse collectors, bus drivers, electricity and water workers.
‘They will strike' he said
Things will close down.
‘What do people in in England say?’ asked K
‘My brother-in-law, with many others, say it’s Greece’s fault. Get out of the Euro and let them make their own way out of the mess they created for themselves. Stop taking our money...I say I don’t want to hear such opinions.’
A friend for supper here has a similar refrain
‘Greeks have got to grow up.’
I get flustered at glib imperatives. I rehearse the counter-arguments that much of the time seem to make sense – of deliberately created national debt, the impossibility of trying to get water from a stone (or any more money that goes only to cover interest payments on a debt that is wholly unrepayable by people being turned into paupers), ‘fiscal waterboarding’; of the fact that Greece’s crisis is Europe’s, an amplified problem of advanced capitalism...my words are assailed by the worthy logic of economics.
But how is it across the nation? People must be watching TV as we don’t. What do they say in the streets of Ioannina, in Metsovo and Kalamata, on the islands of the Aegean, on Crete, let alone Larissa, Thessaloniki and Athens? I detect a resigned numbness with flashes of hope. People get by. Perhaps.
‘If everyone in Greece paid their taxes, the problem would be solved. If Greek institutions scoured themselves of corrupt practices...’
‘Who said that? It’s not so simple...’ I say...lamely
 On the bus I said how impressed I was by Yannis Varoufakis, and Alexis Tsipras ‘playing an impossible game with the weakest of hands.’
‘Yes, indeed’
‘Flying on empty’
‘Yes, indeed, Simon’
There is no conspicuous consumption in Ano Korakiana. People work. People nurse frappés and soft drinks as they chat in Piatsa. One family in our part of the village roasted a lamb for Easter. Vasiliki gave us plates of her delectable cakes on Easter Monday. The washing flies in the wind. People garden, as we do. Katerina gave us horta and pastichio. The people we meet are ever polite, generous and cheerful. It made the conversation on the bus the more worrying because the expression of such apprehensions. at least to us, is so rare.
Lin and I have pondered options.
I ask Mark, over a beer in Piatsa.
‘Quite simply, Simon, I don’t know anything anymore. So many people have so many opinions.’
******
We’ve been building a buttress to support the garden wall. Lin doing the skilled work with trowel and cement...


I carting heavy stones. We’ve made a workbench in the apothiki using recovered wood from the rebuilt balcony. These chores are pleasantly endless and simple; sawing logs, putting out washing to be dried in the wind; making a rough table, also from the old balcony. The days pass as they do in England, though here we collect firewood from the beaches and store it, sawed and chopped, in the apothiki.
Sun dried sheets





How many miles has this log floated...
...before we bring it home to saw and split for the stove?
This step we made eases the climb up the path at the back of the house
Winnie’s sent me photos of how my allotment’s coming along. Peas are rising, parsnips sprouting but where are my potatoes?
** ** ** ** **
We’ve now listed more or less every one of Aristeidis Metallinos’ works. From Tuesday to Friday for a couple of hours each midday Angeliki and I and Linda have worked through the collection, ensuring every item is numbered and measured. Serious with clipboards. We’ve added a small section for carvings of uncertain date, as well as the weathered works on the roof - stone boys astride the roof gables, a peacock at the apex, a tall woman in skirt and prim jacket and bare breasts. As work on the catalogue progresses Anna has brought us coffee, cakes and orange juice.


Andreas has helped improve our listings with recollections of his father. I am cautious with questions, learning more – but slowly. Aristeidis relied on his son to obtain his marble and stone and, since the sculptor’s death, Andreas has striven to be ‘the steward of his legacy’. The phrase is mine. After his father died in 1987 the museum that Aristeidis Metallinos wanted sustained as a gift to the village was, as far as I know, opened to visitors. I’m unclear for how many hours or days, or indeed for how many years before the place became the closed building we encountered when we arrived in Ano Korakiana in 2007. I suspect my initial difficulty gaining entry (K trying to get inside the Castle?) and even an introduction was because, after for whatever reasons the museum closed – and I speculate on these, Andreas has had quite a few individuals asking to be shown around. What happened? They had a look. They satisfied their curiosity. They went away. Did they remember anything? Were they even that impressed? Could they or did they have time for that contemplation essential to determine, in more than the most quotidian way, whether what they saw provided more than passing sensations. ‘Fascinating’ ‘Wonderful’ ‘Amazing’ ‘So interesting...where shall we have lunch?’ Where did that leave Andreas? Growing austerity in Greece must have made maintenance even trickier.
Before the sculptor died there had been promising academic articles about the ‘laic stone mason’, ‘the village sculptor’. Aristeidis seems to have had no interest in his own promotion. His interest was in the art, his trips to the open air cinema in town and views of what he watched on television, and a wish to give a gift to the village where he’d spent his life. He encountered - unknowing until near his death - the indifference of the world; hardly a problem for him, engaged with his chisels and mallets and the fascination of making things out of stolid stone and marble. At some point as he worked away in his open house he seems to have come upon disapproval. I don’t know enough about this. Just clues including the reference on his gravestone by Paraskevi Church to ‘slight bitterness’.  I suspect it may have been a problem for Andreas. Aristeidis countered with inscriptions – rebukes in marble that last, leaving a sensitive puzzle that calls for more understanding. I venture – tentatively – to explore something else missed by the academics who wrote about the laic sculptor while he was alive; Yianni M Mari in 1978 and Efrithikis Antzοulatοu-Retsila in 1985. They were intrigued by Aristeidis Metallinos as a carrier of folk-lore, of village tradition, history and culture.
The family in the fields - 195, 1986 40 x 64cms (Photo: Rob Groove)

The photos selected by Antzοulatοu-Retsila say as much. They show sculptures of villagers in traditional dress, of Greek dancing in Corfiot costume, of local individuals respected in the village and in some cases Greece – the statue of Makarios. The reliefs of the almost forgotten pastoral economy disappearing in Metallinos' final years are wonderful - a poignant lesson in another way of life. What these commentaries miss is the drubbing that Aristeidis Metallinos metes out to authority; his ridiculing of priests, of the police and the army, and the ever-present figure with cigar and top hat fondling a naked mistress, shopping for human flesh at the butchers ‘as a cure for piles’, roasting a native on a spit, ribald personifications of money men, ridicule and contempt for government – Greek, European and global. This was a man carving a permanency of anger at things he saw wrong in the world, depravity and exploitation; with this was his fascination with carnal pleasure...
"I am waiting for you. Naked" Extract 189, 1982 marble relief 40 x 59cms (Photo: Rob Groove)
 – sometimes celebrating the beauty and excitement of women, their lusciousness under the male gaze, his lust surely, yet also his interest and respect for women as strong, surging above their traditional roles as part of the farm-stock inventory, becoming  triumphant, even appropriating the traditional and oppressive weaponry of men, riding their phallic missiles, harnessing their grandiose and rather ridiculous penises. Now this must have been a handful for the family, even for parts of Ano Korakiana to which Aristeidis wished to dedicate his work.
‘So what next?’ asked Mark.
‘Well we’ve got the sculptor’s name in Greek and English wiki. One of his works will be mentioned in Richard Pine’s next book – about Greece from an Irish perspective – to be published in October. Angeliki and I speak of 'step-by-step', a year at a time to fathom the work of her grandfather. This catalogue is a logical next step – to have an inventory and an order that is more organised than the present list.’
I paused. This was insufficient.
‘And what then?’
‘Visiting the museum when we want is a privilege. The other day Andreas let me hold that first piece Aristeidis carved in stone when he was hardly 20, that women’s shoe which would have given a candidate for art school serious consideration...but how many people know about it being the only thing he carved for another fifty years? How many know about it at all? Few seeing unknown original art feel confident about its qualities – good or bad. So much art we know has been via introductions, references; from parents, teachers, books, friends, public esteem. Aristeidis’ work hasn’t been prepared for exposure or accreditation, hasn’t begun to run the familiar gauntlet of indifference, ridicule, or slight praise. People don’t know the man. His works are crowded on shelves and walls in four small rooms without commentary; a cluttered stockroom of souvenirs. His story, clearer and clearer to us, is vague, confusing, even uninviting.’
I knew I was going on too much.
The sculptor carves himself carving a ram in stone (Photo: Rob Groove)
‘Sorry’ I said ‘More has to be done to cultivate the eye of the beholder. A catalogue of the works; a selection of the most representative; themes clarified; commentaries by Greek critics – two I have in mind – a biography, perhaps by Angeliki, Andreas and I, building on my wikipedia article. Creating provenance. Our Richard could design the catalogue cover, using Jan Bowman’s sketch of the sculptor. Start with the shoe.’
‘Another pint?’
Andreas, the sculptor's son, allowed me to hold this precious shoe his father made in 1927 


'A ship of rich lading wrecked on the narrow seas'

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Familiar dreams of inadequacy – unprepared notes just before a lecture, no papers to explain myself to an arresting authority, a journey started but vital luggage gone missing...They are born on wasted efforts to strengthen arguments that differ from common understanding, on giving up on something within my capacity, but requiring effort I’m too lazy to exercise, finding other things to do; displacement activity. The crisis in Greece. I’ve surrendered to common explanation; resigned myself to the given options. Greece must pay the debts she’s accrued or leave the Euro, pay in cash or kind.
‘And how is leaving the Euro going to make anything any better?’ asks Lin.
‘Well they don’t have to pay back all that debt.’
‘Yes and exports – tourism to Greece being her main export – will, in theory, get cheaper, attracting more visitors...’
‘...except tourists, even if they are not on all-in holidays where they've paid for their holidays and all extras outside Greece, don’t just need waiters and accommodation. They need food, fuel, perhaps healthcare. Since most of those involve imports they’ll cost even more in drachmas, especially when devalued against the Euro, the pound and the dollar’
‘What a mess!’
The pound of flesh is due. Shylock – ill done by - awaits in the north for the bloody payment.  Sensible voters of northern Europe say ‘if you prick us do we not bleed?’
I see no Portia in the wings with clever pleas and saving arguments.
I am slightly ashamed; one of those faltering disciples for whom the apostles – especially Paul – wrote their encouraging and loving letters.
‘Hold fast’ ‘Be of good faith’.
Yannis Varoufakis, shortly before he became Greece's beleaguered Minister of Finance published a book in which he described economics to his daughter...
An inability to explain to a teenager the fundamental issues of economics reflects badly on one’s own grasp of them. And the failure to inspire youngsters to care about wealth, poverty, power (and their distribution in society), reveals the instructor’s, or author’s, own lack of appreciation of what makes our social world tick. This book strives to inspire teenagers (and other readers normally disassociated from economic narratives) to care about economic ideas and economic processes by revealing their power over our imagination, beliefs and passions. It does this by means of a narrative of how economic power has emerged from the shadows of political and military might before gradually taking over human societies. The narrative combines history, literature, science fiction films and down-to-earth economic analysis to impress upon teenagers, and various beginners, that economics is an epic drama. Rather than a technical science, it is a battleground on which armies of ideas clash mercilessly and where concepts with a capacity to move mountains emerge; and all that in a war for our own allegiances which are being fought over by powerful interests usually at odds with ours. In addition to its drammatic style and content, this book answers two fundamental questions: How was the modern world formed? And why are the economists’ theories part of the problems that this world is constantly producing, rather of the solutions. In the process, it poses and answers challenging questions, such as: • Why did British colonists invade Australia instead of the Aborigines invading England? • When and how did the primacy of profit come about? • Why could wealth never exist without debt? • From where do bankers derive their exorbitant power? • What is hiding behind economic crises? • Is there hope that humanity will stop functioning like a stupid virus killing the “organism” in which it resides? • What is money and why does it "need" democracy?
Varoufakis' introduction to the German edition of the book...
One of the enduring memories from my early childhood is the crackling sound of Deutsche Welle radio transmissions. Those were the bleak years of our dictatorship (1967-1974) when Deutsche Welle was the Greeks’ most precious ally against the crushing power of state propaganda. Mum and dad would huddle together next to the wireless, sometimes covered by a blanket to make sure that nosey neighbours would not get a chance to call the secret police. Night after night these ‘forbidden’ radio programs brought into our home a breath of fresh air from a country, Germany, that was standing firm on the side of Greek democrats. While I was too young to understand what the radio was telling my mesmerised parents, my child’s imagination identified Germany as a source of hope.
As I am writing this preface to the German edition of a book aimed at another child, my daughter, I feel the urgent need to recount that memory. To turn it into a small homage to the idea of Europe as a realm of shared democratic ideals. A small gesture of defiance against the recent tendency for European peoples, who were hitherto coming closer and closer together, to be set apart by a… common currency.
Our European Union began life under the presumption that to achieve political and social union we must first bind together our economic interests; that economics would lead the way to a united European polity. It was a good idea except that, as the years and the decades went by, a problem emerged: our collective understanding of ‘economics’ became increasingly crude. We slipped into a simplistic mindset according to which the sphere of the economy began decoupling, separating itself from that of politics, of philosophy, of culture. As it did so, the economic sphere acquired massive discursive and social power for itself, thus causing democracy, politics and culture to fade out, to become shadows of their former selves.
We economists were, I confess, responsible for this steady erosion of our collective understanding of the economic sphere. Before we knew it, markets were no longer means to be placed in the service of social ends but emerged surreptitiously as ends in themselves. Under the influence of, on the one hand, financialisation and, on the other, economic theory, we began to resemble Oscar Wilde’s definition of the cynic: one who knows everything about prices and nothing about values. Naturally, our European Union’s institutions also tended towards the conviction that the large decisions should be taken by technocratic committees that constitute ‘politics-free zones’. In an ironic twist the language of economists helped usher in a mindset that jettisoned from the corridors of power and the halls of decision making not only politics and culture but also …economics.
But enough of this now! This book is not intended as a diatribe on Europe, on Germany, on Greece or indeed on anything that would bore… my daughter. It was written in order to test the author’s ability to convince a recalcitrant teenager that economics is too important to be left to the economists. That it can also be too much fun to be ignored by those interested in things other than money and finance. That, looked at through a piercing eye, behind every economic notion, every theory, there lurks a fascinating debate about human anxieties that only poets, dramatists and musicians have managed to address with any degree of efficiency.
Did I truly write this book for my daughter’s sake? Not really. I wrote it mainly to test the limits of my own understanding. For if I failed to explain to a teenager the fundamental issues of economics, my failure would reflect badly on my own grasp of them. Indeed, the failure to inspire youngsters to care about the nature of wealth, poverty, of economic power (and its distribution in society), reveals one’s own lack of appreciation of what makes our social world tick. As for my daughter, it is true to say that she played a major role. Being my worst critic, every time I completed a section or chapter I wondered whether she would look at me with disgust upon reading it. Nothing motivates an author better than such terror!....
Terror. Yes. That's the core of it. I'm not sure how, other than in appearance, clothing and panache, Euclid Tsakalotos, differs in theory and explanations of the world from the man he is replacing as negotiator with the EU.
*** *** ***
On Saturday morning we tried to catch the bus from the village. We waited at the bus stop below our house for half-an-hour. No bus came.
‘Shall we walk to the Sidari Road for another there? Two kilometers’
We set out. Dawdling to enjoy the views, chatting. Two familiar big old dogs attached themselves to us and stayed with us a kilometre, sniffing the verges and stopping to scratch.
Road from the village. Our companion dogs finally head home
At the Ano Korakiana T-junction we waited twenty minutes by the bus stop. Mark drove by heading into the village.
‘Is there a strike?’
‘No I’ve seen public buses on the road to Acharavi’
Reassured we waited as cars and trucks charged by. There at last came our bus. We hailed it, pointing south; the driver grumbling that we’d not waited on the right side of the road, where the southward stop without kerb stood in brambles swayed by passing traffic.
‘To Gouvia’ Lin paid our fares ‘I scratched my hand on brambles getting aboard’ she said rubbing her arm.
Catching a bus after lots of waits is such a pleasure. At last we’re on our way; tucked in seats with other passengers, hurrying down the main road’s long hill, past Sgombou and Emeral, past the Tzavros junction where the road flattens and becomes a dual carriageway. There was none of the chat that goes up and down the aisle on the Korakiana bus.
‘Gouvia’ said the driver slowing near Technomart.
‘One more stop’ said Lin
We were dropped within yards of The Lighthouse where we could go to the Saturday tabletop sale, and, upstairs, enjoy a coffee, greet Pastor Miltiades, and use the WiFi, skyping Amy who we glimpsed via the camera opposite her bed sleepily speechless tending Hannah and Oliver bouncing exhaustingly to and fro across the picture, ignoring us.
‘Bye-bye! Bye bye Oliver. Bye bye Hannah’ we cried ignored, switching them off with a distinctive Skype‘cloomf’’
‘Amy needs a drop-in child-minder to take Oliver off her hands now and then’ I muttered ‘The energy! Ollie’s like a two year old colt. He should carry weight.’

We strolled a few hundred metres up to AB supermarket and with our shopping crossed the road to a Green Bus stop, buying ice creams to eat while awaiting the Sidari bus, which dropped us at the Ano Korakiana turn. We walked up to the village carrying our shopping, resting now and then in occasional shade.

All along the Easter-strimmed verge flowers had grown since, swaying in the slight breeze. A day earlier we’d walked a circle from Democracy Street, down towards the main road, turning west on a grassy track between smallholdings and vineyards which wound back towards the village before dissolving in meadows.


We followed where someone had walked already, slightly disturbing the uncropped grass, wild thyme, daisies, thistle, vetch and Honesty, until, beyond a ruined apothiki, past a well cultivated smallholding...

 ...we were following the familiar back road into Mougades and the rest of the village.
Ειδικά της κοκυκιάς που σε κάθε κήπο, σε κάθε φράχτη κάνει την εμφάνισή της! Walking below Ano Korakiana on St George's Day

*** *** ***
Angeliki phoned on Monday to approve my musings on her grandfather, and tell me the news that her father is now ready to write about his memories of his father.
‘It will take time’ she said
‘Of course. But that’s wonderful’
I prepared an email to Dr Alexandra Moschovi, Senior Lecturer in Photographic Theory, University of Sunderland:
Dear Alexandra
I hope you’ve not given up on me and that you are well and that you will receive this email.
I am afraid my pace on our shared Aristeidis Metallinos project is slower than yours might be, were you in my shoes.
Nonetheless we do proceed! I attune to the family’s pace - and perhaps my own. The tortoise rather than the hare.
I am as enthusiastic as ever. Linda and I have now, with Angeliki, made a list of every item in the museum as well as a few weathered pieces on the roof.
In the week after Easter we  created a temporary numbering of each item; whether it’s stone or marble; its metric dimensions. In about two weeks we will add to this information the inscriptions by the artist - his signature and date and where he’s written something - his words. We will then use our own words to describe those pieces where there’s little or no information from the artist. These notes will be in Greek and English (other languages could be added). We will then renumber the collection - chronologically (by year as there’s no way of finding a month unless Andreas who sometimes remembers his father’s work can date them more precisely).
I have ideas for the form of a published catalogue. Covers can have perhaps the sketch I had done by a Birmingham artist - Jan Bowman - which she made from Andreas' black and white photo of the sculptor at work.

I have also started with the help of a friend - Rob Groove - to get some high quality photos. He has already made a couple, one of which will be featured in a book by the scholar Richard Pine who’s next book will be about Greece from an Irish perspective - to be published this October.
We would pick - say - about twenty representative works to illustrate the catalogue.
I would like then to have three brief articles at the start of the catalogue
- One by Angeliki, Andreas and I describing Aristeidis - enlarging the Wikipedia piece I did last year, or if we are fortunate, one by Andreas alone remembering his father.
- One by you (if you’d be prepared) discussing the imagery from your perspective as a Greek scholar and referring to a timeline of events accompanying the sculptor’s works, your sense of his subversive risk taking etc.
- One by Prof Efrithikis Antzοulatοu-Retsila expanding on the piece she published in 1985 (I’ve now heard from her and she is interested in a second sight, from her base at Kalamata, University of the Peloponnese
These would be in Greek and English.
These are tentative ideas. There is of course no money but I see it as unnecessary at this point (if at all) to spend money. Time! Yes. My son is skilled at self-publishing and graphics so he could mock up a model catalogue. Rob Groove is interested in establishing a reputation as a professional photographer and for the moment speaks of leaving out being paid in favour of the pleasure of taking part in an interesting project. It is one of his photos that will be credited in Richard Pine’s book. There are no problems with copyright as the family of the sculptor - in particular Angeliki and Andreas are involved and enthusiastic about seeing Aristeidis Metallinos better known.
My judgement is that a draft but publishable catalogue is a logical next step, essential for any wider recognition. About twenty pages, it could be presented in any initiative that might be taken to promote the laic sculpture in Greece and elsewhere.
In case you wonder why I would most especially like you to write something…your standing as a scholar is significant of course. More so your part in this project. You replied to me last year when I wrote to you about the laic sculptor. All original art has to be discovered; discovered by the individual who strives to see the artist's work directly, unmediated by reference, comparison or repute. I could see from the moment we sat down over coffee in Newcastle that day of my visit last August that you’d been ‘discovering’ Aristeidis. You’d read the papers I attached, looked at pictures, made notes. You had not awaited my arrival with questions, but had prepared thoughts of your own – especially about the timeline of contemporary events in Greece that offer context to this jumbled collection. I believe that few people have yet discovered the laic sculptor. Efrithikis Antzοulatοu-Retsila did in 1935. Yianni M Mari in 1978. I discovered him too as has Linda, through the kindness of the artist’s family and after five year’s wait. You have. So has Richard Pine and the writers Jim Potts and Maria Strani-Potts, to whom I sent all the photos. Aristeidis’ son is the most complex and ambiguous of these discoverers – the one who’s lived longest with the artist. This is why I’m pleased that Angeliki has just told me he’s come round to the idea of writing (or speaking) an account of his memories of his father. There must have been others - some of whom found the work boring, possibly ugly and second-rate, who were rather shocked by some of the pieces. Their reactions are also a discovery. I feel disturbed, even repelled by some art, as the artist may have expected and even intended.
My sense is that we can do our best to intervene in a process of discovery; by mediation and presentation enable more people to see and imagine Aristeidis Metallinos at work, to be able to place what they see and touch in a context and gain a sense of the range of his work - work he began in his 70s (but for the stone shoe he carved in 1927), through the last decade of his life, after most of a lifetime as an artisan, stone-mason and builder - a worker from Ano Korakiana becoming a self-taught sculptor of Kozani marble and unforgiving local stone.
I hope you are well and will forgive me the long interval between communications. We are back from Corfu in early June. It would be good to meet up again. Best wishes, Simon


The boat

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Guy's text from GB the other evening
*** ****

Euston Station December 2013
"I want a boat!” said Oliver
“You mean you’d like a boat”
“Yes! A boat!”
“Make him a boat, grandpa” says Amy
I glued and screwed together two pieces of moulding – useful bits kept in the apothiki; fashioned a bowsprit from another shape cut out of something else, added a deck house, and cut a piece of old broom handle for a funnel adding plus two paddle wheels cut from ply - the bolts fixed through the sides and riveted with the ball of my hammer to hold the nuts.
“It’s like that tug that’s towing the Fighting Temeraire
“Make it so it can be pulled along”
“Hm. OK. I’ve also got to check it floats the right way up”
“You only really needed to put a piece of dowling in a log”
"You mean I'm making it for me?"


"I'll show it to Oliver...
The family in the garden on Democracy Street

...and then we'll try it out on water"
Oliver's boat launched in the river that flows into the sea at Ermones

The water in the Ermones River is crystal clear. It runs, just a yard wide and two feet deep, into the surf on the shore. The little paddle steamer drifted into an eddy, under a footbridge, then caught the main flow which ran into the ripples of the collapsing waves of the cove. I was enjoying the voyage until the current sped up of a sudden and the boat was tumbling in the shallow surf, everyone laughing; Oliver crying out in alarm. I waded into the sea and caught the boat on a returning wave.

"She's fine. The bowsprit's cracked but I'll mend that tonight. I should have varnished her first but I couldn't wait"
Ermones bay

*** *** ***
The novelSuite Française exemplifies the sympathetic fallacy in reverse; perfidy, and violence in central France in the June of its third German invasion in a century. I had difficulty when on peaceful contented family holidays in Normandy and Brittany in the 1990s, imagining this green and pleasant countryside fouled by war - one in which my relatives, especially my dad, were to be at hazard two years later. In France in 1941 edging into 1942, Irène Némirovsky wrote the first parts of what she intended to have five parts – a book on the scale of Tolstoy’s War and Peace; avowedly achieving its timelessness. In July 1942 Némirovsky was arrested by the French police, handed over to the Occupying Germans; swiftly transported her to Auschwitz where. sick with typhus, she was killed on 17th August 1942, four and half months after I was born. Dolce and Storm - the first two parts of her work – published 62 years (translated into English in 2007) after her murder - describe people escaping from Paris in face of German invasion, and then, life in a French village in the south of the Occupied Zone where a German regiment is stationed for 3 months before being summoned away to fight in Russia.
‘Soon the road was empty. All that remained of the German Regiment was a little cloud of dust’…and that’s it; the separate characters in Dolce and Storm, yet to meet, in parts yet to be written, remain forever separate. Némirovsky wrote without knowing the outcome of the war or the possibility that the proclaimed 'Thousand-Year Reich' - Germania its capital - would soon fall. It's a truly unfinished work. After reading the ‘first’ 340 pages of what was intended to be a 1000 pages, I so desire to continue, yet suspect the vile circumstances that have deprived me of the symphony the author was planning, will ensure what survives endures in imagination. Suite Française is thus published in sublime and poignant draft. The author's notes show reworking was important. She had no time for it. An un-sanded unvarnished unframed sketch stands on its own even so, made memorable and poignant for being two out of five episodes. Unfinished paintings take me closer to the artist, notwithstanding the possibility the lack of finish is intended. One comment especially …
‘the book itself’ she writes in her planning notes for the whole ‘must give the impression of only being one episode … which is really what is happening in our times, as in all times of course.’ 
Ah yes …’as in all times of course’. We live not in beginnings, middles and ends but in episodes. Don’t I read books, for stories, with beginnings. middles and ends; even where there are formal episodes I want them to be chapters that start, continue and conclude a story. I don’t want to think - or perhaps I’m on to something I hadn’t properly considered - that enduring ‘soap operas’ – the Archers, Coronation Street, both going on around 60 years – are a closer representation of what happened; is happening. My life, anyone’s life, fits the notion of beginning, middle and end, a biography, but perhaps I should think instead of mine and the other lives that have crossed, are crossing and will cross mine as episodes. Beginnings. middles and ends, births, and deaths, are critical to biographies, but not in series, not in episodes, or not in the same way. They happen but they no longer define a plot or storyline...
**** ****
When we were first here, eight years ago, almost tasting the beauty of the place, we dismissed the smell as one that came from a soakaway, βόθρος - unused to new arrivals, or possibly to a predecessors’ habit of using bleach, and other chemicals that interrupt an efficient cess pit’s necessary chemistry – a hole in the ground that was once a well into which the water from domestic sinks, baths and WC flow and disperse into the surrounding ground – not a cesspool, a closed tank, that must be pumped out regularly. Inspections showed our cess-pit was invariably ‘sweet’. The wafts were from next door – miasmas drifting below our noses whether on the veranda, the garden, even our balcony ten feet above the neighbour’s garden. Like wind broken in company we’d collude in ignoring these smells, especially as on breezy days the worst dispersed. But amid our comfortable life we needed to deal with the bother of a problem that was technical and diplomatic.
“You’ll just have to have a word” said Lin this April. I looked up words in the English-Greek dictionary ‘smell’ ‘bad smell’ ‘cess-pit, ‘overflow’, ‘leak’….
Between our properties there’s a gully hardly 45cms wide and about 4 metres long, which carries grey water from our neighbour’s garden into a small culvert under our garden into waste ground. This gully is floored with an inch of concrete; carrying, as well as water, occasional plastic bags, cups and bottles that trap in a metal grid before, some of it slipping into our garden. We clear this now and then. Last year seeking the source of the cess pong, Lin sealed several small leaks coming through the concrete below the mouth of the gully. This caused leakage further up.

“Water finds ways” said Lin.
It became clear that under the narrow concrete of the gully was a thin layer of rubble and under that, earth – black soil, a capacious sponge containing all that leaked from the cess-pit. Any sealing we’d done so far, led to the cess working through the soil and trickling out of the wall higher up.
“Whatever we do” said Lin “we just drive the leak higher”
This month we tactfully approached Fote and showed him a ‘problema’. He pointed out he’d had the soak away pumped out two years ago. We remembered that but, ..."now the smell is as bad as ever”.
A few days later he attempted a bolder solution – applying a rough cement mixture that sat like a bank six inches high along the margins of the apothiki that stood on top of the soakaway where it backed onto our garden.
“It’s not working” said Lin one morning after “and look, he’s inserted a small length of hose pipe at the end of his bank of cement which is emptying into the culvert under our garden."
The smells hadn’t abated.
“We have to make a more thorough push on the problem” said Lin
Paul had told us about a product he used to seal leaks in swimming pools – Waterplug or Aquafix.
“It fills cracks even as water trickles out” he said
We realized our earlier efforts using quick drying cement applied during siesta when there was no waste water generated, were based on not understanding exactly where the liquid and accompanying smell started.
“First we block the leakage into our garden coming from the back of the apothiki.”
We had nine 45cms square floor tiles which, once the leaks had been sealed with aquafix, covered with cement containing Revenex– the local equivalent of pudlo – to make it water proof and then another large layer of mortar holding on each tile that sat neatly in a four inch concrete ledge. Nine tiles did this trick sealing small leaks and places where we might expect future leaks. Then came the tough bit - an incursion into our neighbour’s gully.
"Now for the gulley"

I removed the metal rubbish grid with help from the angle grinder, giving us access to one side of the apothiki. Once Fote’s work had been hacked back - not tricky as it was quite soft - the leak into the gully was apparent, flowing over a thin layer of cement into the soaking mud under the gully. I hacked out blackened muddy pieces of rubble.
“You’re just making it worse” cried Lin
“No I’m not”
I applied a hose pipe to the pool of black water that had seeped into the hole I’d made in the gully. Syphoning out the water revealed a lengthy seam in the side of the apothiki below the level of the gully. The water once syphoned swiftly refilled the messy hole I’d made in the gully
“I’m opening up the wound”
“No you’re making it far worse!”
“Watch” I said, having my doubts.
With my hands - rubber gloved - I reached into a horizontal hole that seemed hard enough on top but was edged below with muddy rubble. I pulled this out, widening the hole until I felt I had a base of sorts.
“The problem is that the main leak is below the edge of the gully”
Lin was sceptical. The smell was of course as bad as ever. The next morning I assembled lots of cardboard, soaked it and shoved it in to plastic bags. I then started shoving these into the hole to staunch the leak.
The gates of Hades


The hole’s appetite for filling was considerable. I pushed the bags in until my arm was in the hole above my elbow, packing in more bags filled the same way. I used a block of wood to press the filling into every part of the hole, banging it with the lump hammer until the hole seemed thoroughly blocked, the plastic just inside the hole quite hard, with room to apply cement on top.
For three days with the smell gone, we waited. Then yesterday evening Lin mixed up quick drying cement, after I'd levelled the gully again with rubble and started filling the hole in the cesspit and the depression in the gully with cement which seems to be setting despite the shade and a few showers of rain...


...and our incursion into the neighbours' space has gone unremarked.
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