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'...a kipper in the fridge'

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I was wandering down a long low neon lit shed where I’d been told she was working. A slaughter house. I came round a post – on the edge of a series of stalls - and there she stood with a cleaver in her right hand hanging beside her, looking workmanlike in the low light. Forty years gone by; I was meeting her again, dressed in abattoir gear way down a long low shed. In the gloom I came upon her standing astride in her working gear; gumboots, bloody apron. I went up to her - wan but kind smiles - feeling very glad to see her. She smiled at me. But all over her face…didn’t want me to embrace her (not because of being rejecting) but because...
“I’ve got this skin thing”
Lots of little bubbles (like Job’s boils) but not, to me, at all disfiguring, just a texture. I was very happy to see her - not love but a companionably strong feeling of reconciliation. She looked exactly as I remember her; older as I’d expected, but not aged. We felt, tho’ it was not said, that this meeting in this charnel of dirt, congealed blood and entrails, was highly amusing. There were no dead animals – just fleshy mess strewn about; lots of work going on. L glanced down. I followed her gaze. On the bloody straw at our feet a small baby, lusty and fine. I wanted to pick it up and hold it for a while. She was fine about that but …then I woke. It felt a good dream.
*** *** ***

And then the most marvellous thing as glorious us the most beautiful thing - as elusive as the end of a rainbow and as real - the wondrous land; 'a sophism to believe that there is any strict dividing line between the waking world and the world of dreams',,,
'You enter Greece as one might enter a dark crystal; the form of things becomes irregular, refracted. Mirages suddenly swallow islands, and wherever you look the trembling curtain of the atmosphere deceive. Other countries may offer you discoveries in manners or lore or landscape. Greece offers you something harder - the discovery of yourself...(We) for example, are confined by the sense of several contemporaneous lives being lived inside us; the sensation of being mere points of reference for space and time...' (Lawrence Durrell Prospero's Cell)

I came back from town after giving blood where Gracie, my nurse, and I chatted about the effect of the weather on trying to plant vegetables as well as her seventeen chickens. She asked me more about my folding bicycle, on which, well clothed, I'd cycled into town. Our driveway is icy and hazardous. I can't find the salt. Our gnome is snowed in.
On the kitchen table Lin has left me a note.


I boiled the kipper gently and served it to myself with a fried egg - mingling herring and yoke and ignoring its tiny bones. A friend wrote 'Your kipper note immediately put me in mind of one of my favourite poems by William Carlos Williams about iced plums. "This is just to say..."'
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
We're packing, checking lists of cargo. But the weather has stopped me planting what I need to get into the soil of Plot 14. The cold is forecast to go on for weeks as high pressure over that benighted Denmark Strait draws dirty weather with biting east winds across all Europe, even down to the Balkans.

Plot 14 on the Victoria Jubilee Allotments
In Corfu it's still raining daily but the temperature's running around 14 degrees. Lin has arranged with Paul to remove rubble from our apothiki
Hi Paul. Just a question....Will the flattened rubble left in the apothiki be 'compacted' in any way? Thanks. Love Lin x
Hello Lin. We would normally tamp it down and apply water, then tamp again. If you let us know fairly quickly I can get it done this week. Love, Paul xx
Hi Paul, i did say to go ahead with the clearing of baza and levelling, so it would be great if you could get that done this week. However, we don't want the concrete done at this point, as funds are low and we have a lot of outgoings coming up. I'm going to say that again, as we've just had a complete cock-up by a builder over here, who didn't hear what I told him and has put the wrong windows in  my house!!!...We WANT the baza cleared and the levelling and tamping down done. We DON'T WANT the concrete put down. My daughter Amy and family are coming out from 12th till 20th April. It would be nice if you and Lula could come for supper while they're with us. Have you got a spare evening during that time? See you soon and looking forward to seeing the apothiki minus the baza mountain. Love Lin x
Our apothiki
The Band of our village was parading through the city as part of the Celebrations of Greek Independence - 25 March. Εικοστή Πέμπτη Μαρτιου ~ Anniversary of the Greek War of IndependenceΕλληνική Επανάσταση in 1821
                  Η δόξα
Στων Ψαρών την ολόμαυρη ράχη
περπατώντας η δόξα μονάχη
μελετά τα λαμπρά παλικάρια
και στη κόμη στεφάνι φορεί,
γινωμένο από λίγα χορτάρια
που είχαν μείνει στην έρημη γη΄΄
               Διονύσιος Σολωμός, Κέρκυρα
Ano Korakiana's band on Theotoki in the city - our neighbour's daughter Dimitra in front on left

Εορταστικό διήμερο αυτό που μόλις πέρασε… Κυριακή της Ορθοδοξίας χθές, με Λιτανεία στην πόλη της Κέρκυρας, στην οποία συμμετείχε η Φιλαρμονική μας… Εθνική εορτή σήμερα, εορτασμός της απελευθέρωσης από τον οθωμανικό ζυγό και το πρόγραμμα της ημέρας περιελάμβανε: δοξολογία στον Άη-Γιώργη, κατάθεση στεφάνων στο Μνημείο της πλατείας, συμμετοχή της Φιλαρμονικής στην παρέλαση του χωριού από κοινού με το Νηπιαγωγείο και το Ειδικό Γυμνάσιο, όπως και στην παρέλαση της Κάτω Κορακιάνας και της πόλης… Παρά τα πολλά μποφόρ.

(My translation) Gala weekend has just passed...Sunday of Orthodoxy yesterday, with a procession in Corfu Town, attended by the Band...our National Day today, celebrating liberation from the Ottoman yoke with a programme that included: thanksgiving in Ag. Georgios, laying wreaths at Monument square, participation by the Philharmonic in the parade through the village together with children from the Kindergarten and Special School, to match parades in Kato Korakiana and the City ... all this amid gales.
**** **** ****
Notes from Jan D on what's happening to local democracy:
Osborne's Budget clearly demonstrates how economic policy drives ideologically inspired policy objectives, especially ‘rolling back’ local councils (in the government’s eyes probably the least desired part of the public sector; lowest of the low). To ensure that Total Managed Expenditure is kept as low as possible the so called ‘unprotected’ services have been squeezed disproportionately hard and of course local government expenditure is a large part of the overall unprotected total expenditure. To bring public finance back into balance, public expenditure has to fall from 45% of GDP to 38% - a massive drop. With no growth, or tax increases, the only option is further cuts and in a disproportionate way which hits LAs hard. Whitehall has done better than LAs. If Total Managed Expenditure overall had fallen at the rate of local councils then it would have dropped from £694 billion in 2010 to £632billion by 2014. In fact it will have increased to £720billion. If Whitehall had reduced its spending at the same rate as LAs then the public sector deficit would have been around £35billion. Instead the figure will be £120billion. This demonstrates the distorted relationship between Government and LAs and how our masters value, or not, the two so-called 'partners'. Given the near non-existent LA tax base it is difficult to find much to be cheery about when looking at Local Democracy and how it can be put on a firmer footing (when we are all skidding down the hill!). If you want further proof at the Government's contempt for local democracy look no further than their response to the Communities and Local Government Select Committee: ‘The Government is quite clear that councillors are and should be volunteers and does not wish to see any move towards professionalism through becoming full time’ Local councillors should ‘not qualify for extra allowances to make up for lost income’. Graham Sharp, the former housing minister and Tory party chairman likened calls for additional allowances to paying scout leaders for voluntary work. Councillors are also going to be banned from inclusion in LA Pension Schemes.
Thus do we blight and diminish the prospects of local leaders, so that when our councillors prove less than adequate, as now and then they do, it’s they who get the calumny and not the authors of the new feudalism – Ministers and MPs with salaries, expenses and perks and final salary pension schemes. This is hypocrisy of the highest order – a demonstration of how deeply undemocratic some MPs really are, not to say arrogant and offensive. This is the beast we are dealing with.
Unless some of these issues find their way into Political-Managerial relationships the future is bleak but how to do it require some reflection and finesse. To illustrate further the Parent-Child relationship, look at how the Heseltine recommendations are being implemented. First of all, the Sponsor will be a civil servant rather than a minister and then Local Economic Partnerships (LEPs) will be banned from contacting their Sponsor directly and can only do so through the local official of the Department of Business, Innovation and Skills. Perhaps capturing this absurdity in fiction or play format could better convey the reality of the current state of play than a more formal academic approach.
If there ever was a time for Heroes or Sleuths it must be now. The more I read of the literature and history of the Weimar Republic the more relevant and real it becomes. It wouldn't be that difficult for a ‘perfect storm’ to arise.

Spuds

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I've planted three rows of potatoes, a mix of Marfona and Estima, and I've covered a further area of the plot with polythene. The weather has stopped me planting more vegetables. The soil is sticky, almost waterlogged. 

Jocund

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Digbeth Coach Station
Somewhere over the centre of Europe I stopped feeling cold. In my cramped seat I eased off my jacket, leaving my polo neck jumper, thick shirt, heavy vest and, beneath my jeans, long johns. The sun was a fading glow on a plain of clouds spreading south east towards night. Lin fed me a crisp baguette with boiled bacon and mustard from the picnic she’d made before we left Handsworth to travel in an unheated coach to Luton through sunless landscapes patched with grimy snow. I read Margaret Youcenar's A Coin in Nine Hands, her 1959 rewrite of a novel she wrote in 1934, prescient about fascism, chaptered sketches of character, streams of thought and conversations; the domestic permeation of casual moral failures, each in itself, without the benefit of foresight, easy to discount, since a fuss - from any but the odd intellectual - would be disproportionate, displaying slightly deranged self-importance, making a scene.
I sipped very hot coffee served from the passing trolley, now and then snoozing, languid, enclosed in a muffled turbine drone; waking to adjust my growing warmth by twisting on the blowers above our seats. I leaned apologetically towards the stranger in the aisle seat to rise, unfolding myself to walk to the tiny WC. ‘Oooooff’ goes the powerful vacuum of the flush. I fiddle with a dolls house tap to wash, extract a tissue to dry my hands, click open the little door, process between a hundred fellow passengers to make another small apology to resume my seat. I turn my watch forward two hours. Our pilot announces we're crossing the sea from Croatia to Corfu, as the plane tilts through clouds.  Beyond the the brighter beam on our wing, tiny lights appear. We descend from the north, avoiding the circle over Mouse Island and Kanoni, gliding instead over Potamos Bay, low over Mandouki and the city maze, familiar streets passing swiftly below, our plane yawing in gusts from the brisk almost balmy south wind that streamed out our hair and coats on the steps of the plane...
...blowing sea spray over the road along the Garitsa esplanade.
“Hullo Corfu” said Lin as she drove by the floodlit Palace of St Michael and St George “It doesn’t feel like only a month away”
“We had lots to do. It’s so good to be out of the cold”
The airport was well behind us, its entry and exit familiar and easy; our car ready for us, Yianni helping load our bags.
“I might have offended Yianni” said Lin “comparing his prices with Fairdeal”
“I’m not surprised. Their website's called Corfu Cars Rental. His is Corfu Car Rental. They’re elbowing.”
“Talk to Sophia” Yianni said after Lin, thinking it too high had suggested adjusting his quote for the larger car we’ve booked for when Amy’s here and needs a baby-seat for Oliver.
I enjoy seeing Yianni, often with his son, waiting for us at arrivals, with minimal paperwork and a car to go, and his wife Sophia on the end of the phone and answering Lin’s emails.
“He’s such a really nice and helpful man” I said “and remember his support when I drove off the road a couple of years ago”
“”He’s in business” says Lin “and being there to meet us personally is why he’s good at it. He’s probably got the most cars on the island. I don’t want to offend him either.”
“Don’t forget the clocks go forward here too” Yianni had reminded us. 
We drove, watchful for potholes, the familiar route – past the floodlit fort, past the port beneath moored ferries whose names we know, through Mandouki to the brightly lit motorway, then 8 kilometres past Kontokali and Gouvia to Tzavros junction; four kilometres along the dark dual carriageway towards Paleokastritsa, then right at Doctor’s Bridge on the smaller road to Sidari, two more kilometres to  our turn, along the country road that winds the final two kilometres up to the village. We see a gathering outside Stammatis’ converted shop, now his café, and then while we stop at the top of our steps I’m unloading our bags, keys ready, carrying them into the house, water on, lights on, settling in while Lin parks a few yards up Democracy Street and walks back to join me.
“Let’s go to the café”
We stroll a few yards and are brought drinks, chairs and a table and greetings, Fote, our neighbour and his daughter Dimitra, and villagers we know and others I’ve not met. In minutes we are engrossed in a discussion with Marie-Elena about the complex contradictory economy of olive trees, her expertise - just graduated - as an agronomist, and with Yianni, Stammatis’ kombari who commutes between here and his business in Bristol, telling me things he likes about England like motor-racing and the scent of high octane fuel. Later light rain returns but I was warm.
*** ***
Next morning, as expected, the landscape was all mist and rain. We lingered late – by Greek time now three hours ahead of our body clocks – in the cosy bed in the dim light through half a shutter as the rain continued. Later we finished unpacking. The rain stopped. Swallows, just arrived, dash around the houses. We begin tidying. I scythed the damp burgeoning greenery along the path below the house. We inspected the apothiki, cleared at last of rubble, its floor flat, tamped down, ready for concrete. The rain began again. 
Down at Ipsos, to check email and make phone calls, three propped the bar below a big flat soundless screen, a ribbon of breaking news from England – manslaughter on an estate and celebrities on a carpet; rain driving in swathes across the grey Sea of Kerkyra, mist coating the grey slopes below Pantokrator - a Giles cartoon of a British holiday abroad. Our day passes almost unheeded. At night we have a light supper and watch another strange low-budget Greek film – Alps Αλπεις; directed by Yorgos Lanthimos; striking scenes inconsequentially connected with at least two indefinite plots involving a young gymnast under the dominion of her coach and a nurse informing the parents of a daughter killed in a road crash how she intends to take her place, the cast switching in and out of character, sometime acting, sometimes rehearsing.
“I’m none the wiser” I said at the end “but some of those scenes are going to stick”
“And it makes Dogtooth and Tsangari's Attenberg look easy”
My reading is no less perplexing. Youcenar’s book on the plane mingled dream and reality, lyrical and literal, interior monologue and tense conversation. In pursuit of police procedurals from different countries I’ve stumbled upon a bizarre book written to get subversion past the censorship of Ceaușescu's Romania – Attack in the Library by George Arion. written in 1983, an ill-formatted English version published in 2011. Layerings of necessary, and now dated, verbal camouflage place its humour beyond translation as though I was trying to watch a risqué stand-up through steamed double glazing. Daring thrusts and quotable asides go unappreciated. What’s more useless than a quip that needs a footnote? I suspect the jokes on me for even trying to attend the show, but I’ll persist. Barely comprehensible art remains in my mind as a phrase or an image when other more readable works have gone down as easily and enjoyably as a good meal.
*** ***
On Monday the sun came for long intervals. I and the ground and the house basked in it, almost drinking its direct warmth. Even so it was a flirtation of light and shade. Over Ano Korakiana clouds form at the edge of Trompetta Ridge, which rises behind the village as three dramatic crags. Even as the sun burns the clouds away they remake themselves, placing us in temporary shadow while the valley below, beyond the vapour line, is bright with sunlit greenery. I peer through half-closed eyes at the veiled dazzle, watching the sun’s trajectory behind a passing cloud which keeps reshaping itself to block the full beamed light which, when it comes at last, is like an embrace.
**** ****
Dave phoned for me to come down to the shore and see progress on Summer Song. The road to Ipsos is still full of potholes – even larger than in January. The harbour is washed and damp. Our boat sits beside a wide clear water stream washing to the pebbled shore, her hull smooth painted and anti-fouled. The new engine and its controls are neatly in place, but for gears. The electrics are diagrammed and enclosed with batteries now inside the cabin, protected. There’s a new propeller, and a new coolant inlet sea cock. 
Dave made me a cup of tea – “Yes the stove’s reconnected with gas in the stern locker and electric pump for the sink tap." We sat in the cabin as he took me over next steps, renewing the cabin sole and roof, sanding and reshaping the teak strake, replacing the cockpit locker lids, painting the deck. I can hardly take this is in. We waited so long to make our boat workable again.
“We should have done this when we arrived in Corfu in 2006” I said.
"Except for the cost, none of this is real” I thought “and it won’t seem so until I’m at sea again.”
*** ***
As the sun persisted Lin and I went for a walk up towards Venetia, descending the steps at San Jacobo we met an old lady who picked some flowers for us to take to her friends Lefteris and Vasiliki “from Anastasia”. We chatted as we walked 
“Spring is earlier here, but even here the weather's delayed it” 
The oranges are still on some trees even if the olives are gone. The vines look dead but everywhere there are buds; sometimes tiny shoots. 
“The Judas blossom’s the most visible but even that’s delayed. Look at the green on that tree!"
Along the lower road the puddles are wide. Soaking in warmth we stroll back into the village along National Opposition Street, no-one to be seen and only the rare car. There are often graffiti in the village, usually political - for ND, KKE, PASOK and now SYRIZA....
...but on a wall below the road there’s a swastika sprayed in red and the stolen Greek key pattern symbol of the 'eggvolk' - Krysi Avgi, Χρυσή Αυγή, Golden Dawn, a pictorial anagram of the Nazi icon, and, to make the point, the initials AK, repeated on a circular roadside mirror at one corner for all passing by to see, and again on the wall at the start of the path up to our house.
“How can he bear to leave those there?” says Lin, nodding at the windows opposite
“They’re fresh”
From home she makes up a small tin of white paint. We put it in a plastic bag with a scraper and wire brush. 
The grubby symbols are soon disappeared, even from the mirror though that takes a little more elbow, scrubbing and scraping and repolishing.
*** *** ***
Paul came round as promised to adjust the pressure of our water. Our dial read between 7 and 8. 
“I’m surprised something didn’t blow. That’s far far too high” he’d said when we were here in February. He played with the sprung nut by the mains tap until the flow seemed right indoors.
“I’ve left it between 2 and 3 bar. See if that works.”
We’d been getting drips from the safety valves below the water heater whenever it was turned on.
“I think that’s sorted” I said after a while
“Say nothing” said Lin.
****

Wednesday was cloudy with wind and sun. I could put washing out and do odd jobs, in this case reseating a trio of cheap but sturdy wooden chairs, to which Effi has added a small bench she wants repaired. I’ve just taken it all apart, to be sanded and restored using glue on the joints and screws in place of its rusty nails. For this small task Effi brought over a gift - socks and a T-shirt for Oliver.
This is almost my favourite weather, regular intervals of sun through scudding clouds and now and then a louder gust of wind that lasts a minute churning up trees and flying out the washing, then quiet and a burst of heat as the sun clears a cloud. This is perfect ocean weather; endless sea shifting from azure blue to black; vast dazzling meadows amid ranks of perfect waves spumed by scudding squalls. Look flying fish! A shoal of diamonds skimming in panic across the blue; a covey of petrels like seedlings soaring between swells; and gliding above our swelling sails, the spike winged Frigate bird, at home on the sea, her world from horizon to horizon like Pentecost, filled with light and the sound of rushing wind and water. 

Man flu or bronchitis?

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“That’s bronchitis” said Lin. 
My cough tails into a sound which, if re-played and amplified, would be like the shriek of a winter pig led up the garden path, who suddenly sees the beam, the hook, the sharpened knife and the blood bucket below. From my chest as I lie in bed come autonomous bubbling sounds as of an aerating pump.
“So it’s not man-flu?”
Illness irritates Lin. Me too. But this thing in my chest began four weeks ago with the kind of joint aching cold I’d normally clear away with a cycle ride, a few hours digging, a good walk with the dog.
“Stop going on. Just get yourself to the surgery down at Pyrgi”
Next morning I’m there, presenting myself at reception. The place is relievedly unbusy. I’m taken wordlessly to a separate officer – Manager. Manager looks up from paperwork “I need your ID” I present my European Health Insurance Card. He sits me down while he runs it through a copier, stapling it as an A4 to other bits of paper with my name and a room number. 
“Five euros, please” 
He returns to reception where a receipt is completed for my payment, also stapled. 
“Wait by room one”
There’s just one patient ahead of me. Reassuring. A closed door worries me. There may be no-one there, but I can hear snatches of conversation inside. I'm in good hands - a patient. 
Outside its grey, a strong wind worrying at the foliage around the clinic, seeds blown hither and thither. The doctor bursts out of his room chatting to a nurse asking about a form. He disappears and then returns. Even better. He exists. He returns, closes the door, more muffled chat, then he re-emerges with more paper and two young women, all chatting happily. 
Then he's back and the next patient is invited in, and is out in hardly a minute again accompanied by the doctor with more papers. 
Then its my turn. I apologise for not speaking Greek. 
“The problem” “I have this ….(I cough illustratively). It’s been going on for weeks”
He has me pull up my shirt and listens, stethoscope to my back.
“Deep breath. Again Again”
I’m creaking and wheezing - a tuneless accordion.
He sits down at a crowded desk.
Γιατρός Μορδος Ρ Ρουβιμ.  Doctor Μordos R Rouvim.
“You have an infection. Bronchitis”
“Ah, that’s what my wife said”
“You must have anti-biotics”
He mutters for an instant as the ceiling light gives a flicker but remains alight.
He pulls out a large A4 form full of lines from a drawer and begins writing.
“How’s your digestion?”
“Fine”
“Good. You have phlegm?”
“Lots”
“Is it green?"
"Green, yellow, Yes"
I'm thinking how do you get from this disgusting stuff lodged in my chest to the idea of having phlegm or guts and being phlegmatic.
"You need a cough medicine” He writes this down too.
“Your nose gets blocked”
“Sometimes”
“Some nose drops”
This is written down. I am feeling more hopeful.
“You have trouble breathing sometimes”
“In the mornings in bed, yes. Sometimes in the night”
“An inhalant. Through your mouth once at night, once in the morning”
More writing. I gaze out of the window as small petals like a swarm of bees float dancing by the window – left to right and then in another gust back again.
“One moment” 
The doctor exits and leaves me in the quiet security of the room. I look around at posters of lungs and their blood supply hung on the wall. Another of a muscled skeleton illustrating points of inflammation in joints.

Each eviscerated body has an insouciant non skeletal head. All is quiet, the furious shaking of the trees outside entirely muffled.
The doctor returns with a smaller book; carbon paper interleaved with forms. He begins transcribing the list on the larger form to a prescription form for me – all operations which at my GP in England would be done in seconds on a computer to the stacatto of its printer. 
I relish this extra time and attention.
“You should also have chicken broth”
“Right”
“No wine for a week, or ouzo”
“I’m going to win” I say
“Right take this to the pharmacy. Goodbye”
“Goodbye doctor. Thank you!”
A warm gale from the east is sending in a steady supply of spray and spume all along the scruffy Ipsos Esplanade.

The chemist write instructions in English on all my medication. €17.71 the lot.
Back at Ano Korakiana I’m carrying my medicines home and see Cinty in her car.
“Ah I wanted a word” She may know a builder we need for the apothiki floor.
“Come and have a cup of tea?”
I chat to her about being 'bronchial', a conversation Lin would abhor.
“The doc at Pyrgi has really set me up proud” 
I listed my inventory of weapons for tackling the problem.
“I tell you what Lin will really not like. He suggested chicken broth. That just wreaks of invalid”
‘Funny you should mention that” says Cinty and draws a plastic container from her freezer “I’d just saved this”
“Oh no. That’s brilliant!”
“One other thing. Lemon juice and honey.”
I wandered home like Rambo. 
Bronchitis. Make my day!

It still puzzles me why I should have allowed a grubby little disease like bronchitis to get a hold on me. I forgot the flu jab this year, but then the feverish cold that started all this should have been long gone. I’m seventy-one but I'm normally in rude health. It was cold in England; especially so at my mother’s house in the Highlands. But cold hasn’t caused me problems in the past. I’ve all the clothes I need for being out of doors in British weather.
“I thought the warmer weather here would sort it”
“But” Cinty’d said “The island air is damp. That doesn’t help.”
No. It’s neither age nor weather. It’s sadness. I know it's grief. How I relished and needed the attention of Dr Rouvim, his long prescription and the papered ministrations of the clinic, and Lin’s grudging admission that I’ve a named condition and Cinty’s chicken broth. I shall get better now.

At last the sun

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The sun'll be coming round the mountain when she comes, and how welcome it feels after these days of greyness and rain.
*** ***
A welcome discovery - a builder who is a neighbour, Arturo, Greek name Dimitri, and his son Armando - have put a cement floor in our apothiki and our near completing a window for it. Our Greek has moved on to almost workable conversations about detail. Nothing like immersion in practical tasks to help learn a language.
Dimitri prepares a window in the apothiki

Meeting someone

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I love meeting someone off the train, a plane, or at the end of a drive on which I hear the crunch of tyres. I was at Kapodistria, sat on a concrete edge in the car park waiting for Easyjet 5058 bringing Amy and Guy and our grandson to Corfu. Their flight is delayed half an hour. I’ve been waiting an hour in delightful anticipation.
At last a rumble in the sky. Descending from the north, a tiny object – blinking in the sun – passes far overhead. I catch a hint of orange before it fades into the blue. Ten minutes later - the duration of a large turn almost beyond the tail of the island, over the mainland edge, back over the Corfu sea – the unarguable shape of a plane, its headlight bright in the noon sun, appears at the end of the runway beside Kanoni.

I stroll slowly back to Arrivals glimpsing through windows the routine of getting from plane to concourse. Silhouettes assemble around the carousel. There’s Amy. I spy her.
And then they’re here. Such a heart-starting moment of joy, well hidden.
“Hi you. The car’s just a hundred yards down the road”
“He’s been crying the whole flight”
“Oh dear”
We bustle round the car, signing papers, fitting the child seat and then, Guy driving, we’re on our way, wending along Garitsa, along the corniche opposite the deep green of Vido Island, afloat on the jocund blue, before a hazy panorama of snow topped mainland peaks – the first day of summer; “πλησιάζει το καλοκαίρι” as Yianni said in the car park, aware of the need for a start to the holiday season and the harvest that long ago replaced olive oil, garrison wages and precarious rustic sufficiency.
Oliver is still cries.
“I think he detests being strapped in" I said "When our children were young mum, me, nan or grandpa held them in the back. That’s illegal now”
“He’s had his routine disrupted” said Guy “they kept us an hour on the apron at Gatwick because the tech log was delayed. Didn’t start preflight checks until we were all on board”
Not much later, unloading travel bags from the car above the steps on Democracy Street, Oliver was settled In the arms of his nan, looking wakefully around at sharply dappled surroundings.
Will he, to amaze us in future years - as I do of times and places in my earliest childhood - hold in his head, like a still photo, a vivid memory of this visit that we won't believe possible?
Ollie on the balcony
In the afternoon we walked together to Ag. Isadoras up the narrow hair-pin bend road to Sokraki. Oliver slept for much of the ride. Later at Stammati’s Piazza for cold beer and pop, I relished neighbours’ chuckling over our grandson.
At the new café on Friday evening
*** *** ***
On Saturday we went into town, wandering the narrow streets up to the Liston stopping at Picantiko for giros on a square off Nikiforou Theotoki...
... before visiting the new playground in the garden above the sea moat. Here, with other parents and their toddlers, we sat and chatted and played with Oliver on a roundabout, a swing...
...and a see-saw, until three young American dad’s arrived to play boisterously and irritatingly with a hoard of older offspring, unaware how the place had abruptly emptied of Greeks and their children. On the low parapet  above the sea moat Lin took photos of two lizards, one larger than those we usually see.
On Sunday we went to the seaside; a paraphernalia of things to be loaded in the car – snacks, blankets, umbrellas, books, a bucket and spade; then via Skripero and the narrow country road that goes through Doukades to Paleocastritsa.
“Couldn’t we have just taken mainroads?”said Lin
I’d been guiding Guy at the wheel and Lin, chatting to Amy and keeping an eye on Oliver, suddenly realised my choice of sinuous route to the sea.
“But look at the verges, the flowers, the olives groves and the meadows”
“And the potholes and cars coming the other way”
“Philistines”
“We’re not Philistines but if we go this way we’ll have lost the sun by the time we get there”
“Rubbish”
Guy edged the car through the narrow square of Dukades, descending the hill down to the main road to the car park and buildings below the cliffs of Paleocastritsa. Everything was closed, the tourist season, in the crisis, moved back several weeks. The sea was jocund, crystal, azure patched, shining silver patines between the towering crags at the head of the bay where beneath the bare horizon I glimpsed white caps blown by a sturdy north wind. Here and there the lovely Greek flag flew and rippled. We stationed ourselves with kit and umbrella on the sandy part of a narrow curving beach. A few others – shapely and not too white - were sunbathing. Lin and I bickered about nothing and were told to shut-up by Amy
“People are watching us”
“Yes but all I’m saying…” I went on, wanting the last word
“Oh shut up and stop spoiling things”
“But..!”
“No!”
It was all because the umbrella – very cheap – had broken and I accused Lin and she accused me. Why do we argue?
“It seems to me that we can avoid arguing if you would just admit I’m right”
“Dad for God’s sake…” says Amy
“Are we swimming then?”
We saw a couple of young Greeks dipping toes and hands in the water before returning to bask.
“Of course. We’re British” says Guy
Oliver was already in the sand, digging and testing.
“You’re not supposed to eat it” said Amy
“Is this the first time he’s been by the sea?”
“It is”
Shaded by the umbrella – now securely anchored after Guy had to rescue it from blowing topsy-turvy down the beach – Oliver was watched over by Lin.
In my bathing drawers I waddled into the chilly water; tripped over and yelled, splashing, floating and swimming until I got used to the cold and could enjoy showing off in deeper water.

“It’s like England in summer” I shouted. Why is it often the British who shout on foreign beaches? Why me, who so dislikes such behaviour?
Lin walked Oliver along the beach his feet tip toeing then feeling their way into the wet sand at the water’s edge. Twice his little hat blew off, but the wind wasn’t cold. Amy and Guy swam too – more quietly than me. Oliver paddled with Lin. Sand, as it does, got into things. We had crisps and chocolate biscuits. I lay on my warm towel on the warm sand and read my current Dutch procedural - Janwillem Van De Wetering's Streetbird
"You do realise" says Amy "looking at the cover of that book it looks as if you're reading porn
Later we decamped and visited the one truly lovely building in the place – the monastery perched above Paleocastritsa, inhabited by cats and dogs and a lone monk behind the counter of an expensive souvenir shop. The wind blew stronger and, by some trick of local topology, from the east, even as the serried waves on the sea shining and breathing loudly far below ran swiftly south. The tunnel, alleyway and corners gave protection, so that the late afternoon sun continued to give us heat amid arrays of lovingly tended flowers and shrubs - violet wisteria, just sprouting bougainvillea, yellow gazia and jasmine.
“You know” I said later, not that anyone was listening “I grumble about the blighting of Paleo with its tawdry shops and cafés and its hideous stacked hotel, but it’s really not bad to live just five kilometres from the seaside on both sides of the island”
We’d had a lovely day. What was I grumbling about?


Days out and about

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“You’re not getting up are you?” whispers Lin “What time is it?”
“Six-thirty. I want to see the sunrise”
Amy has told me a theory. ‘It’s proved’ the more intelligent stay up late and sleep late. I being the converse, as she says, “Draw your conclusions, dad”
“But I’m not especially unintelligent am I? I’m not like your mum with money and technical things but…”
“You’re more educated, not more intelligent”
“Ah I see. My long words and circuitous writing”
I go to bed these last few nights later than my grandson but I leave Amy, Guy and Lin around the supper table, first reading then falling asleep to the mumble of their conversation over cards. We’re still lighting the stove at night as the sunny days with the north wind grow cool by sunset.
Before the sun rises I stand on the balcony gazing toward the outline of Greek and Albanian mountains and the sliver of metal sea between them and the dark of the island, listening to the muted discordance of cockerels. barking dogs and occasional scooters, small objects dashing back and forth - insects, swallows and floaters inside my eyes. I slip quietly through the French windows down the side balcony stairs through the veranda door to the kitchen from where I can come and go by the porch door not to wake the sleeping house. I shave and make a cup of tea to take upstairs where the new sun is making long shadows. Yesterday I persuaded Amy to try cutting my hair.

“I’m tired of this mane. Can you trim it away?”
It’s a weight off my head, for all her raggedy effect.
We had lunch on the balcony, a cold box to keep our ice for water and wine and pop, and an umbrella for shade – fresh bread, cheeses, salami and a feta salad with onions, olives, cucumber and tomato and separate lettuce.

Later the big blue bowl we use for carrying the washing served as a pool for the baby.
*** ***
We went, on Tuesday, to Kanoni, walking down steps to the café beside the sea with few customers to disturb us and just one plane taking off, sheltered from the fresh breeze that ruffled the water between us and Pontikonisi. Lin who studies the prices on menus assiduously indulged me for once when I said “Eat and drink what you like, money’s no object”.
We shared a Greek salad, Lin doing the dressing with salt and pepper and more oil than vinegar while I stab the squares of feta with a fork to spread its taste; a beefburger with bacon and cheese for Lin, souvlaki for Guy, calamari for Amy and I, and several plates of chips, plus coke for Guy who’s driving and for Lin and for me, a large dark Corfu beer in a fluted glass and Amstel for Amy; water and a cheese toastie for Oliver. The food was kindly and efficiently served. As our eating slowed the large agreeable Labrador bitch Lola joined us, optimistic for scraps.
"Here comes Hoover" said Guy
We’d planned to go on to Mon Repos but our meal went on too long. Also, I was tartly reminded, in the morning I’d cycled down to Ipsos – to do email and sit in Summer Song's cockpit and admire Dave's work on her - such a pleasure freewheeling through the olive groves – and coming back later than I’d said on the note I’d left on a table in the sleeping house. The long ascent to Ag Markos was no problem; my chest is clear, the antibiotics (and contentment) having cleared my bronchitis.
*** ***
A letter from Jan:
9/4/13 Simon. Read your description of your experience with the Greek health service with great interest. Interesting to see how European countries apply charges. On Localism…re-assuring to see that others share our general wish to see much stronger Localism (as long as this is based on stronger local democracy. The two are not identical).These are some of the ‘vehicles’ I have referred to previously to drive this agenda forward. I think it is important that LAs engage with these as long as they have a clear agenda of their own and a ‘narrative’ of their own commanding strong local support…However, there are some important omissions in all these articles.
Firstly, there  are no analyses or comments on the link or otherwise between localism and democracy and how this will work in practise and to the benefit of the locality. This is important otherwise it may be perceived as merely one bunch of seedy and discredited politicians trying to grab power for themselves from another bunch of seedy and discredited politicians. You can well imagine how sections of the press and TV would portray this, aided and abetted by those opposed to it, hence why I carp on about a ‘narrative’ all the time especially a ‘bottom-up’ one.
Secondly, there is no attempt to bring into the debate the civic pride and public service dimensions we've talked about. These are crucial elements in any narrative as they are linked to culture and behaviour i.e. the how (being ethical, incorruptible, objective, transparent, open, accessible, selfless, etc). It’s in this context that your suggestion about bringing in an ethical dimension to the reading and carrying model is so crucial. I'm still thinking about what that would look like both conceptually and practically, but agree with you that ‘critical incidents’ form an important part of it in terms of bringing together both skills and behaviours (these are of course overlapping). This is why governance is so important.
Thirdly, there's no mention of how LAs can develop a much stronger independent tax base, without which local democracy cannot flourish. It is noticeable that this topic is avoided – a lot of moaning but no serious attempt to offer an alternative to the present distorted system. Given that there are so many models on the continent which could be tailored to our circumstances this is a grave omission. Is this the ‘Stockholm syndrome’ again or are we incapable of rising above the parent-child model of licenced localism?
Fourthly, there is no attempt to offer a view on who localism applies to and who the ‘drivers’ will be (LAs?). The new feudal elite does not belong, nor is it attached to any locality, flitting between the financial capitals of the world…yet the decisions made amid this elite can have huge impacts on communities (e.g. closing or opening factories) Where do we place these people on the localism-democracy map? At the other end of the social scale there is a class now being referred as the ‘precariat’ (in older days we referred to the lumpen proletariat) whose connectivity with their localities is slim. In most case non-existent. What role if any do these people have in localism? Passive recipients? This latter class is growing and is likely to do so in the future.
I am trying to absorb the impact of all the benefits changes coming in this April (e.g. Housing Benefits, Council Tax Rebate, Social Fund). Fiendishly complicated, but people in the know seem to agree that the further down the economic food chain you are the worse off you will be. Secondly it will place LAs directly in the firing line, paradoxically through being given more devolved responsibilities. Is this localism or an imposition or even an abandonment - devolved functions for implementing national policy deemed difficult, controversial, unpopular, can hardly be seen as devolved democracy, especially as there appears to be strong political motives to ‘dump’ toxic issues on LAs. All governments have indulged in this. This is no more than local administration of central policy, making LAs the agents of central government, drawing them closer into a centralised system and in the process becoming more dependent on central government and less autonomous (there are a few LAs who are resolutely fighting this, e.g. Leeds City Council and the implementation of the new Housing Benefit). Others seem to relish being the local agent of government.
Despite endless grumbles, there has been very little serious debate among LAs about the above issues, let alone achieving a common ground or a common ‘manifesto’ for how to move forward in re-calibrating the relationship with central government. I accept this is very difficult given the numbers involved, the big differences between LAs and the ineffectiveness of the LGA. The debate seem to centre on narrow issues of functions and where they should be located within the overall central/local spectrum. In recalibrating this relationship we also need to recalibrate local relationships. LAs will need to become very different to just being local councils which, at the moment, are desperately trying to find a new role and purpose for themselves in the new political climate.
They are (as I did ) seeing this from ‘inside the box’. I think we need to take a step back and look at concepts like local democracy, representative democracy, democratic accountability, participatory democracy, to identify building blocks for future direction and build up an evidence base for these, but most importantly identify the political vehicle for driving the necessary changes through. The obstacles are enormous but worthwhile conquering.
I fear many LAs are actually in denial about the big picture; certainly in public where they adopt a (commendable) ‘we can do it’ attitude (with grumbles) without really tackling head on the fact that the tectonic plates of LAs are being rolled back and at best a minimalist or residual role (the new poor laws or local agent for government?) is being prepared, based on ideology not evidence.
No amount of being able to prove yourself will change this significantly. Yes, there are new powers and responsibilities but this feels a bit like handing over the responsibility for the restaurant menu and orchestra play list to the passengers of the Titanic after it’s hit the iceberg, when new skills and strategies are required to reach port or at least survive to fight another day. How would you incorporate this into the three dimensional model of carrying-reading-ethical and how would this ‘play’ in the managerial-political relationships? Fascinating.
I have droned on too long. Hope you are enjoying Corfu. I am now reading  the second volume (out of 3) of Professor Evans’ History of the Third Reich; strongly recommended especially seeing how politicians-managers-professionals interacted and related to each other during the Wiemar Period and subsequently during the Third Reich and the role the two latter groups played in ‘delivering’ the worst crimes in history (often willingly and enthusiastically or through cynical self-interest or indifference; coercion playing a surprisingly small role for most, other than as a powerful backdrop); a salutary lesson which should be compulsory in all management and professional training and proves how important the ethical dimension really is and how easily it can evaporate. On that cheerful thought I‘ll finish. Best, Jan
11/4/13 Dear Jan. I’d like to make up a list of about a dozen (maybe less to start) ‘critical incidents’ that might be drawn from the settings we’re striving to map. 'For instances' help develop narrative and v.v.
You may recall what my critical incidents looked like. We need some from rather different political-managerial-professional settings...I try to get the people who are experiencing these to give me the basic story which I can turn into something that is more general, which poses a dilemma and calls for a judgement - about action or inaction - based on what is read and what is carried.
I would draw some of these from experiences in the Handsworth community. Have you any one sentence settings I could develop and refine? I’d like some that touch on benefits complexity, on the parent-child relationship and Stockholm syndrome that you suggest characterises central-local relations, also the effect of actions by the new ‘feudal elite’ on a local population, also something that addresses the ‘precariat’ (from inside)…
On a related point, the understandings that can develop inside a working political-management relationship represents one of the most reliable classrooms for politicians and managers working in government. I hear rather little on the process of ’negotiating the overlap’, yet it’s through such negotiation that individuals and organisations develop agency (i.e. capacity to understand and act in the world, take part in governance). Current trends encourage political deskilling. Deep desperation and misery and rage is kept just at bay through compensatory ‘bread and circuses’ and anaesthetising media, drugs (of many kinds), and a high level of intelligence gathering by the police in which many of us participate as part of our commitment to ’social cohesion’.
Possible criticals: 1. Story of a failure of care for a neighbour in connection with an outlandish building extension into a next door garden, 2. Local volunteer group unable to bid for local work because of the increasing complexity and scale of procurement rules by local social housing agencies, 3. Local volunteer group unable to use power tools (normal domestic DIY things most individuals use in their homes and gardens like mowers, hedge trimmers, strimmers and hand drills) as a result of stringency of health and safety rules and need for expensive training - a difficulty which local councillors admit themselves unable to ease or even negotiate. Many such local handyperson services now becoming defunct because regulatory framework favours much larger organisations. Why could not LA help form a co-op or syndicate of small volunteer groups? There are also problems created by expense of checking criminal records of anyone employed in local voluntary work as well as complicated sets of rules (all entirely reasonable in view of events) re protection of children and vulnerable people. Schools, nurseries and care homes can no longer use volunteer help with garden clearance, waste removal etc., 4. Local councillors ineffectual at getting information about grant frameworks for localism or clearly favouring issuing of neighbourhood funds to party political patrons. Could be an ethnic dimension to this problem. It could also be one of perception rather than reality but damaging to social cohesion, 5. Local council explores setting up fair-loan bank for the poor and other groups that would make good use of low interest loans delivered fairly, but finds the idea impossible because of banking rules. This problem made greater because credit unions are finding it increasingly difficult to survive (many declaring themselves insolvent) under new legislation intended to ensure propriety of such local ‘banks’, 6. Local groups unable to tap into rural parish funds as the process is tightly influenced by a small clique of villagers who have known each other for many years, 7. XY council under financial pressure has cancelled all free waste disposal permits for volunteer groups so that they can no longer remove waste cheaply after garden clearance, fly tipping clearance and street and park litter picks, 8. (Can you do one on effects of departure of a large local industry to another country?), 9. Local committees are being ill-attended because ’they seem unable to make decisions’ and they are unable to summon senior officers or councillors to explain city wide/county/district wide strategies and budget procedures (e.g. decreasing local transparency spreads despondency as new feudalism takes hold), 10. Local groups frustrated with ‘bureaucracy’ and ‘so-called local democracy’ and starts to ’take the law into their own hands’. Play on links to ‘intelligent criminals’. Greece’s fascist party - Golden Dawn - now demands proof of licence to trade from ‘foreign’ market stall holders, and issues free food etc. but only to those of their racial preference (i.e. not black)….how am I doing? Come up with a few more - starting with one liners. I realise the ones I’ve come up with in a few minutes are all pretty negative. We need some hopeful ones don’t we, even though of course there should always be a political-managerial-professional dilemma of some kind? Best S
15/4/13 Simon. I think the critical incidents in your attachment are excellent. They stand on their own merit in terms of being topical and universal and as such they can be applied to a range of contexts. As well as testing reading and carrying (i.e. political nous and skills) there is an underlying theme of morals and ethics which needs to be ‘tested’ strongly. This  can be wrapped up around the notion of governance. In theory many of your critical incidents should be ‘resolvable’ through adopting a governance approach to underpin the reading and carrying aspects. The reality of course is more messy than that, but that's part of the learning.
In many authorities especially in the North, but not exclusively so, I believe there is now a possibility that we are moving away from a ‘managing the overlap" model of political-managerial relationships to a ‘maintaining the bridge’ model. To illustrate: it has been calculated that the new welfare reforms now being introduced will removed £19 billion from the economy. Northern England will be hit the hardest, the worst affected being places like Blackpool, Middlesbrough, Liverpool, Glasgow; whereas Cambridge, Surrey, the Cotswolds, will see the lowest financial impact. The three worst affected regions are the North East, North West and Yorkshire and Humberside. A similar pattern exists in respect of the Local Government Grant distribution creating a ‘double whammy’ whereby the combination of welfare cuts and local government cuts impact disproportionally on the most deprived areas and widens the gap between the best and worst local economies (north/south divide).
These are not only economic issues. They are political and ideological in that they are underpinned by the fact that the negative impacts are felt by individuals and communities outside the government's own political heartland; by a policy objective aimed at rolling back the public sector and penalising (almost demonising) the poorest and most vulnerable people as a means (incentive) to force (encourage) them  to come off benefits or obtain as little as possible.
These developments will seep into the political-managerial relationships and place them under strains proportionate to the impact of the ‘double whammy’. The gap between political aspirations which in theory are almost unlimited and managerial reality and deliverability - rapidly becoming even more constrained - will, unless some fundamentals are attended to, widen more and more as the ‘double whammy’ impacts.
There is a danger that the ‘overlap’ maybe about to be overtaken by an ever growing ‘gap’ which needs to be managed in a different way to the ‘overlap’, hence my phrase ‘maintaining the bridge’. In this context, as political ambitions are floundering and managerial manoeuvrability diminishing, the ethical dimensions may be tested to breaking point or beyond. Governance may no longer be able to patrol the boundaries of what is acceptable or not, or the boundaries themselves may shift either deliberately or imperceptibly.
On a more positive note, would it  be possible to turn all these developments into a ‘Dunkirk spirit’ in political-managerial relationships? (the ‘enemy’ being the government). I have my doubts, for reasons mentioned in my previous e-mails i.e. parent-child relationship, licenced localism, Stockholm syndrome)...It would be good to draw out some of these issues in the application of your critical incidents… It is at this level, in the  granular structure of local communities that LAs have to deliver if localism is going to have any relevance. You have posed some meaty issues here. I think it may be a good idea to put these in the context of The Localism Act which provides  among other things ‘new rights for communities and individuals’, including: right to challenge, right to bid, right to build. I enclose a report on this (On the Ground: Localism in Practice. Final Report, March 2013. Ed Poulter, Rural Policy Officer, Yorkshire and Humber Rural Network), which you may find interesting. It seems to indicate that co-operation and relationship building are better than competition and confrontation (how quaint and old-fashioned!).
It is at this granular level that the ‘intelligent’ criminal and/or extremist organisations (very often the same people) can take hold as a vacuum is created by the rolling back of the public sector. There is a challenge for LAs here, but more so for local communities and local organisations. Can they fill the vacuum? Do they have the resources (compared to the ‘intelligent’ criminals’)? As you say ‘how can democracy and transparency survive?’ …I wonder whether it would be possible to include some of these dilemmas and challenges in your community based critical incidents. I think LAs have been oblivious to the possibility of vacuums being created and filled by highly ‘undesirable’ elements or pent up local frustrations spilling over and then being manipulated (e.g. Golden Dawn). Given the dramatic increase in food banks in certain localities you can see that vacuums are being filled. Others may be less benevolent. At the other end certain communities are almost immune from any of the current policy developments. In fact given the continuing rise in billionaires some are benefiting.
As you know I am reading Professor Evans’ trilogy on the Third Reich. What is striking and frightening is how quickly and comprehensively the Nazi Party was able to ‘incorporate’ almost  all local organisations, clubs, associations, interest groups of all types. None of these were political in any form and had long histories in their communities, but within a short period they became tools of the government. The role of public servants and local authorities is fascinating…I am not suggesting that we have reached a similar stage here or that this is likely in the foreseeable future but nevertheless there are lessons to be learned for any serious supporter of localism.
We need to remind ourselves that the so called impossible can and does happen. It was Impossible for banks to bust but they did. It is impossible for countries to go bankrupt but they do.
I think there are a number of ways the new feudalism can manifest itself in a locality (e.g. no physical presence at all or living separately with likeminded people). In general terms we are dealing with people who determine the following: a) Relocating a company overseas (e.g. Dyson to China), b) Overseas buy- up (e.g. Cadbury's), c) New local development but overseas buying (e.g. IKEA having their goods manufactured in China, Taiwan, Bangladesh etc.) creates some local employment in local outlets, d) Repatriation of profits and no tax paid in Britain, e.g. Starbucks, Amazon, etc.)
Given the high priority LAs place on economic development it is important to factor these dimensions into political-managerial relationships. As LAs are trying to argue the case that they should be at the forefront of economic development at local level they need to understand these forces and have strategies for them. The overriding characteristic of the new feudalism is Inequality on a scale not previous heard of for a very very long time.
A metaphor for what we are talking about can be found in football, especially in the top division. Originally the teams were factory based (e.g. Arsenal, Man U), then becoming locality based teams owned by local business people and consisting of mainly local players so the teams were integrated into their local communities and were part of them. This has turned into multimillion PLCs trading on the stock exchange owned by foreign multi-billionaires from Russia, Thailand, USA, Brunei - some of whom hardly ever come to Britain let alone attend matches, though they appoint chief executives and managers, many of whom are foreign and very few, if any, local people. They have huge TV income and sponsorship deals. Sponsored players come from all over the world, paid salaries beyond the wildest dreams of most people. They live miles away in gated communities among likeminded people and drive to and from their training grounds and stadiums in cars worth hundreds of thousand. They do bring money into the local economy and many of them will do good deeds in their spare time or as part of their sponsorship agreement.
Put simplistically something similar has happened to the economy in general. If so what sort of localism are we talking about? Transparency and accountability combined with powers (mainly but not exclusively  economic) to improve quality of life, and powers to determine or have a real say in taxation policy at local level. This is a tall order. Since the Poll Tax debacle no political party or politician dare to raise the issue of local taxation. It is seen as an out of bounds toxic issue; but without some real economic clout localism is dead in the water; no more than pressure groups chasing government or any other vested interests for a few economic crumbs. I hope this makes sense and that it is of use to you. Enjoy Corfu…See you when you are back. Best Jan
Dear J. I suspect that as April's welfare reforms begin to bite, we will encounter, even more than usual, the ugly habit of demonising the poor - about which I know no better remark than this - from the great American writer, Herman Melville, who spent time on a US warship in the 19th century and encountered the justification of the officer class for flogging the lower deck. Such cruelty was essential given the dangerous and depraved behaviour such punishments were designed to quell.
Depravity in the oppressed is no apology for the oppressor; but rather an additional stigma to him, as being in large degree, the effect, and not the cause and justification of oppression’ Chap 14 ‘White Jacket
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Lin and I have now taken Oliver on two long walks round the village and along quiet roads beyond its houses, past blooming wild flowers, banks of honesty, fresh green verges - already being keenly strimmed by the Demos to avoid future fire risk - and abundant blossoming Judas trees.


Lunch in Ano Perithia

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Spring at Ano Perithia

Monday was damp; the house so quiet. Some have taken advantage of the wet, after ten sunny days, to set bonfires, their smoke mixing with the mist making the chill evening air smell like autumn. There was enough sun to dry this morning’s washing. I miss the baby clothes that have hung on our line these last nine days – small smocks and socks. In the morning I don’t, any more, have to go downstairs by the outside steps so that my creaking descent of wooden stairs above the guest bedroom wakes Oliver.

We saw them away round Sunday noon, after they'd reached the end of a long slow queue through airport security.
Was it Friday we had a picnic in the British Cemetery?
Gherkins, marmite and cheese sandwiches in the British Cemetery
The bell in the ivy above the gate rings as we enter. George Psialas, a little more stooped came out to greet us.  Could we picnic?
“Of course, of course” he’d said, talking of the storm that, last month, had broken off branches, damaged shrubs and gouged ditches beside some of the cemetery’s grassy paths, washing away bulbs. He picked Lin a bouquet of red and blue to which he added a slightly incongruous twig of palm attached to a clump of butter coloured seeds. At Lin’s suggestion I placed them in a clay pot on Norman Sheriff’s grave; ‘Stormin’ Norman, who’d bought Summer Song in Spain in the early ‘80s and for a retirement - from the railways - adventured with his wife Pauline along Mediterranean coasts to Turkey and back to Corfu.
We searched, fruitlessly, for the tortoises I’d seen on my last visit, with mum when she came to Corfu in 2010. It was October. The grass had been short after summer. Now this sanctuary is profuse with greenery; abundant, as is all Corfu and Greece, with spring flowers and blossom.
Looking for tortoises
On Saturday – “our last day” – we guided Guy as he drove us over the mountains at Trompetta, down to the sea at Roda and back into the foothills of Pantocrator via Loutses to Old Perithia to have lunch at Foros (Ψησταριά Φορος, Αηω Περίθια), where we were served by Thomas Siriotis who remembered previous visits and asked after Richard Pine. I told him about Richard being back from hospital in Dublin.
“His liver, yes”
“He must not drink any more wine” I said “How can you do that?”
“I haven’t drunk for ten years” he said “Ouzo! It can make you feel sick but you can’t be sick. You want to die.”
Lunch with Oliver, Guy and Amy at Foros
I had thought that to eat food without wine, especially in Greece, would be an imposition. Perhaps not so. As we studied Thomas' menu he sketched us on a blank visiting card, including Oliver, entranced by a furry Alsatian puppy that came out to meet us, seeking scraps from our table.
“Her name?”
“Leda”
“So her father is Zeus?"
“Of course”
He didn’t say anything about the swan or not so's I could follow. We sat in and out of shade under a vine canopy.

I had liver, hardly shown the grill, as I preferred. Lin’s was better done. We shared liver, souvlaki, roast cheese, chicken pie, giro, plates of slim well browned chips, salads with feta and crispy bread with small jugs of red and white wine, water and - on the house - to finish, moist brown walnut cake.
Leda and Oliver
“Thanks for bringing us here” said Guy who paid the bill “We’d never have found this on our own”.
I noticed that the place we’re used to calling Old Perithia seems now to be referred to by people working there as Ano (upper) Perithia. Is it to get away from the connotations of ‘old, palia’? That it is not really a collection of semi-deserted ruins but something becoming a village again? As we left Thomas handed us a cloth wrapping ten fresh eggs from chickens he keeps at his home in Loutses
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A text from our son. Next day Richard phoned
“We’re in Tiananmen Square”
“Is it vast?”
“the pollution’s so bad you can hardly see the edges"
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An email from Mike Tye re jobs lined up for Handsworth Helping Hands
Hello Simon. These are the gardens that have been requested for action (pics attached). I would like to organise the worker/s to do these. What is our maximum spend on each project I am wondering? Daffs planted on Embankment (not by scouts) but by 4 of us last Sunday. Photos to follow. All the best,  Michael
We were relieved, especially as our Ward Officer is asking about how HHH have been spending the grant we won last year. Lin replied: 
Hi Mike. Really delighted that things are happening while we’re away! As far as ‘maximum spend’ is concerned, we think that £150 would be OK for a start. That would allow, for example, for 12 'man hours' work at £10 per hour plus £30 for any materials needed, or 10 man hours work plus £50 for materials, or 15 man hours work and no materials, etc. In exceptional individual circumstances, the committee might agree to more. You also have to take into consideration:
1. Does the client qualify for help according to criteria we have set?
2. Do they qualify for full funding?
3. Can they afford to pay part of or all of the costs? If so, how much?
4. Who will be doing the work?
5. If members of our group are doing the work, should they be paid, and if so, how much?
6. If we employ someone else to do the work, how much per hour should they be paid?
7. Do people doing the work need a Disclosure & Barring (previously CRB) check before they can start work?
8. Are power tools necessary, and if so, are workers qualified to work with them?
9 How do we monitor the number of hours worked?
I have already devised a recording sheet for jobs, which I’ll bring to the next meeting after we get back, for discussion by the group.
We think that our free gardening activities should be limited to:
1. Clearance and rubbish removal
2. Trimming and pruning
3. Mowing
4. General tidying
5. Repairs to gates, fences, paths, etc.
6. Limited planting.
If clients are prepared to pay, then activities could be extended to include more extensive planting, path laying, turfing, etc.
As this is the first project of this kind, you’ll have to make judgements about what is right this time.
We look forward to hearing how this goes. Please take photos before, during and after, for grant evidence and for our Facebook page.
Good luck and best wishes, Linda, Hon.Treas. Handsworth Helping Hands
 *** ***
From Jan:
Simon. I think The Price of Inequality by Joseph E Stiglitz is worth a read. He is a Nobel prizewinning economist and former chief economist at the World Bank (hardly a crazed left wing radical!). Some quotes:
“those at the top have learned how to suck out money  from the rest in ways the rest are hardly aware “
“politics has been high jacked by a financial elite feathering their own nest”
“We are at the mercy of cartels who are lobbying politicians hard and using monopoly power to boost profits”
“Incomes have fallen and inequality has increased as a direct result of deregulation and privatisation “ ( i.e. no trickle-down effect but the reverse )
“Inequality undermines productivity and retards growth”
He can evidence these conclusions but I doubt if this will make any difference to government policy or that they are even bothered to read it. However it does  provide evidence for  those who wish to pursue a different moral vision based on hard facts. Is there a role for Localism in this?
Another quote (from Petra ReskiThe Honoured Society) about the Calabrian Mafia in Italy. They have a turn over of £37.8 billion per annum. That buys a lot of political clout and power. The mafia has become an integral part of Italian society:
“The foundation of all mafia power remains their rootedness in social consensus”
I am mindful of our conversation about “intelligent” criminals filling the  vacuum left by the rolling back of the public sector and the new social consensus they could create. Bad news for local democracy. Best Jan
Dear J. Thanks for these. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your tutoring on the current crisis. I think that I too have been wont to go along with - if not entirely drawn into - the Stockholm syndrome, when it comes to central-local relations. Inlogov has always worked with different political parties, and been as successful over the years during Tory and Labour rule. It has meant that we have eschewed political rhetoric and not allowed ourselves to be slotted into any particular political position. It’s been part of how we work and so part of my own approach (having worked well and ‘happily’ with councils of all shades). I have kept my personal opinions to myself but for the occasional aside. In that sense I've gone along with the cherished principle of officer neutrality as enshrined and subsequently cherished in the 1856 Northcote-Trevelyan Report (what a brilliant 26 page essay on the importance of detaching politics from the working of the civil service that is. It still reads well today!). The trouble, as you have pointed out, is that it necessarily keeps you inside the box of a particular political-management relationship. What you’re telling me is that you - now removed from honourable and competent service in that ‘box’ - are allowing yourself to see things in a political way; suggesting that things are now happening in the world that can mean allegiance to the cherished principle and practice of political neutrality becomes a form of collusion and collaboration with a type of politics that is moving outside the traditional framework of 'normal' political-management practice. I'm especially struck by this paragraph of yours:
There is a danger that the ‘overlap’ maybe about to be overtaken by an ever growing ‘gap’ which needs to be managed in a different way to the ‘overlap’, hence my phrase ‘maintaining the bridge’. In this context, as political ambitions are floundering and managerial manoeuvrability diminishing, the ethical dimensions may be tested to breaking point and beyond. Governance may no longer be able to patrol the boundaries of what is acceptable or not, or the boundaries themselves may shift either deliberately or imperceptibly. 
I have, in the past, addressed a serious break between political steer and managerial action (including ethics) as a situation where an officer may have to consider resigning - having that chat with the family about school fees and mortgage and so on. You are looking at this not as just an officer matter (what an officer may have to do when they can no longer work with a particular leader or political group) but as a situation in which a member and an officer (Leader-CEO) or a political and managerial group come to the view that to serve their community’s interests they may - together - have to maintain a political-management relationship that sees their council in some way or another withdrawing from the current central-local ‘contract’, lest they be in breach of their contract with their locality and its inhabitants.
In order to support such a breach (one almost impossible to sustain given the imbalance of power between centre and locality) there's a need to become familiarised with critiques like that of Stiglitz. Both managers and politicians need to ‘read’ (and have the ‘carrying capacity to do that ‘reading’) the novelty of the situation and form their actions - decisions and rhetoric - in the light of new global analyses of what's happening in  the world - ‘to pursue a different moral vision based on hard facts’. At the moment these 'hard facts' are not seen as facts. We are still assuming our ship is in a storm - a nasty one - rather than that it might be foundering. Best S
*** ***
“Now they’ve gone” said Lin “we can watch a film in the evening”
It was Lars Von Trier’s Breaking the Waves. Even Lin was tearful by the end. It was about ‘goodness’ in its uncelebrated form. Colliding irreconcilables run through the film – faith, love and judgement; the other, secular, atheist, diagnostic, but also love. I was wondering, as I hung the washing this morning, how providential it is, if it is, that I, who strive mostly unsuccessfully to bow to the great mysteries of science and art, yet brought up in faith, liturgy (a softer one than Bess' Wee Free), its language and music, can have regular conversations, as does Bess, with God. She of course is my opposite – being a believer, humble, sweet and good; hence slandered by the religious as damned to hell, and labelled by the secular as deranged. The most fascinating characters in the film are those that stray across the narratives – the nurse, best friend, also Bess' sister-in-law, who prays for a miracle; the piously righteous mother who sides with the church's banishment against her daughter but at last reveals compassion and grief; the priest who tries to break the Calvinist rules; the doctor who, momentarily, retracts his inquest evidence...
“Instead of writing ‘neurotic’, or ‘psychotic’ I might just – erm - use a word like ‘good’”
Mystery and magic are all about - here, now, forever - but necessarily excluded from the small spectrum of reality available to human senses, the prison of gravity and the composition of gases that since my heart began to beat feeds oxygen into my blood. The creative strength to chip one’s way out of that ovule of common sense includes a fervent respect for the job it does in shielding me from the feral, from Bedlam. It's a fearful thing to meet the living God was the old way of putting it. The new way? I will show you fear in a handful of dust. There’s talent and craft and spirit to seeing the world that’s undoubtedly there.
*** ***
We've been collecting wood from the beach at Dassia where, along with the usual driftwood, coppiced Oleander left a harvest of long round logs, easily chopped and sawn, to store in four large builders' bags to dry in the apothiki, now cleared of rubble, with new concreted floor and window. We’ve tidied and sorted there; removing a miscellany of odds and ends for which we can anticipate no use...

...“Thought the moment we throw anything away, we’ll find a job for which it’s just what we need”. The joinery wood's been sorted – short, medium, long – and stored neatly across cypress beams in the eaves, themselves temporarily removed, the ends that enter the wall sawn of rotting tips and treated with preservative. 
*** ***
Meantime emails go to and from our Inverness solicitor about mum’s estate and I, we, have to worry about the sale of mum’s house, the lochan – our thirty year secret place – her holdings, assets, chattels, all the banality of probate; converting what was hallowed into quantity. How sensible it was to put everything on a long boat and send it to sea to burn and sink in the deep, beyond expectations.
Picnic by the lochan


Getting little things sorted

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The sense of pleasurable achievement from dealing with small things – what would it be called? Their may be a term invented by Douglas Adams and John Lloyd - the name of a small English town capturing the feeling. 
Steve Lee, who’s improving a house near ours, emailed from England to ask if we'd get Dimitri to render his street-side wall. We sent him Dimitri’s quote, promising to monitor the work as it proceeded. We’re pleased. Steve’s pleased, Dimitri’s pleased. 
Work has begun. Stamatti whose café is next to Steve’s house is also pleased, especially as the work will be over before Easter and the Demos is placing an apron of pedestrian plaka over the road in front of Piazza for his customers. 
“This area is being improved” he said.
We bought large black plastic bags; wrapped cot, playpen, baby car seat, pushchairs, high chair and playthings and stored them in the apothiki for when they may be needed again. We smacked our hands and dusted them.
I went into town with my Brompton in the back. Parked free...
Brompton park and ride in Corfu Town
... just far enough out to avoid the city’s parking famine, and cycled through the traffic to a small shop in a back street that sold and repaired everything electronic. I dislike air-conditioning but since guests might need it I had to renew the damp destroyed remote control that makes our old units work. 
Dave, working on Summersong, told me about this brilliant bloke behind San Rocco Square. Found it in minutes and was sold a universal unit with minute instructions on its use and “to return it if there was a problem”. In Lin’s hands an hour later...
...the €10 gadget had searched through nine hundred and ninety codes and found ours – 328 – and the old machinery rattled into action. 
“Wheehee”.
Lin who lacks my appreciation of wabi-sabi grieves at cracks that appear in the walls of the house. 
“Everything's falling apart” 
“That’s what all houses do”
“No they don’t” 
“Yes they do. Everything's striving to return to chaos” 
“I’ve found some crack repairing tape in England. Look here.” 
She’d scraped a wall on the edge of the kitchen, applied the tape and repainted.
“See the crack?” 
“No“
“Right. It’s good”
"People in Chelsea pay good money for cracks like that"
In the evening I sat in the tidied apothiki with its window and new concrete floor. For years it's been a barely negotiable mess. Now we have a working storeroom. 
Lin had said “I still have to finish tiling the roof and we need shelves and you are going to turn that door into a work bench” 
“Yes yes of course”
I sat in the dark thinking of the unachievables; problems that challenge and ones that just grind; continuing work on partly finished projects; things to write – especially as a result of conversations with Jan – on the possibility of significant shifts in political-management working in local government amid crisis. A bright star flashed in the dark, dodging to and fro, appearing and disappearing, a firefly dancing in the eaves seeking a mate. I take the point. 
Σας ευχαριστώ Κύριε
Improving the area - Stamatti's plaka and Steve's wall
*** *** ***
A month ago UNESCO named Ano Korakiana - το χωριό του γιασεμιού και της γαζίας, the village of gazi and jasmine. Last Sunday (was it?) schoolchildren were up and down Democracy Street planting the gift of 500 jasmine plants in front gardens and other small green spaces...Τα γιασεμιά της UNESCO

Ολοκληρώθηκε λίγο μετά το μεσημέρι στο χωριό μας, μία ακόμη δράση στο πλαίσιο του Προγράμματος του Κέντρου UNESCO του Ιονίου για τη μετατροπή της Κέρκυρας σε «νησί βιώσιμης ανάπτυξης», η οποία προέβλεπε τη φύτευση γιασεμιών από μαθητές του Νηπιαγωγείου Άνω Κορακιάνας, του Σχολικού Κέντρου Φαιάκων, του Ειδικού Γυμνασίου Κέρκυρας και το 13ο Σύστημα Αεροπροσκόπων.
Νωρίς το πρωί παραλήφθηκαν τα φυτεύματα από τους κηπουρούς του «Ξενοδοχειακού Ομίλου Χανδρή», ενώ λίγη ώρα αργότερα άρχισαν να καταφθάνουν οι μαθητές και οι λοιποί «επιτελούντες» στο χώρο του Δημοτικού Σχολείου


giasemi_unesco2013i.jpg
giasemi_unesco2013a.jpg
Εκεί οι κ.κ. Σαββανής Σπύρος (Πρόεδρος της Φιλαρμονικής) και Σκλαβούνος Γιώργος (Πρόδρος του Κέντρου UNESCO Ιονίου) εξήγησαν στους μικρούς μαθητές την αξία και το νόημα της φύτευσης των γιασεμιών, ενώ η καθηγήτρια του Ειδικού Σχολείου αναφέρθηκε στο ίδιο το λουλούδι.
Στη συνέχεια, οι εκατό και πλέον μαθητές χωρίστηκαν σε 4 ομάδες και πέρασαν από την εξωτερική σκάλα του σχολείου προκειμένου να παραλάβουν τα φυτεύματα από τις κυρίες του Χορευτικού τμήματος της Φιλαρμονικής και τον Πρόεδρο του Τοπικού Συμβουλίου. Ο συνωστισμός που δημιουργήθηκε για λίγο, έδωσε στο Σχολείο άλλη όψη, θυμίζοντας παλιές καλές εποχές, αρκετές δεκαετίες πίσω.
giasemi_unesco2013b.jpg
Οι 4 ομάδες με επικεφαλής δασκάλους, καθηγητές, αλλά και κατοίκους του χωριού που προσήλθαν να βοηθήσουν ξεκίνησαν για τις διαδρομές που είχαν σχεδιαστεί, σε όλο το χωριό, κυρίως σε δημόσιους χώρους. Η λιακάδα συνετέλεσε στο να μετατραπεί η εκδήλωση σε μια ευχάριστη σχολική εκδρομή, με τους μαθητές να απολαμβάνουν το φύτεμα.
giasemi_unesco2013c.jpg giasemi_unesco2013d.jpg 

Λίγο μετά το μεσημέρι οι 4 ομάδες συγκεντρώθηκαν στην αίθουσα του Συνεταιρισμού, όπου τους προσφέρθηκε ένα μικρό κέρασμα και απονεμήθηκαν αναμνηστικές βεβαιώσεις για τη συμμετοχή τους και την υποστήριξη της δράσης της UNESCO και των τοπικών φορέων.
giasemi_unesco2013h.jpg
Κάπου εκεί η εκδήλωση ολοκληρώθηκε μέσα σε μία ευχάριστη ατμόσφαιρα…
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giasemi_unesco2013g.jpg
Όμως, η δράση για την μετατροπή της Άνω Κορακιάνας σε «χωριό του γιασεμιού και της Γαζίας, μόλις ξεκίνησε και έχει πολύ χρόνο ακόμη να διανύσει. Οι δύο συμβολικού χαρακτήρα εκδηλώσεις (στον Άη-Θανάση με την παρουσία της Προέδρου της Ελληνικής Επιτροπής της UNESCO και η σημερινή), αποτελούν μόνο το έναυσμα, την αρχή και όχι το τέλος Προκειμένου δε, να επιτευχθεί ο στόχος θα απαιτηθούν πολλά ακόμη βήματα και κυρίως η συμμετοχή όλων μας. Ο τόπος μας μπορεί να βγει ωφελημένος από τη συνεργασία με μια διεθνούς βεληνεκούς Οργάνωση, όπως η UNESCO.

'The glory and the freshness of a dream...'

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“I can’t believe it’s already a week since Amy and Guy went home” said Lin
"Time"
“I think I know why it passes quicker when you’re older”
“Go on” I said
“Every day is a smaller proportion of your whole life”
"Like the last mile of a hundred miles is shorter than the last mile of four?"
“Maybe, but also...”
The bed was warm. The air too. No need for nightclothes or even sheets. Beams of warm light were working round the edge of curtains and a tall strip of it had eased its way through a crack in the bedroom door, making sharp shadows. We heard Effie chatting to Katerina in the garden next door. “That’s the second dead cat in the garden”.
“They went in there to die while Effie and Adoni were away in Thessaloniki.” I said “It’s also to do with the fact that by the time your our age…”
“Old”
“…by the time you're our age you’ve processed so much about the world things aren’t new in the way they were, no more bathed in celestial light...as when you wandered through a new world”
“I didn’t leave Cannock until I was in my teens”
“Not geographical wandering. Everything’s wonderful to a child. You’re brain is processing at light speed”
“Still is”
“No. I mean a child looks at the surface of a table, at spilled milk, a cabbage…and as for a bank of wild flowers!”
“I get just as much of a sense of wonder at things now” she said
“Remember that Wolf Spider on the wall below as big as my thumb with a hundred hundred babies on its back. But no, you can look that up now. You’ve got the world catalogued. The wonder’s no longer unalloyed”
“Don’t agree”
“I took a photo. A child would just have looked and delighted or screamed...but perhaps time passes faster, or slower, because grown-ups have watches, You can manipulate your experience. If you’re in Gatwick with hours for a flight you don't say 'prolong the wait'”
“You can’t have a sense of wonder in North Terminal?”
“”Get us to Boarding even if it brings death closer”
“Time passes faster for us because we’ve got less of it?”
“Hm. An artist and the eye of a child can play with time”
“Not just artists”
“They can slow time and speed it up…can't make the sun stand still, but make him run'"

A plot

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Jan emails:
Simon. Have you seen the results of Local elections? Extraordinary results for UKIP who took 25% of the votes. In Lincolnshire they now have 16 councillors, having had none previously and the Conservatives lost overall control…This may be paradigm change or just a protest vote but I feel it is part of fundamental changes in the political landscape in Britain which the main parties are struggling to understand and respond to. I don’t think they are prepared to acknowledge the following or know how to deal with it. There is disconnect between the main parties and a large section of the population and this vacuum has been filled by UKIP. 
a) We are now entering the post-welfare society. The welfare state created after 1945 is quickly being dismantled. This is now irreversible. We have crossed the tipping point. There is no narrative for this (yet). The alternatives are emerging by default through a strong emphasis on ideology.
b) Continuous Growth is no longer possible along historic lines. At best we will bump along the bottom with a few temporary ups followed by downs. We have entered the post growth society; again without a narrative or alternative models being formulated. This will bring equality/inequality to the fore. 
c) For the first time in very long time, the next generation will be financially worse off than the last. This runs contrary to all our expectations. We are very badly prepared for this. There are some grave inter-generational implications. 
d) Democracy in its current form becomes unable to shape events; may even struggle to respond properly to events, increasingly becoming just a battle field for competing interests among the new feudal elites or even just their mouthpiece. The narrative is centred on persuading the population that what is in the interest of the new feudal elite equals the national interest. Politics becomes narrow, oppositional and, to many, irrelevant, focusing on what is perceived to be controllable or the cause of malcontent (e.g. immigration, welfare benefits, EU membership, etc). Evidence is replaced by ideology in policy formulation. 
e) The so-called Third World is overtaking us in the economic field. Our political clout is waning; theirs is increasing. This will play into domestic politics. 
I am trying to weave this into the dialogue we have had so far. I am trying to create a framework which can accommodate these trends and hook the other points we have made on to it but I am struggling a bit. When are you back. I am happy to make the trip down to Birmingham. Could do with chewing these things over with you. Best Jan




Dear Jan
Linda and I were at the midnight ceremony of the resurrection, an event marked with special delight across the Orthodox world and, in Greece, deemed more important, until its commercial potential raised the profile of Christmas, than the latter. We’ve been speaking of narratives. I’m not about to betray my atheism – an unsatisfactory label if ever there was, but I’m gripped to the soul by the economy of a story that can fit so much truth into less than a thousand words; one that holds its plot as a magnet attracts iron filings; oil for bathing feet, water for washing hands, nails, darkness and light, palm leaves, rapturous displays of public adulation turning, terrifyingly, into the midnight howl of a lynch mob; calm, kindness and generosity as cues for mockery, execration, torture and judicial murder; fear of pain, temptation to escape, resignation, betrayals by the closest of friends, the mingling of secular and religious politics, conspiracy and bribery, establishment fear of the mob, the feebleness of a career administrator, despair, desolation and sorrow, acts of sudden kindness, courage and love. This inspiration of artists is endlessly fertilised by experience - war, crime, persecution, domestic and public drama. Irrespective of time and place it’s a narrative, more gripping than any I know. Its truth, for the faithful, is tied to time and place, yet the bell tolls and the cock crows in a story that renews itself outside time and place, gathering abundant evidence, including our hope for magic - the joyous ending Lin and I celebrated with fellow villagers amid chimes, singing, fireworks, kisses, embraces between family, friends and, proffered shyly but genuinely, to foreigners, often with the excuse to relight a blown out candle with a fellow flame, as a stranger said, “brought to Athens by plane from Jerusalem this morning” adding, with a rueful smile, “so they say”.

So you and I are in tune on the matter of narrative – the need for one that can get some grip on the reality of our current circumstances. To borrow from Lord Grey“plots are being lost all over Europe” - probably beyond – and we may not see them recovered in our lifetime. The many headed public is gathering snake-oil narratives with enthusiasm inventing the facts to make them work, as we can all do so well. ‘Intelligent criminals’, mountebanks, hucksters, profiteers (especially) and populists are enjoying the confusion, fashioning common-sense interpretations of what’s going on from rumour, speculations, distortion and amplification – the common vice of gossip. The shadows they make real include a profusion of lurking invasive ‘others’; proliferating foreigners, a continent of bureaucrats, a mass of work shy benefit thieves, neighbourhood fanatics plotting destruction, malign and invisible forces conspiring to contaminate and destroy what matters to decent folk. Best wishes, Simon

Summer Song's ready to go back in the sea

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A succession of clear skies and proliferating greenery and, with the heat, the steady increase of public voices up and down Democracy Street, among our neighbours and people walking by, sometimes stopping for conversation by the green railing at the top of our shared steps now, as everywhere over this late Easter across Greece, outlined with dazzling whitewash, asvesti, ασβεστή.
Dave has booked the crane to put Summersong back in the water for Saturday - tomorrow. He'd texted me ‘today finally finished the outside paintwork ….’ 

How I relish this sub-plot. It also makes me nervous. Dave got back from delivering a yacht to Trieste last week “a four day job that took a week. We had three separate forecasts from reliable sources predicting light headwinds all the way. We got into the straits opposite Saranda and it blew up force 6, gusting higher, and then steady headwinds for the next 600 miles. The Jeanneau has a broad hull for charter accommodation. Up she went. Down she went, crash, bang, crash, bang, No let up. And the porpoises. They’d come up alongside and look at you. You’d look back. Think they’d gone away and look in another direction. Whoosh it’s standing on its tail saying ‘boo’ and peering in your face eye to eye”
Dave works on Summer Song

Lin and I pursue a procession of jobs in and out of the house, Effi and Adoni next door continue to adorn their garden with more plants brought with them from Thrace before Easter. I’ve drilled holes in the base of make-shift flowerpots for her. Effi paints paint tins deep blue and concrete breezeblocks red before filling them with soil to make them into planters. Lin’s painting doors. 
I’ve helped sand them. I’ve shaved the edges of our wooden front door to make it open and close more freely, tidied the electric cables leading to the municipal light bolted into the side of our house, cleaned the windows of winter grime, transferred a heap of sorted thigh tiles from under our veranda to the apothiki, mended a puncture in the rear wheel of my Brompton...
...rebuilt the wooden carrier on the back of my larger bicycle, tidied out the porch locker and inserted a cut down palette to keep above damp the odd sacks of cement, plaster and the dusty dye that mixes with asvesti to give it a colour, and prepared, with sanding and paint scraper, one side of the house above the side balcony for painting, warning Vasiliki there might be some dust. Her carpets and rugs were coming in anyway, well sun-dried. 
Painting the house
I'm not a good handyman. As Lin, who is, says “You break things”, I’m unco-ordinated, slightly clumsy. My mother, ages ago, said my dad was “all fingers and thumbs” when it came to practical tasks involving building, joinery, electrics or plumbing. My stepfather was quite the opposite, able to drive a desk as well as a workbench, creative in advertising, broadcasting and during the war stripping down the gear box of a tank (I saw his diagrams in an old file) and, later when the war office discovered them, exercising his talents as a communicator, creating propaganda. I didn’t learn to be tidy until I sailed a small boat and was made forcefully aware, by waves, of the consequences of not being ‘shipshape’. 'Spick and span' is not my inclination – in clothes, hair, shoes or any other walk of life – like gardening. It can be done but I have to work at it, hence my struggle with digging and sowing, the essential precursors of growing anything in soil. How I admire and respect people with craft, who have artistry in their hands whether laying tiles, fiddling with circuitry, inserting stitches, turning a pot, tying a fly, making a dove-tail joint and all the myriad brilliances humans do with their hands. What I do succeed in - jobs others would hardly reckon on giving a second thought - gives me pride, though it takes ages, involves endless fiddling, and an inventory of tools that might or might not be needed. The other day I made a typical mistake. Having treated myself to a SDS drill to deal with drilling in stone and brick, I added a conventional chuck in my order so’s I could use my existing wood drills. I wanted to drill through the house wall to attach an outside electric socket. The only masonry drill long enough was a conventional one. I inserted it in the chuck adapted for the SDS; set the drill on hammer – and of course stripped the thread of the adaptor chuck. Later I spent a good few euros buying a sufficient length SDS drill. A craftsman would have known not to make such an expensive mistake. I tell myself I must have some practical abilities. I can change punctures on bicycles. I taught myself simple astral navigation long ago so’s I could use a sextant to find where we were in the Atlantic. I’ve taken down a small mast in the middle of the Bay of Biscay and replaced its broken halliard pulley. I’ve added a veranda to my allotment shed. I can change the inner tube on the back wheel of a Brompton – in the rain. 
And rain, with thunder, was what we got in abundance for one day earlier in the week, even as the village lost its water supply for twelve hours and I borrowed water for washing and flushing....
... from Effi's and Adoni's well just across the path between us.
After what seems like over a year of surface preparation Linda has started painting the outside of the house. I've been filling in small spaces she can't reach, handing up paint pots, and holding the stepladder steady for her.




*** *** ***
Around noon on Easter Sunday, Vasiliki brought around a plate of lamb meat, including delectable kokoretsi κοκορέτσι. Our other neighbours brought us more from their spit (squeaking away through the morning) plus two glasses of raki. We were also given red dyed hard boiled eggs - the ones you have to try and crack by knocking them together with another, like conkers (sort of). In return Lin and I wrote Easter cards and she made chocolate eggs specially decorated and wrapped for our neighbours' children.
For our Easter Sunday supper we were invited to Paul and Cinty's house where, with his parents, Phil and Sheila, and his brother Mark and Sally we enjoyed a balmy evening, buzzed by swallows as dusk settled on us. No lamb on a spit but, instead, a succulent successon of meats off the barbecue - lamb chops, sausages, liver, pork belly draft, a delicately carved wood pigeon...salads and, later, all the strawberries and cream we could eat...

...and and I enjoyed my home made Margarita from a salt-rimed glass.
I'll especially recall a reflective chat about Golden Dawn, Χρυσή Αυγή; the worry that there's a generation in Greece who've not only forgotten the nature of authoritarian rule, but actually think it might be what's needed now. "It means" said C, reflecting her own experience of dictatorial rule even three years after the fall of the Junta, "that the police are in charge and the preferences and prejudices of a particular police officer will determine your case." I recalled that G.K. Chesterton, initially sympathetic to Fascism, in Italy and Spain, as a solution to democratic failure, issued a pre-war warning about Nazism in German; if it happened in England "imagine" he wrote "if in each street the man in charge of the rest of us, with legal authority to boss the rest of us about, is the school bully."

Golden Dawn office in Greece
From Jan D in York:
 …The latest Rich List has been published of the 1000 wealthiest people in Britain. They constitute 0.003% of the population. In the last year alone they have increased their wealth by £35billion, and since the crash four years ago they have increased their wealth by £190 billion (Remember the phrase “we are all in this together").
Their combined wealth is £449billion (the public sector deficit is approx. £120 billion). There are now 88 billionaires in Britain. During the same time there has been a 7% reduction in real wages. This year £19billion has been removed from welfare benefits and just now £320million (an insignificant figure to government finance) has been removed from the Independent Living Fund for 20,000 disabled people. The government has ‘transferred’ this duty to Local Authorities, but there is no money beyond 2015, so effectively they are closing the fund without ever having told anybody. There has been a legal challenge by disabled people which they lost. They are appealing. A good example of ideology triumphing over evidence or rationality let alone morality. Obviously the government sees many disabled people as ‘skivers’ (morally reprehensible) and not the ‘strivers’ (morally superior) the government wants to promote. To be disabled is therefore by definition being a ‘skiver’ in other words ‘undesirable’. They don't dare to say this of course, but the actions speak for themselves. This is getting uncomfortably close to what I read about in Professor Evans’ books on the Third Reich. 
Zoe Williams said the following about this: "What I mind the most is the readiness with which government will now lie. The prime minister lies about the national debt. The secretary of state will lie about immigration. The chancellor will lie about benefit claimants. They will be wrapped over the knuckles by Office of National Statistics or Office for Budget Responsibility, take their punishment and go straight out and lie again". Despite this the government’s ‘narrative’ resonates and is believed by large sections, in some cases, the majority of the population. This would make an interesting study! Surely this provides LAs with an opportunity to offer a different moral vision based on hard evidence – a localism based on transparency, accountability and honesty. Am I being naïve again? On a lighter note, just noticed that after twenty years of a failing austerity regime, Japan has decided to do a U-turn and pump money into the economy. Stock markets immediately shot up! Best Jan
*** ***
On Easter Monday we joined the long happy parade around the boundaries of Ano Korakiana:
Η επανεμφάνιση μετά από πολλές δεκαετίες της εικόνας της Παναγίας της «Δημοσιάνας» στη Λιτανεία της 2ης Μέρας του Πάσχα στο χωριό, επανέφερε στη μνήμη των παλαιοτέρων τα προβλήματα λειψυδρίας και τις σχετικές παρακλήσεις. Πραγματικά, με το πέρας της Λειτουργίας στον Άη-Θανάση και ενώ διαρκούσε η προετοιμασία των τμημάτων της Λιτανείας, ο ουρανός συννέφιασε και άρχισε να ψιχαλίζει για αρκετή ώρα.
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Το γεγονός ξάφνιασε αρκετούς, που προσέτρεξαν σε όποιο πρόσφορο καταφύγιο για την προστασία από τη βροχή, ακόμη δε και κάτω από το μπαρλακί. Λίγο αργότερα και ενώ η ψιλή βροχή συνεχιζόταν η Λιτανεία θα ξεκινήσει.
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Νέο στοιχείο της Λιτανείας, η διπρόσωπη εικόνα της Παναγίας, αφιερωμένη από την οικογένεια της Στάμως Αλεξίου Ιωνά, η οποία συντηρήθηκε πρόσφατα και από τη μια πλευρά εμφανίζει την Θεοτόκο με το Χριστό και από την άλλη τον Άγιο Αθανάσιο. Η εικόνα αυτή, που λιτανεύονταν μέχρι τις αρχές του περασμένου αιώνα και έφτανε έως την Παλαιοκαστρίτσα, βασταζόμενη από γυναίκες θα λάβει θέση κάτω από το μπαρλακί, ενώ η έτερη εικόνα, η γνωστή, της Αναστάσεως θα προηγηθεί, «ασκεπής».
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Η πομπή θα διαβεί τη Νεροσυρμή και από το γεφύρι του Βάρδα θα ανεβεί στη Βενετιά. Η πορεία στα στενά, στολισμένη με σκόρπια δαφνόφυλλα. Εκεί, στα σκαλιά του Άη-Γιάκωβου θα τελεστεί η πρώτη στάση για Δέηση.
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Στο δρόμο της Βενετιάς πλέον, η πομπή θα ανασυνταχθεί σε πλήρη ανάπτυξη. Στο γεφυράκι του Μούλου πρώτα θα μπουν τα παιδιά με το Σταυρό, τις λαμπάδες και τα εξαπτέρυγα και μετά οι σκόλες και τα φλάμπουρα. Θα ακολουθήσει τμήμα του Σχολικού Κέντρου Φαιάκων και μετά η Φιλαρμονική υπό τον Κώστα Ζερβόπουλο και η Χορωδία υπό τον Γιώργο Άνθη. Πιο πίσω το μπαρλακί και οι δύο εικόνες, συνοδευόμενες από άγημα του Ναυτικού (ύστερα από αρκετά χρόνια).Στις δε «γραμμές των επισήμων», ο Πρόεδρος και μέλη του Τοπικού Συμβουλίου, η εκπρόσωπος του Δήμου, κα Καποδίστρια, ο πολιτευτής κ. Γκίκας, ο τέως Αντινομάρχης Τάκης Μεταλληνός, ο Πρόεδρος των Άνω Κορακιανιτών Αθηνών Σπύρος Κένταρχος κ.ά.
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Μετά τη στροφή της Κέκας θα ψαλεί μία ακόμη δέηση προς τον Άη-Γιώργη, καθώς και το «Μεγαλυνάριο» του Αγίου, που ψελνόταν επί εποχής παπα-Κουρίνη.
Η Τρίτη δέηση θα ψαλεί στον Άγιο, στην Αρκούδενα και η πομπή αφού φτάσει στην άκρη της Μουργάδας, θα κατηφορίσει για τον αποκάτω δρόμο και από εκεί για τον Άη-Θανάση.
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Εκεί, όπως πάντα, ένα δροσερό κέρασμα και άρτος θα περιμένουν τους πιστούς.

Continuity

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Dave was already attaching slings beneath Summersong when we arrived at the harbour. The crane, four sturdy supports extended either side of its carrier, squatted between boat and water, its driver smoking as Dave worked.
Up she comes a few feet. Dave hurries beneath, scraping and rolling on anti-foul under each twin keel and skeg where the boat had stood on the grass.
“It’s the bit I don’t like, If one of those old slings gives…”
I joined him in the scraping sensing the crushing weight suspended above us, like a touch of vertigo when peering from a sheer height. Then slowly the crane revolves on the truck carrying the boat towards the water, almost touching moored fishing boats, and then, with Dave holding a mooring line on the jetty, lowers her just beyond into the sea.
She starts to float and with some of her weight on the crane thus reduced the driver extends the crane enough to draw her hull away from the fishing boats mooring ropes, before letting her gently down into the sea.
Dave hands me a rope to hold her, walks across a boat, climbs onto Summer Song and removes the slings. He starts the motor.
“Come on board” I clamber over the bow and push off.
“It’s very shallow here” says Dave.
I realise we couldn’t have launched a single keel boat here. A shoal of tiny fish flashes beside us all their sides catching their sun at once. Gingerly, Dave at the tiller, we motor towards deeper water. I take the tiller. We up the throttle and take a turn beyond the mole and bring her gently home to pick up her old mooring bouys, one covered in a cluster of mussels.

*** ***
Hi Simon. Remembering our exchange some years ago (Feb 2012) about cultural continuity in Greece (Ancient, Modern), I came across this poem by Aristotle Nikolaidis, 'Word', translated by Kimon Friar in the US poetry journal Poetry, November 1981. Hope you're enjoying the boat and the weather. Not very exciting here, especially with leg in cast!, Jim
WORD
I first came upon it in Homer
and then for years afterward pursued it
through various texts. Disguised at times,
it surfaced in neglected choniclers (chroniclers?)
or was it wedged tight but breathing in compound words.
I found it again in a somewhat altered meaning
In distant dialects of the Greek,
and in chemical laboratories transformed
into specialized terminology; barbarous lips stammer it
in a variety of pronunciations.
                                                    Oh yes, it never died,
but traveling throughout the centuries, rooted
in the deep mouth of the Poet, it will be preserved
with unsuspected leaves and branches, with secret
flowers – a word that had perhaps been articulated for the
first
time by the lips of devious Apollo.
I'm asking Jim if he can dig up the Greek version of this poem. I'll wager it blends Homeric, classical,, polytonic, katharevousa and demotic Greek in subtle ways to make its point.
*** ***
Λιτανεία της "νηάς" Δευτέρας
Γράφει ο/η Σαββανής Σπύρος   
18.05.13
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Παρά τις σοβαρές ρωγμές της κοινωνικής μας συνοχής και παρά το κλίμα δυσπιστίας και χαμηλού επικοινωνιακού επιπέδου, που σημαδεύει τις μεταξύ μας σχέσεις, η φετινή Λιτανεία της Δευτέρας του Πάσχα έδινε μία εντύπωση αναγεννητική και πάντως ήταν καλύτερη από πολλές προηγούμενες Λιτανείες.
Δεν ήταν μόνο η παληά Εικόνα της Παναγίας που προστέθηκε. Ήταν τα παιδιά του Σχολείου που πήραν μέρος με φροντίδα της κυρίας Ντίνας Σπίγγου και της κας Σπυριδούλας Τσηλιάκου. Ήταν η Μπάντα και η Χορωδία που έκαμαν μία από τις καλύτερες εμφανίσεις τους. Ήταν το μεγάλο ποσοστό των νέων ανθρώπων που σήκωσαν τα λεγόμενα (παληά ορολογία) «έπιπλα» (εικόνες, φλάμπουρα, σκόλες, σταυρούς κλπ).
Ήταν όλα αυτά, μα πάνω από όλα ήταν η υποσυνείδητη διάθεση να δοθεί συνέχεια στην παράδοσή μας με , όσο γίνεται, πληρέστερο και σοβαρότερο τρόπο.
Γιατί αλήθεια, θεωρούμε την παράδοση σαν σημαντική έννοια;
Σ’ αυτό το ερώτημα μπορεί να αντιστοιχούν περισσότερες της μιας απαντήσεις. Και θα ήταν ενδιαφέρον να ακουστούν.
Μία πάντως από αυτές θα μπορούσε να είναι και η εξής: η παράδοση είναι η κιβωτός ανθεκτικών στο χρόνο σημείων αναφοράς και αξιόπιστων στιγμάτων στο χάρτη της ατομικής και συλλογικής μας πορείας.
Είναι η φανέρωση και η περιγραφή του Συλλογικού μας υποσυνείδητου.
Συμφωνείτε;
Αν αυτή η άποψη είναι σωστή, τότε η παράδοση αποκτάει «προστιθέμενη αξία» σε ιστορικές περιόδους σαν αυτή που διανύουμε τώρα σαν Λαός. Μιας  περιόδου σκληρής, οδυνηρής, εχθρικής και άκρως επικίνδυνης για την ΑΚΕΡΑΙΟΤΗΤΑ μας. Την σωματική, ψυχική και πνευματική μας ακεραιότητα.
Συνεπώς, η παράδοσή μας σαν μέσο στήριξης και σαν οδηγός πλεύσης αποκτάει επιπλέον σπουδαιότητα.
Συγχρόνως, φαίνεται να αποτελεί, αν όχι το μοναδικό, τουλάχιστον το ισχυρότερο όπλο άμυνας απέναντι στον καταιγισμό των απελπιστικών γεγονότων που έχουν σαν σκοπό τους να μας καταποντίσουν και εν τέλει να μας εξαφανίσουν.
Χρόνια πολλά (και καλύτερα) σ’ όλους τους συντελεστές της φετινής Λιτανείας και καλήν αντάμωση του χρόνου, με ακόμη μεγαλύτερη, καλή διάθεση.
ΣΠΥΡΟΣ Π. ΣΑΒΒΑΝΗΣ

*** ***
The house has at last been repainted from top to bottom. I’d have paid to have it done – a while ago. Between other work, Lin has been working for years preparing surfaces – always what matters - despite my wish to get on with laying on paint. A variety of different coverings have been scraped off over several years – a flaking patchwork of asvesti and plastic paint which if not removed will peel away bringing new paint with it, coming off on the paint roller or brush. The simplest solution – one that helps avoid such painstaking surface preparation – is to apply a transparent vinyl, astari. It fixes to unreliable surfaces like glue, creating a sturdy base. But Lin wanted everything smoothed back to the original render. Ten days ago I was helping this process, after nearly all peeling paint had been removed with a scraper; applying a rotary sander to every wall in turn. Intimate contact with walls revealed yet more partially hidden patches needing yet more scraping. We're laden with flakes and dust. All cleared surfaces are washed down. But wetting reveals yet more patches of peel.
“Will you ever be satisfied?” I mutter
“Probably not” says Lin, relentless to achieve a perfect finish before applying paint.
There are also cracks to be filled and, in the lower walls, where render is roughened with gravel, there are spaces where it has broken away; others where a hollow noise shows that that too is loose and must be chipped away. Lin mixes mortar and fills these vertical potholes, sometimes with several layers, ensuring a matching stipple. There are a variety of screw holes that must have fixed something to the wall, some with old rawlplugs showing. These are removed; the hole filled. The stub of two iron rods, once part of a bracket for an external water tank beside the front door, stick out from the wall a few millimetres.
“They hardly show” I say
“Have you seen them after dark when then porch light is on? The shadows they cast!”
I remove them with the metal cutting disk of my angle grinder, cutting into the render in the process and touching up the cut metal with a dab of Hammerite, so rust won’t bleed into the new paint. Lin makes good the crescent scar left in the render, making the surface smooth.
And now at last we can choose colours, using the paint-sample book and a computerised colour mixing machine at the ironmonger at Tzavros.

She was already applying our choice of paint as I was finishing some of the other surfaces with sander, wire brush and scraper and – on an unassailable stretch of paint under the eaves above our south facing balcony – applying astari.
We’d chosen white for the porch and the sides and bottom of Alan’s concrete balcony, and for the wall under the veranda, and a nameless orangey yellow – with numbered paint code on the top of the plastic paint pot – for the walls seen from the street and above the seaward balcony. With me looking over Lin’s shoulder at the sampler, we’d chosen a darker colour, vaguely matching the paint for the side walls and above the balcony, for the stippled hems on two walls.
Lin, calculating coverage, buys no more no less than is needed, adding in some new brushes, and two roller trays.
Painting went on all day into dusk, and the next and the next. The work was complete in under four days. The roller covered most space quite swiftly. Either a smaller roller or a brush served smaller spaces.

A brush on a stick completed edges, work that took up most of our painting time. Even I rollered, brushed and helped wipe off paint that had spilled on shutters, sills and window frames.
“There’s still paint there” says Lin, after I’ve cleaned with sponge and flannel, a shiny stretch of green frame.
“No there isn’t”
“Wait until it dries, you’ll see” I wipe again. “It looks fine to me”
“No, more
Jesus, Lin. Come on!” I’m angry at her conscientiousness even as I respect it.
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that!”
“OK OK” I rinse and wipe again.
Towards the end of the third day Vasiliki, sat outside with neighbours, stands and exclaims
“You are making our house look tatty!”
Linda is still wandering around checking, adding filler to newly revealed blemishes, touching them up with the small brush from a small pot.
“Thanks” she laughs with Vasiliki, who leads everyone, including me, in a clap
“Bravo Linda! Bravo!”
It is a most satisfactory piece of work. Later we lean on the green rail that edges Democracy Street and, with neighbours - grown-ups and children - enjoy looking down at our work.

*** *** ***
After an excellent phone chat with my director at the University, I’m looking forward to working with her on some in-house political skills seminars.

DRAFT
Political Management Skills: Negotiating the Overlap
Training sessions for XXX Council (Date/s & venues to be agreed)

Good government is where the best of politics and management combine. This seminar for senior managers in XXX focuses on the skills, codes and values that strengthen trust between elected members and officers.

Objectives: To explore techniques, processes and ways of working that can be used by those leading in a political environment; to enhance understanding of how the roles of political and managerial leaders are changing and how this is manifested in these councils.

Style: short talks, exercises, hand-outs and film clips showing senior managers and politicians describing the way their work overlaps, enabling participants to explore the verbal and non verbal communication vital to constructing trust at the point where politics and management overlap.

Programme

- Brief introduction - overview of the morning (or afternoon)

- Leadership at the apex: overlapping spaces

- Analysis of film clips of member-officer conversations

- Defining and discussing skills and values

- Work on ‘critical incidents’: facilitated by tutors

- Summary and feedback: Q & A

Tutors
Simon Baddeley: As a visiting lecturer at Birmingham University where he has worked since 1973, Simon Baddeley’s fascination is with the working relationships of politicians and managers and how these relationships  contribute good local government. He’s taught in Australia, Sweden, Japan, Canada and New Zealand. He has invented many training approaches to this sensitive subject, including the ‘owl/fox/donkey/sheep’ model (co-author Kim James), and created a film collection of interviews with politicians and managers working across political-managerial boundaries. He continues to run events for local councils across the UK on ‘political-management leadership’ and ‘political sensitivity’ for members and officers, and carries out film research on political-management working relationships. He was a member of the 2005 SOLACE Commission, convened by Cheryl Miller CBE, examining the challenges of working in a political environment. He has long been involved in voluntary community work, currently helping run an unincorporated social enterprise serving the area of Handsworth. Contact: s.j.baddeley@bham.ac.uk

Catherine Staite, Director of INLOGOV: Catherine teaches community engagement, collaborative strategy and strategic commissioning to Masters’ level.  Her research interests include collaboration between local authorities and the skills and capacities which elected members will need to meet the challenges of the future. As Director, she leads and coordinates INLOGOV’s collaboration with a wide range of organisations, including the LGA, NLGN, Nesta, iMPOWER and SOLACE as well as universities in the USA, Europe and Japan, to help support creative thinking, innovation and improvement in local government and the wider public sector.
Catherine joined INLOGOV in 2010 from OPM, where she was Director of Organisational Development and Policy and led a number of major research projects. Previous roles include Head of User Focus and Deputy Head of Policy for the Audit Commission, where she was responsible for national research projects and leading internal change and Regional Partnerships and Planning Manager for the Legal Services Commission, where she delivered needs-based strategies for civil legal aid. Previous non-executive roles include non-executive director of Rampton Hospital, where she was responsible for review of patients’ continued detention, Vice Chair of Nottinghamshire Healthcare NHS Trust and member of the Board of Visitors at HMP Hull, with particular responsibility for oversight of the prison hospital and welfare of mentally disordered offenders. Contact c.staite@bham.ac.uk

The blue of the sea we've left behind

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South wind on the west coast of Corfu

Sat either side of the aisle we saw lozenges of perfect blue as our plane ascended, banking in a wide circle that brought us over Pantokrator, then the high coast of Albania, before sea and land receded below bright white clouds. On the flight from Corfu we enjoyed prosciutto and cream cheese sandwiches in a round loaf from the village bakery made up for a picnic before we left.
We landed around one-o-clock at Luton with a slight bump that made someone exclaim. After an hour waiting by a carousel for our bags, a timorous tannoy voice apologised for the delay, "caused" - with fudged syntax - "by operational reasons".
A resigned British crowd, but for a tearful mother with a toddler, awaited belongings from Riga, Malaga, Faro, Palma, Corfu and somewhere else - luggage unloaded in no special order.
"Sunday lunchtime's always diabolical" said a slightly harassed women fielding mild grumbles at a service desk. Thirteen flights had landed at the same time causing a "massive back-up"
Luton luggage jam

"I don't recall such recurrent inefficiency in Corfu" I said to Lin "Yet people are wont to to throw up their hands at Greek confusions. When have we encountered that?"
The crowd was a lively metaphor for British acceptance of our economic mess. Jan wrote just now:
Hi Simon...when are you returning to Blighty? I would stay longer if I were you. The weather here is simply foul. I am interested to read your outline for Member-Officer courses. Do you think it's possible to weave in some of the issues we have exchanged views on in the last few months? I suspect it's a matter of it evolving and bringing authorities on board based on their own experiences and requirements, but there is no doubt in my mind that fundamental (irreversible ) changes are taking place and given local authoritys' relative powerless position vis-à-vis government, they frequently spend  much  of their energies on 'chasing and adjusting' to government requirements which are going to become even more challenging over the next few years; to such an extent that LAs, as we have known them, will cease to exist and be replaced by something else yet to emerge.
The government’s approach is crude but becoming clear - 'delegate' (dump) difficult and unpopular (toxic) tasks to LAs (e.g. housing and welfare) then top slice (cut back) the monies available  to carry out these tasks, thus achieving both financial and political objectives in one swoop. We are going to see more of this during the next Spending Review where I fear LAs will receive another hammering bordering on a coup de grace.
The scenario is obviously a bit more sophisticated than that and there are still 'hooks' for LAs to hang their issues on (e.g. City Deals, Community Budgets) but the general direction of travel is fairly clear and I believe beyond the tipping point because even the 'hooks' are in place by government decree and would not be there but for the government. This is the reality and the starting point for all those who want to see Localism become meaningful.
I have mentioned before the need to recalibrate the relationship between LAs and government and for LAs to have their own 'narrative' for this. Whilst this remain important, I am coming more and more to the conclusion that it is the relationship between LAs, their population and local community, which requires more attention and recalibration. The traditional models are becoming increasingly irrelevant; no longer fit for purpose. The old saying that “all politics are local” remains true, but a narrative (and practice) based on delegated democracy, selective engagement and top-down consultations is not going to promote Localism...more likely it will be used to drive the current policy objectives. Perhaps the time has come to  phase out this narrative or reconstruct it within an overall narrative of 'mobilisation and support'; for LAs to make this focus a priority because if (when) successful this would impact significantly on the LA-government relationship, simply because the political foundations of LAs would strengthen. No government could ignore that for long.
This will take courage and persistence. The starting point is to ditch the parent-child relationship of local to centre; 'cleanse' local government of its Stockholm syndrome with Whitehall...a tall order; to get  hundreds of LAs to 'sign up' is near impossible, but what is the alternative?
What I find frustrating is that no such narrative, backed up by analysis, leading to  a Localism Agenda has even started to emerge. This may be unfair but it seems that the mind-set is stuck in the past and past methods are being rolled out to deal with the new agenda when in reality something very different is called for. We are talking about culture and behaviour change more than anything else. A new skills set is desperately needed but  I can’t see one emerging yet. I am mindful of the saying that all generals fight the last war instead of the current one. Any thoughts on this?
The main news at this end is around the horrific terrorist attack on a soldier in Woolwich in London. This has some very challenging implications for Localism. The other big story is around is the tax affairs of large international corporations[ the way they avoid tax (legally) by moving monies around the world and manipulating the tax regimes of various countries. If they paid according to the spirit of the legislation, or on the same basis as the rest of us, then the public financial deficit would largely be resolved. Tthe sums are staggering. What is even more striking is the government’s total impotence in dealing with this. They are simply unable (unwilling) to act. We have plenty of moralistic shroud waving but total paralysis as far as actions are concerned. I think this demonstrates the power (and arrogance) of the 'new feudal elite'. They are not in the slightest bit apologetic and have no plans to change. They operate totally outside any democratic accountability. Their financial muscle is greater than most countries and beyond meaningful scrutiny. At the same time we are becoming more and more dependent on them for jobs and services. LAs are often desperate to attract them into their localities and you can see why.
Perhaps the time is right to start to talk about local taxation in a meaningful way - local taxation without which Localism cannot exist. The implications for  the rest of society are quite staggering in terms  of  living standards and well–being especially for vulnerable and disabled people (the precariat)*. We are all paying more taxes than we should and enduring more welfare cut-backs than we should (more about ideology than anything else).  These circumstances are manifesting themselves at local level in communities all over Britain; albeit very differently in poor areas compared to wealthy areas. Here you have an issue upon which 'mobilisation and support' could begin to emerge, but the silence is deafening. Why has this not yet filtered into the political-managerial agenda. Is ethics the missing link in the reading/carrying model, or is this a matter of hard-nosed politics?
The ramifications of the local council elections are rumbling on. The Tories are tearing themselves apart on Europe and gay marriages. If anything it is becoming worse; quite a spectacle; clearly now impacting on local politics. Many authorities are having to adjust to having significant numbers of UKIP councillors on the council. These are new and inexperienced people but with strong views on a  narrow range of issues. It’ll be interesting to see how this plays out. It could shake things up or, more worryingly, it could  lead to a strengthening of the worst underlying forces in many local communities  (prejudice, xenophobia, insularity, nimby-ism, cronyism, and similar ugly forces). We have to recognise that there are - potentially - some very nasty downsides to localism. There needs to be a counter-balance to this. That is why I am talking about a recalibration of the relationship and a re-alignment of the power relationship. Not a divorce. It is difficult to envisage Civil Rights in the USA developing the way it has through a reliance on Localism on its own. Therein lies the  challenge and pitfall of localism. What about a chat in June when you are back? Best Jan
We ledt Ano Korakiana at 1030 after a rush of tidying. Vasiliki and Effi came out to kiss and hug us. I dropped in on Katerina to say 'goodbye'. All said the customary "Kalo taxidi, Καλό ταξίδι" as we loaded our bags into the car and I stood beside Adoni to say bye-bye to our house, our other beloved home.
With Adoni at the top of our steps onto Democracy Street
From Digbeth Coach Station, our taxi dropped us home just before seven; Oscar there to greet us. Before rain starts I must mow the grass - as green as the blue of the sea we've left behind - and get on with the in-tray waiting for us.
Greeting Oscar in the garden at Handsworth



*** ***
What of Summersong, now floating again at her fore and aft mooring in Ipsos?

Dave has done great work on her exterior. Now, he sets to on the interior!
Summersong's cabin roof
We've made lists of what more needs to to be done to have her sailing (and motoring). Two days ago I was inhaling a heady whiff of fibre glass and oily bilges. On hands and knees I was reaching through a small access trap to sponge away buckets of blackened water collected in the shallow space below the cabin floor - not a leak, not seawater, but rain that entered when, last year, the self-draining plug holes in the cockpit were blocked with old flaking paint.
From bilges up, every inch has to become shipshape; carpet, squabs, warps, cabin linings, curtains, sail inventory, compass, auto-pilot, main anchor chain, roller reefing and of course her jetty - rickety and slowly collapsing...

......Running and standing rigging are fine. The engine's working well but I'll only be confident after sea trials - for me as much as the boat - with wind and wave. 'I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky'...and as Spike wrote 'I left my shoes and socks there, I wonder if they're dry?' Lin even said "I\d like to visit the Mani" Is that possible? Could we really?
*** *** ***
“There’s the Sea of Tranquility
Martin was gazing up at a gibbous moon, recalling how his Dad had built a reflecting telescope with which he’d shown his son places on the moon from their garden in Birmingham.
“I haven’t got my glasses or I could make out the crater of Copernicus
“Over there, that one bright light, with darkness to the left, marks the border with Albania. The line of twinkling lights further south. That’s Sayada and then even further there’s Igoumenitsa”
We looked at the Plough overhead and subtended the angle of the last two stars on its front to see the North Star just above the edge of the crags above the village, dimly underlit by our street lights.
“The moon’s too bright to see the Milky Way”
We recalled wondering, on childhood nights, at the sight of the full starred heavens, the edge of our galaxy strewn from horizon to horizon, across the abyss of black space.
“There’s too much light pollution too”
Along the closer horizon of the island lay the glow of the city. I called to Lin and to Martin’s wife, Sandra, chatting downstairs, to come and join us on the balcony. A few days before we returned to Birmingham they, our best friends in England, were our guests in Ano Korakiana.
We listened to the sounds inside this space, stood on our balcony together; people talking below the village, a lot further off than the Skops owl calling to another among trees beyond the houses edging Democracy Street. There was a dog complaining in the distance.
“That’ll set off all the others” I said as barking spread closer. Cockerels do the same but they were quiet at midnight.
The blinking lights of a plane appeared silently over the hills between us and the city, turned towards us and became a sound droning swiftly over Trompetta.
Sandra and Linda at Piattsa on Democracy Street
While he’s been here Martin has drawn a plan for a new jetty for Summersong, helped show us how to arrange the frame and hinges for our bedroom wardrobe ....
and, frustrated by its eccentric grating on the marble floor of the kitchen, re-hung the door between it and the dining room. A little packing on the old latch, longer screws in the hinges, a few millimetres planed off the bottom of the door...
...the job done in twenty minutes and years of minor irritation gone.
“So why didn’t you do that?” says Lin.
“I tried but I didn’t know how and it sort of worked with the chain and the hooks”

We’ve been go-betweens for house improvement for Steve in England who wanted the walls of his house, next to the café, rendered. All work had stopped after his regular builder had to go to Ioannina for heart surgery. We’ve got a local builder to start rendering, sending Steve pictures as the work proceeds.
Dear Steve. Before talking to A, our friend Martin, a builder/architect, currently staying with us, inspected your rear wall. He noticed that your wall ends in an uncovered section that is part of X’s property. In Martin’s opinion, X's strip of wall, if not rendered at the same time as yours, would let damp into any new render on your property. X, as you'd expect, says he’s no money to make this strip good…We tend to agree with Martin that this extra cost would represent a saving for you in the long run….Do you want the short iron bars sticking out of the wall, that were used to support a vine, removed? Let us know what you think. Best, Simon
Well I'm like a spoilt kid at Christmas, I can't stop getting the picture up and looking at it… After so many years of neglect the little house is finally getting some TLC, which its deserved after standing so many years. Wish you could see the smile on my face. many thanks for organising and overseeing the work on my behalf. Steve
While they were here we showed a little of the island to Martin and Sandra, walking, driving, swimming, eating out and eating in, enjoying drinks at Stamatti's café Piattsa, seeing the city and the country, ascending to the top of Pantokrator and down to the sea at Paleokastritsa.
Our friend Sandra on Angelokastro

Picnicing below the oak tree on the top of Angelokastro we saw, at first cleverly camouflaged in its deep serrated bark, a host of moth caterpillars - indeed several colonies attached to different parts of the tree.


*** *** ***
From the Ano Korakiana website - our neighbour's daughter Dimitra, flutist, is first left:

Λιτανεία στην Αλεπού
alepoulitany2013b.jpg
Λιτανεία της εικόνας της Αναστάσεως σήμερα το απόγευμα (Κυριακή 26 Μαΐου 2013), στην Αλεπού. Από τις Κουλίνες, βήμα-βήμα τον επαρχιακό δρόμο, στους ήχους της Μπάντας και με τις «φωνές» της Χορωδίας της Φιλαρμονικής Κορακιάνας, ίσαμε δύο χιλιόμετρα απόσταση. Ανά διαστήματα «συστάδες» κόσμου στο δρόμο, για να παρακολουθήσουν την πομπή να περνάει. Κάθε τόσο και κάποιος ιερέας πύκνωνε τις τάξεις του ψαλτηρίου, μέχρι και τα τελευταία μέτρα της πορείας. Στην άλλη λωρίδα του δρόμου η κυκλοφορία των οχημάτων συνεχιζόταν περίπου ανενόχλητη, συνθέτοντας ένα περίεργο ηχητικό κράμα θορύβου, μελωδίας και ψαλμών. Στην εκκλησία της Θεοτόκου, στο στενό της ενορίας, όπου κατέληξε η πομπή, ευλογήθηκαν και μοιράστηκαν άρτοι. Είχε πια νυχτώσει, όταν χορωδοί και μουσικοί πήραν το δρόμο της επιστροφής για το χωριό…
alepoulitany2013a.jpg
Υ.Γ.: Απαραίτητος συντελεστής της Λιτανείας, αποδείχτηκε το Ι.Χ. φορτηγάκι, που, αφού μετέφερε τα «έπιπλα», κουβάλησε και αρκετούς Χορωδούς, από το χώρο στάθμευσης μέχρι το σημείο εκκίνησης.
*** *** ***
*My colleague Chris Game has written in the Birmingham Post about the recent ESRC report on poverty in Britain. 'This is the fifth scientifically conducted independent study of poverty since 1983' he says 'and the situation is worse today than it has been for the past 30 years.' He summarises findings from the report titled The Impoverishment of the UK - officially published tomorrow:
* Over 30 million people (almost half the population) are suffering to some degree from financial insecurity
* Almost 18 million cannot afford adequate housing conditions
* Roughly 14 million (almost 1 in 4) cannot afford one or more essential household goods
* Almost 12 million are too poor to engage in common social activities considered necessary by the majority of the population
* About 5.5 million adults (1 in 11) go without essential clothing
* Around 4 million children and adults are not properly fed by today’s standards
* Almost 4 million children go without at least two of the things they need
* Around 2.7 million households (1 in 10) live in homes that are damp.* 11 per cent of children over 10 living in households without enough bedrooms for every child aged 10 or over of a different sex to have their own room

* 4 per cent of children (well over half a million) living in families who cannot afford to feed them properly
* 9 per cent of children going without one or more items of basic clothing
* 9 per cent of working-age adults (3 million), 12 per cent of 18 to 25 year olds and 21 per cent of those unemployed and looking for work unable to afford appropriate clothes for a job interview
* 33 per cent of adults (16.5 million) unable to pay unexpected costs of £500
* 30 per cent of working-age adults (about 11 million) unable to afford regular payments into a pension.
[...and in America]
*** ***
Involved early in the development of Aftab Rahman'sLozells and East Handsworth Heritage Trail I was still in Ano Korakiana when the trail had its launch on 25 May. 



Dear Sir/Madam   Launch of Lozells and Handsworth Heritage Trail– 25th May 10am – 1pm   We would like to invite you to the launch of our heritage trail for Lozells and Handsworth.  This has been a very exciting journey for us, we have learned so much about this amazing area and its heritage and we would like to share it with you.  The area is home to Soho House which is Matthew Boulton’s former home, St Mary’s Convent designed by Pugin, St Mary’s Church where Matthew Boulton, James Watts and William Murdoch are buried and there are several other historically significant buildings and places.  The registration will start at 9:30am at Soho House (Soho Avenue – off Soho Road, B18 5LB) and the tour will commence at 10am.  It is likely to take two hours approximately.  We have a reception at 1pm at South and City College – Soho Campus, on the Soho Road.  You will be able to hear from key note speakers and our tour guides – this will include a networking lunch.We have been working with South and City College to train 20 passionate people to become ‘tour guides’.  They will be your guides on the tour and will share their knowledge of the area with you on the walk.  Yours sincerely, Aftab Rahman, Director, Legacy WM

Aftab circulated the trail guide with maps and photos and profiles of guides.







Handsworth Park on a Saturday afternoon in early summer
Our park at Christmas

Rain

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I took Oscar for a walk into town. We left the house in in rain. I wore layers of clothes under a full-length waxed cotton raincoat, neck warmer, waterproof gloves. Starting through Handsworth Park I peered through railings at my allotment. There's much to be done; walked out of the park, down Thornhill Road to busy Soho Road, crossed over to descend through Wavenhill Park, through Bacchus Park then, via Bacchus Road, to the Soho Loop diversion from the Birmingham Mainline canal, its turgid surface pimpled with rain, its towpath, which soon joined the larger waterway, puddled into the city centre, where, dripping, in company with a drenched Oscar, I called on Richard; not welcomed by Annie the exquisite Bengal cat that shares the flat with him and Emma.
*** ***
In the first week of May, we - Lin, I and Chris Holmes - saw Richard Pine for lunch at Harry's Taverna in Perithia. It detracted not a jot from our companionable enjoyment that, even in May after so late an Easter, we were on our own, as is often so these days, though an English couple came to sit at another table as we left. Richard reported optimistically on the discovery of a new home in Corfu Town for the Durrell School library that has been forced out of Philhellinon Street, as the daughter of its aged landlord consolidates her parent's properties. Richard, for years has stayed and worked two days a week in the little bedsit space at the School's Philhellinon premises. He's missing that base for the moment and so the useful and - I suspect - restorative routine of a 30km weekly bus commute between village and city. Richard is never loquacious - or perhaps sometimes, in prose, when writing about the great Brian Friel. We talked about many things, gossiping about the Corfiot cosmopolis - Greek and international - of old island signorini in their last retreat living in the mouldering remains of grand estancias while others exercised their talents in the modern economies of the world as academics, doctors, lawyers and entrepreneurs; of the juxtaposition of Lyuba Ranevsky and Yermolay Lopakhin in Chekhov's Cherry Orchard which describes, so intimately, the fate of 'old money' in a new world, how the playwright could (as does Brian Friel) forge stories by simply, as Chekhov put it, 'looking out of his window'. We roamed over the idea and importance of 'narrative' - especially the European one with its special kind of language - 'Eurospeak'. For all of us the European Union, supported by the Common Market, was about ensuring there'd never be another great European war/ It had the character of a vision and an ideal - the European Dream, Jean Monnet's vision of an escape from the continent's experiences of rabid nationalism. But Richard, who agreed that ideal, was pithy about the future of the European Union. He wrote as much the other day in the first letter written from Corfu since his recent - and in his view largely futile - spells in hospitals, here and in Dublin....
Wed 29 May 2013 The Irish Times: Greece’s Balkan identity may obliterate Brussels link - Specific regional geopolitics lurk behind the goal of a unified Europe
Imagine an EU member state where the public service relied, for its efficiency, on bribery and corruption. Imagine a state where the hospital service was so under-resourced that patients had to bring a friend or relative to undertake their feeding, washing and basic nursing. Imagine a state where shops that traditionally sold handcrafted goods now promoted Taiwanese dreamcatchers.
Are we talking about Greece? Well no, actually. These are the thoughts of novelist Donna Leon’s Venetian detective, Commisario Guido Brunetti as he walks his native city, wondering how to bring to justice criminals whom the law and its administrators protect.
But they also apply to Greece, and one wonders whether they are true of the other ‘Pigs’ – Portugal and Spain. In a sense it’s a relief to read Brunetti’s disillusionment with his environment, since it suggests that Greece’s problems are not unique. Do all Europe’s southern states really have these dysfunctional characteristics?
Troika control

That question presupposes that we subscribe to the Eurocentric view of what constitutes a responsible and efficient member of the EU and the euro zone. Greeks seem to have become passive onlookers of the troika’s insistence on austerity measures, reduction in public service numbers and the sale of state assets. Trade union activity is at an all-time low.
There is very little to alert holidaymakers to the unrest which nevertheless festers beneath the social surface. To most holidaymakers, Greece represents sun, sea, and prices that remain low. But essential Greek characteristics are the signs of differences, as any holidaymaker from northern Europe will immediately recognise, and those differences are not only what makes Greece (and of course Italy, Spain and Portugal) attractive as holiday destinations but indicate precisely why Greece finds it so difficult to fit into the euro norm.
As I wrote previously, a former Greek president, on the eve of Greek accession to the EU, pointed out the time-warp between the southern and northern states, and the fact that they had a lot of catching up to do. If, that is, they wanted to be good members of the club. Former prime minister George Papandreou tried to drag Greece into the club – and failed, because there are basic elements of Greek society that cannot be changed. Bribery and corruption may be part of this, but they are ‘normal’ rather than exceptional.
Which brings me to the basic flaw in the Eurocentric argument: that what is being lost sight of is the geopolitics of Europe’s southeast, which for centuries has been a cockpit of east/west and north/south tensions. Greece is essentially a Balkan country, with the continuing – and growing – problems of Cyprus and complex relations with Turkey. The ‘Great Powers’ which brought Greece and most of the Balkan states into existence, were exercised by the threat of Russian influence in the region, a factor which remains a player in today’s geopolitics, with Russian investment in Cyprus seeping into Greece itself.
In April, the ambassadors to Greece of the 10 states which joined the EU in 2003-2004 (Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, Slovenia, Poland, Malta, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, and Cyprus) co-signed a letter to the Athens newspapers stressing the significance of ‘the vital strategic goal’ of unifying Europe in the aftermath of the second World War and the economic benefits of an open market. These are almost all countries still staggering from the effects of Soviet domination, with Cyprus becoming the only EU member state to have been illegally occupied since 1974 by a neighbouring force (Turkey).
Yet, as Paul Gillespie recently wrote in this paper (‘Loss of confidence is eating away at EU’), there are growing signs among the major players that all is far from well. The former Italian prime minister, Mario Monti, spoke of the “dramatically declining” public support for EU reforms and the EU itself; Luxembourg’s Jean-Claude Juncker foresaw the possibility of “a social revolution”; and France’s finance minister warned of a “loss of social and political confidence”. These have all been defining characteristics of Balkan history for 150 years, with fragmentation along ethnic and religious lines bedevilling any unity. 

To stress unity of purpose presupposes common characteristics and identity of skills and resources. If Leon’s Guido Brunetti sees Italy correctly, then at least two of the EU’s southern states cannot subscribe to Eurocentrism. Greece’s Balkan situation (especially with the Turkish dimension) suggests that its current misfit with the aims of Eurospeak will continue to be the norm.

'Out of Town'

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From: Simon Winters
Hi Simon. Don't know if you are in UK and can make it, but there is a Kaleidoscope event on this saturday at Stourbridge. We are filming interviews for a major BFI documentary about missing tv. We will be filming David King about OoT. Can you make it and be interviewed? Cheers Simon
Saturday morning I was on my way to the Talbot Hotel in Stourbridge. The middle aged man sitting opposite wore a floppy sun hat, travelling clothes that seemed to set off his bulk, peered at a satnav in one hand and a note book in the other.
"What kind of train is this" I asked. I had been on the vehicle once - December 2011 - before but spotting a true trainspotter I thought I'd see if I could find out more.
"It's called a Parry People Mover"
"I like it"
"It's the only one in the country"
No more was volunteered; the satnav getting full attention.
We trundled along a mile of bumpy single track surrounded by greenery arriving at the one platform terminus next to Stourbridge Town Bus Station. Via a lift and a tunnel I cycled down the High Street to where Kaleidoscope was holding one of its regular get-togethers, found Simon and after a cup of tea was sat with David King to be interviewed about the way we'd arrived at the 'Lost Episodes" of Out of Town.
Dave King, Out of Town DVDs and reels of archive film from the archive


Chris Perry asked questions. Rory was behind the camera. I extemporised about my stepfather and described Out of Town - not easy, as the tags 'country life' or 'rural pursuits' misses out on what was really a vehicle for my stepfather to enjoy chatting to a few million people about his favourite subjects with brilliant illustrations from his camera-toting friend, of twenty five years, Stan Bréhaut...
Jack and his cameraman Stan


...and David told how he had discovered and saved the Out of Town episodes that Delta on the initiative of Charles Webster, put together and put on sale last year. I spoke also of the 'unwieldy material' brought in April 2012 to a lock-up in Birmingham from South West Film and Television Archive - Stan Bréhaut's 16mm reverse negative location film with library sound effects...
...and a whole lot of - so far unmatched - ¼inch reel-to-reel tape of Jack speaking to these films and introducing each episode. I spoke briefly about technical challenges that I'd explained in more detail in the account included with the Out of Town 'Lost Episodes':
...I hadn’t only begun to grasp that the background sound on Jack’s programmes was added later – from sound effects in the library at Southern synched with events on Stan’s film. What was I to do with hours of such film? Jennie at SWFTA gave me a clue. She and her husband Roger, also working part-time at the archive, showed me a shelf of ¼” reel-to-reel sound tape in cardboard boxes. These for no obvious reason contained Jack’s voice as he talked in the studio from his set – a shed - and his commentary on Stan’s film for that week’s episode of Out of Town. It had taken hours to find the tape that went with the film. There was no order and no titles that allowed simple one-to-one matching. Roger, using a Steenbeck machine that could play separate film and sound tape simultaneously accurately splicing sound to vision. He then digitised the result and we had a 1975 episode of Out of Town as a gift for Richard Hill and his family. Well nearly. At the start and often at the end of each episode of Out of Town the viewer would see Jack  sat in his studio ‘shed’ from where he’d say “Hullo” before moving seamlessly into talking about Stan’s location film, run on a monitor in front of him in the studio. This all went out live. The location film would end. We’d see Jack again in his shed for a few remarks and a “cheerio” and the gentle signature tune Recuerdos de la Alhambra. So we had Jack’s commentary and location sound effects, but we had no picture of Jack in his shed. Richard’s film with which he was delighted came to him on a DVD courtesy of SWFTA with a stills of Jack inserted over the recording of his studio introduction. But what about the sound effects; of traffic, of cattle lowing, a fish splashing, wind in the trees, a bucket dropped? “People fill in the sound if you give them a clue” was Jack’s reasoning so I was told recently by one of Jack’s old colleagues, David Knowles. He’d certainly fooled me. I learned that my stepfather had made a point of asking expert sound people not to get “too clever”, inserting every possible event that might have had a sound. “Just make it sound like outside and synchronise doors banging and gun shots” I was slowly understanding why it was so tricky to trace whole episodes of Out of Town. “Jack loved to do high quality television on the cheap” added David who’d produced Jack’s successor programme - Old Country - for Channel 4 in the early eighties. My youthful memories of Jack musing about technical challenges were being jogged “I don’t want to go out in the countryside with a TV crew of half a dozen and a pile of kit. They frighten things away.” I learned after a bit that even Jack’s director George Egan stayed away, as Jack with Stan in essential tow went on location. “The finest outdoor cameraman in England” he called him, shooting silent, sound added later, and live continuity by Jack’s when broadcast. Jack knew that what made TV different from cinema and more than just lesser picture quality on a small screen was being live. He was stimulated by the risk of going out live but much more he relished the knowledge of talking there and then to his invisible audience. “We filmed nearly 1:1” explained Jack years later “The normal ratio of used to edited film is 10:I for the sort of thing I do. In commercials it can be 1000:1.” Jack and his team did minimal editing, had a minimal set and a minimal crew and it went out live with Stan’s silent location film plus library sound effects....
...and an episode about rabbiting from Old Country, successor to Out of Town, screened in the early 1980s on Channel 4 with Stan's successor, Steve Wagstaff, behind the camera..
Chris Perry, seeing the OoT film cans and sound tape I'd brought with me to Stourbridge said, to my delight, that he would introduce me to an ex-BBC expert who would know what needed to be done to wed sound and image from the archive. I've been looking for ways to get this done for two years now. I so hope this will lead somewhere.
In the early 1990s, When I was 50, I began searching for my dad, not the parent I'd come to know, but the individual who met and married my mum in 1940, whose DNA is mine...
He died in 1973, In the midst of war my mother and he, having made my sister Bay and I, were divorced. Living with my mother I would only get to know my dad after he'd been married over 10 years to Maria, who he'd met in Athens in 1949. Twenty years later, I'm learning more about Jack, the step-father with whom I enjoyed my childhood and youth from one Christmas in 1948. My dad's life is part impenetrable; hidden by his profession. He served in MI6 (Greece, Brussels, the Far East, London, Washington) until his early death at 52. My stepfather's life, including so much that was very public, is made puzzling by his versatile and invigorating self-invention. The novelist Graham Hurley,  who worked for Jack at Southern TV, wrote....
...It was this wonderful marriage of fact and fiction that made him such a great broadcaster (and inspiring boss). Like so many men from that generation including George Egan (Director of OoT), who flew SOE agents into France aboard tiny Lysanders), Jack had been through something infinitely bigger and more scary than any of us would ever find in television and it gave him a breadth and a perspective and a degree of creative mischief that was utterly beguiling. I put a number of the Out of Town programmes onto tape (Stan shot mute film; Jack's studio musings became the sound-track) and after a while I began to spot where fact strayed into fancy. Viewers, and gobsmacked youths like me, loved him. Like Stan, truly a buccaneer...
*** **** ***
Lin was entertaining Oliver most of the day after Amy.on her way to work, dropped him off. I got to see him later. He's not saying much tho' making lots of interesting sounds. We played on the sunny lawn after I got back from Stourbridge and later, for tea, sat Ollie in the same high chair used by my mum, by me and my sister, by our children Richard and Amy...
...Guy came round after work to collect his son.
I started working on removing woodwork and tiling holding our bath. It's got to come out so we can do something about growing damp in the room below that seems to be coming from under the batch. The bath was put in with great firmness in 1935. Getting underneath it let alone extracting it is going to be a stinker given we want to save the long slate panel that runs beside it and seems immoveable. I removed the locker I built twenty plus years ago so that I could start trying to tease out the panel. Hopeless. I'm so tempted to take a sledge to the slate. But if I do I'll regret it. What a mess.

The music...

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The music that suffuses Corfu and especially beloved Ano Korakiana with its sounds of practise in the quiet of the day. Takis Savvani, Τάκης Σαββανής, writes on the village website:
Το παλιό αρμόνιο δίπλα στον Άγιο Γεώργιο




Φρεσκάροντας παλαιές αναμνήσεις καί γεγονότα πού έχουν σχέση μέ το χωριό,  βρήκα μερικές φωτογραφίες. Μία είναι καί αυτή πού συνοδεύει τούτο τό σημείωμα καί η οποία  αφορά τήν ιστορία της χορωδίας του χωριού καί την  εξέλιξη της, καθώς επίσης καί την χρήση του μουσικού οργάνου (αρμόνιο) πού  φαίνεται σ΄αυτήν. Η λειτουργία του σημερινού σχήματος χορωδίας, αρχίζει από  τήν εποχή του μεσοπολέμου του 1940 καί τήν οποία έστησε καί εδίδαξε ο αείμνηστος Τηλέμαχος Μεταλληνός-Τατσούλης, μαθητής τότε του Γυμνασίου  καί αργότερα καταξιωμένος καθηγητής Μουσικής. Το πρώτο αυτό σχήμα απαρτίζετο από άνδρες καί στην συνέχειά του συμπληρώθηκε καί μέ γυναίκες.    Οταν ο Τηλέμαχος έφυγε από την Κέρκυρα γιά σπουδές  καί αφού γιά λίγο η χορωδία, βασικά εκκλησιαστική, έμεινε αδρανής, τά παλαιά μέλη της, μέ πρωτοπόρο τον άλλον αείμνηστο καί αγαπητό φίλο, Γιώργο Ιωννά-Μανούρο  καί μέ την παρότρυνση όλων μας,  αποφασίστηκε νά αρχίσει καί πάλι η λειτουργία της μέ εκκλησιαστική μουσική καί αργότερα, όπως όλοι γνωρίζουν  καί μέ τραγούδι, συνεχίζοντας την δραστηριότητα της μέχρι καί σήμερα. Εδώ πρέπει νά αναφέρω καί χάριν της Ιστορίας ότι ο Γίωργος ο Μανούρος στήν ουσία ήταν αυτοδίδακτος μουσικός. Στοειώδη μαθήματα μουσικής είχε πάρει  λίγα από τον Διονύσιο Σγούρο, λίγα από τον Τηλέμαχο καί ένα πολύ μικρό διάστημα κάπου στην πόλη της Κέρκυρας .
(Apologies for my translation) I found some old  pictures to freshen old memories and recall events relating to the village. One came with notes on the history of the village choir, including musical instruments (harmonium) used. The choir as we know it now dates from wartime in 1940, when it was set up and led by the late Telemachus Metallinos-Tatsoulis, then a student at the High School and later an acclaimed music teacher. The choir started with men with women joining to complete the choir. When Telemachus left Corfu to further his studies, the choir, basically a church chorus,  remained dormant. Another late and dear friend, George Ionna-Manouro, urged by all of us old members, decided to resuming the choirs function of providing church music and later, as everyone knows singing, continuing these activities up to the present day. Here we should mention for the sake of history that George Manouro was essentially self-taught musician. He had taken a few elementary music lessons from Dionysius Sgouros, a few from Telemachus and at  a very small space somewhere in the city of Corfu...
Τώρα γιά το Αρμόνιο καί τους εικονιζόμενους στην φωτογραφία. Το όργανο αυτό είναι, απ΄ότι έχουν πεί ειδικοί, πολύ παλαιό καί αντιπροσωπεύει το είδος  πού  χρησιμοποιούσαν  στις  εκκλησίες οι χορωδίες πρίν κυκλοφορήσουν τα σύγχρονα. Ο Γιώργος, δάσκαλος πλέον της χορωδίας, αφού αυτοεκπαιδεύτηκε  πάνω σ΄αυτό, μετεφέρετο στίς εκκλησίες πού θά έψαλε η χορωδία.  Στήν συνέχεια χρησιμοποιείτο, γιά πολλά χρόνια, είς την εξέλιξη της χορωδίας μέ την σημερινή της μορφή. Η φωτογραφία είναι έξω από την εκκλησία του Αγίου Γεωργίου το Πάσχα του 1949 μετά την Λειτουργία, φαίνονται δέ από αριστερά πρός τα δεξιά τα μισά μέλη της χορωδίας, διότι ο φωτογράφος ήταν «ατζαμής». Πρώτος είναι ο Σταμάτης Θύμης–Τσουπής και ακολουθούν οι Σπύρος Ιωνάς–Λιάθης, Βασίλης Μεταλληνός-Παπαντώνης, ο γράφων Τάκης Σαββανής Στάθιος, Σπύρος Σπίγγος-Μπότσολος, Μιχάλης Θύμης-Μόντος, λίγο τό πρόσωπο  του Γιώργου Λάμπουρα (πατέρας της Κικής Δουκάκη) καί  καθισμένος ο Γιώργος Ιωννάς-Μανούρος (Μαέστρος). Κλείνοντας τούτο το σημείωμα πρέπει νά αναφέρω ότι, οι κόρες καί η χήρα τού Γιώργου, θέλοντας νά πραγματοποιήσουν μία επιθυμία του πατέρα τους, έχουν δηλώσει ότι το αρμόνιο αυτό τό δωρίζουν στην Φιλαρμονική του χωριού καί ειδικά νά τοποθετηθεί είς το  αναπαλαιωμένο κτίριο της Φιλαρμονικής, όταν θά λειτουργήσει, μέ οποιαδήποτε  μορφή. Θεωρώ υποχρέωση μου, καί γιά  χάριν της  μνήμης  του Γιώργη,  νά  επιβεβαιώσω τήν σκέψη καί επιθυμία του αυτή, διότι πολλές φορές την εξέφρασε καί είς εμέ, στίς συζητήσεις μας σχετικά μέ το παλαιό κτίριο της Φιλαρμονικής,  διότι ήμαστε καί οι δύο συναισθηματικά συνδεδεμένοι καί ευαισθηκοποιημένοι  μέ αυτό. Τάκης Σαββανής-Στάθιος 
...The Harmonium in the photo, experts say, is very old and represents the kind used by church choirs before the emergence of contemporary organs. George, now replacing me as teacher of the choir sang in the chorus. So over many years we have been involved in developing the current choir's repertoire. . The photo is outside Ag. Georgiou in Easter 1949 after a service. From left to right are just half of the members of the choir, because the photographer was 'clumsy'.  First is Stamatis Thymis-Tsoupas followed by Spyro Jonah, Liathis Vassilis Metallinos, Papantoniou, the present writer Takis Savani - Stathios Spyros Spingos, Michael Thymis Botsoli, the little face of George Lampoura (father of Kiki Dukakis) and seated George Ionnas-Manouris (conductor). In concluding this note I must state that the daughters and the widow of George, wanting to make a wish for their father, have asked that the keyboard by as a matter of course, donated to the village Philharmonic, using experts to set it into the renovated building of the Philharmonic when will work almost as new. Because of my emotional connection and sympathy with these wishes with them, I regard it as my duty, in memory of George, to confirm this generous idea - one that has been explored many times in the  discussions we have had about the re-building of the original Philharmonic. Takis Savani-Stathios

Linking 'Out of Town' films and tapes

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Jack with Bess, filmed by Stan

I've collected all Out of Town commentary tapes from the lock-up and about 50 cans of 16mm Out of Town film. I'm going to see if I can match one tape to one film. P & F N specialise in film transfers to other media. They'll make a sample film to assess quality and feasibility. Chris Perry, from Kaleidoscope, is seeing them 13th June. I just hope I can make the match they need.
Looking at the dry-marker written phrase on one of the boxes Linda picked up second hand from someone's removal operation, the blokes at the lock-up might have wondered what kind of film I'm keeping in storage.
I laid out the tapes in the order of the numbers stuck on them...
 ...at the South West Film and Television Archive. I did the same with the films...
...For the first part of the afternoon I struggled. Making head or tail of this collection stymied others. Some film's aren't even in reverse negative. Some lack library sound effects - the noises from Southern TV's library dubbed onto Stan's silent location film for Jack, when going out live, to add his studio musings. Some reels do have a magnetic strip for sound effects (and are in reverse neg), but there are some cans  full of out-takes and rushes. Some cans are so rusty I can't open them. Of course I recognise some of the scribbled titles but none appear to correlate with a tape (or v.v.).
Back in June 2010, Jennie at SWFTAtold me it took them ages to make just one film-commentary marriage - and they had a Steenbeck to run the film and check what it was about to aid their matching for one film -  - the 'exploding' bait-box when fishing for black bass out of Littlehampton with Richard Hill...

Roger and Jennie with my stepfather's films on shelves in Plymouth
After a break and a cup of tea I looked again at list I held on file, assembled by Jennie Constable's husband Roger Charlesworth - one that matched numbers on tapes to numbers on films. I realised the extent of my debt to the archivists who looked after and catalogued this material over so many years. In an hour I had assembled a working sample of paired film and tape.



Dear Chris.  I've managed to collate 8 tape-film pairs from which to select one (or more) for Francis to create a broadcast-quality tape which we can assess as a pilot for processing the rest of the archive. I know you're seeing Francis this coming Thursday, and I am going to Scotland for a week on Tuesday. The tape-film pairs are: 
JH526 Point-to-point & Apple grafting (sound dated 14 Oct 1986. Not original OoT) 
JH741 Broom maker & Saddle maker 30 June 1975 
JH762 Grayling December 1969 (possibly incomplete, with date variation)
JH764 Foxhounds & Marlborough horse fair 17 March 1977 
JH765 Roach & Pub Games 10 March 1977
JH782 Seasons in the garden 31 Jan 1974 
JH811 Casting champions 23 July 1973 
Any chance I could bring over these pairs to decide which might be the best pair to work on. Perhaps Sunday or Monday? I have a preference for JH741, JH764, JH765 and JH782. Given variation in the state of film and tape Francis may appreciate a larger sample from which to select the pilot. Best wishes Simon
Reply: Excellent news Simon! I am delighted if you want to drop in all 8 pairs of film/tape for P&FN to do for you. ...So glad we can help with this exciting project. c 
"When we return from Scotland" said Lin "we'll go to your lock-up with copies of the match list, lay out the whole collection, and use it to code every film to every tape. Then we can see what's left." She had, even as I was having a cup of tea, put labels on each selected film can, with the number that had been on the corresponding sound tape.
I can hardly believe that this transfer and marriage of film and sound will just happen. There'll be a problem with the state of the film. A sound track will be missing. The whole matter of synching location film to Jack's commentary will prove impossible or far more time consuming than expected. There will be big gaps in film and tape.
Dear Chris. I’ll try to drop over after lunch with the material, on my way to the allotment. So so glad of your help. I can’t quite believe we are on the road again as it were. I just hope the material doesn’t prove too unwieldy in one way or another. We have had so many slips betwixt cup and lip in the last few years of recovering Jack’s material that I don’t expect anything to be straightforward so far as this project is concerned. But I’ve also met and been able to depend on so many friends and interesting people, real persevering enthusiasts (of the kind that Jack so admired) on the journey.
I occurred to me that if Francis is able to marry sound and image on one of the pairs from the sample, we will still need to add still images for the places (usually start and finish) where Jack is musing in the studio shed. Can I suggest Francis leave this blank on any pilot DVD produced. I can then rip the DVd and add stills later as in the ‘exploding’ bait box sample DVD made from the only tape-film marriage so far at South West Film and Television Archive in 2010. Could you perhaps - if Francis can go ahead with the pilot - ask what he thinks it might cost to go ahead with up to ten tape-film combinations? I can start thinking more seriously about future funding for recovering the archive. Best Simon
Meantime I've made an appointment to have lunch with Charles Webster of Delta Leisure to discuss how things are going with the sales of their box sets of Out of Town DVDs and what possibilities there may be for releasing film of Old Country from the BFI as well as exploring the commercial prospects, if any, of the archive material in my lock-up.

Extract from Out of Town's successor Old Country from Channel 4
** ** ** **
Last night, eating salmon pâté with brown bread, Lin and I squeezed juice from the last of the lemons brought from our trees in Corfu two weeks ago.
...and early this morning, for the first time in my life, I had a fleeting dream of mum...
Mum and Lin dancing with the young men on the battlements of Qaitbay in Alexandria

...stirred perhaps through sifting and inhaling the dust of rusty film cans - a flash of such evanescent happiness I woke, suffused with the pleasure of it. We were facing each other as though in an open carriage passing, floating by, a place in the countryside I knew, and know, from childhood, sun dappled grazings receding into the distance under the shadow of ancient oaks and beeches
"Now" I whispered "and at the our of our death, I will never stop thinking of the beauty of the places we've lived, My god, mum, we have been so lucky. Relaxed, she gazed at me and sighed 'I know'"
The Lambourn near the place we dreamed (photo: Barbara Hargreaves)



Now and at the our of our death, τώρα και σε μας του θανάτου μας

***** *****
Handsworth Helping Hands on Facebook.....reverse timeline:

Another garden cleared, another mattress to the dump

**** **** ****
We have a leak from under the bath tub discolouring the ceiling in our boiler-room below. I've prevaricated about this. The leak is minimal. It can be safely ignored
"Meanwhile the wet and then the dry rot spreads" warns Lin
"There's an immovable sheet of slate on the side of the bath preventing access to the plumbing"
Three days ago, I attached the stone cutting disk to my angle grinder; removed the cupboard that stood beneath the washbasin up to the side of the bath, and began cutting out a panel in the slate that would be invisible when the cupboard was replaced. The slate dust was stifling, settling everywhere, blowing out the window I'd opened. A tap with a hammer and a panel appeared.
"Just great! I've found the leak. It's in the side of the old lead pipe just below its junction with six inches of copper pipe, old fashioned 1" gauge"
Lin peered in too.
The plumber we found took a look.
"I don't know what I can do"
He was worried about cutting the lead pipe in case it made the leak even worse. He applied liquid metal and refused any payment.
"I could have done that" said Lin
"Lin! It's old piping and it's copper to lead. That's a stinker. I don't blame him leaving it well alone"
Checking the next day the leak continued, but a bowl beneath the bend of the pipes contained the drips - hardly a centimetre deep.
"Who can we find who can connect lead piping to old gauge copper.piping? I guess we'll have to have the tap off, try to fit it with 15mm copper pipe and then cut the lead pipe below the leak and join the two pipes with a lead to copper compression joint. Phew."
*** *** *** ***
At Lin's urging, over a few years, I got myself a hearing test. It lasted hardly five minutes. An abrupt woman summoned me to follow her from the Health Centre's waiting area, ordered me to to sit and pressed a horn gently to my ear.
"How many sounds can you hear"
"What?"
"How many sounds can you hear"
"What do you mean?"
"How many sounds can you hear"
"I thought you were going to ask if I could hear anything? What do you mean how many sounds can I hear?"
"How many sounds can you hear?"
"I don't know. Can we try again. One I think?"
She switched the horn - a 'hearcheck screener' - to my left ear
"How many sounds can you hear?"
"What? I don't know. I think you're being rather rude"
"How many sounds can you hear!" she said; louder
"I don't know. None?"
"There were six"
She started filling in a form
"Six?"
"Yes"
"Blimey! I'm amazed."
"The thing about hearing loss is you compensate. Read lips. People talk louder. You don't notice what's happening"
"But I hear lots of sounds"
"You see lots of things even when you're short sighted"
Sylvia, the audiologist, checked my ears, peering inside with an otoscope
"No there's nothing in there"
Too right I thought, having half-expected there'd be an easily removed blockage to explain my test results.
"I'm really sorry. Being so rude" I said
I'm to have an appointment in about 5 or 6 weeks at the Hearing Services Centre at City Hospital, to have a more detailed hearing test; possibly get a hearing aid.
"I told you you should get your ears tested" said Lin when I got home.
"What?"
"Ha ha"
Well it could be interesting to see if I can extend my hearing. What puzzles me is that I'm quite sensitive to sounds I dislike, like distant amplified music late at night, the background noise of game show audiences on TV, the noise of football crowds, the sound of motorboats revving out at sea, the yapping of a stir crazy dog, as also to those I like; waves, wind in trees, the sounds of my bicycle, people in conversation in  the street, a distant piano...

Reactions from friends on FB (it may be the 'devil's machine', 'the President's earpiece' and 'tool of the CIA' but it's darned useful on occasions like this):

    • Jane Cochrane My husband has just got digital hearing aids and they have transformed his life in terms of conversing at parties or being able to answer questions when presenting on stage. 

      Be warned though that they are so comfy and non-visible that it's easy to walk into the shower with them on ... after a series of near misses I ended up making a laminated warning card that is kept by the shower tap!! Jx
      3 hours ago · Unlike · 1
    • Zena Phillips You are hearing quite a lot. You are probably missing out out on certain wave lengths. I have suffered a certain amount of hearing loss since childhood, couldn't' t read till a doctor discovered that I was lipreading to a certain extent and had me sat...See More
      3 hours ago · Unlike · 1
    • Jane Cochrane Aah ... Zena - my husband is an engineer/technologist and understands all the feedback issues etc ... he simply gets the audiologist to adjust the tuning to prevent the worst of the feedback or "clipping" on some of the sounds ... it might be possible to get some "fine tuning" that cuts down on the oscillation.
      3 hours ago · Unlike · 1
    • Zena Phillips PS.I have found the NHS audiologists to be brilliantly trained and sympathetic.
      3 hours ago · Unlike · 1
    • Simon Baddeley It's so strange that people used to be (perhaps still are) ashamed (perhaps mildly but often worse so) about hearing loss. I was prevaricating about a hearing test because I thought my 'hearing loss' was simply the result of being 'somewhere else' when...See More
      3 hours ago · Edited · Like · 2
    • Zena Phillips An awful lot of people are still embarrassed by hearing loss. Another lot of people, when you ask them to repeat something, think it's funny to say eh? What? Pardon? Etc. I just smile and say 'yer lips is moving but there's nothing coming out'. At checkouts assistants will talk while not looking at you. I say 'sorry' and indicate my ears. They are invariably polite and kind.
      3 hours ago · Unlike · 1
    • Steven Lee Ive joined the club too. 
    • Zena Phillips PPS. My smoke alarm is loud enough to bring the neighbours round to make sure I am okay.
      2 hours ago · Unlike · 1
    • Amy Elizabeth Hollier Dad we have put up with you being deaf and angry so long we whisper nasty things about you! So you see , you can't possibly get a hearing aid now else we will have to start writing notes to each other.
    • Zena Phillips My children solved that problem by facing each other with their hands in front of their mouths but looking at me with smiling eyes. (They understood at quite a young age that I could probably lipread what they were saying.) They always were imps with a wicked sense of humour.
*** *** ***
The sun was strong on Sunday afternoon. Amy brought Oscar round. Liz came too, her pregnancy showing now. She and Amy and Lin walked Oliver in the garden. Liz sat and held him on her lap beneath the honeysuckle
"I'll get the kitchen tidied" said Lin "and start making supper. You take Oscar round the park"
Oliver in a pushchair, I headed proudly for Handsworth Park - trusted with the precious boy. I negotiated the busy Hamstead Road and entered the park through its familiar gates. The place was as lovely as ever with couples, families, friends, individuals of all ages, enjoying a late Sunday afternoon, sitting and strolling, cycling and standing gazing. Near the bandstand I let Oliver out if his pushchair. We strolled together up the long slope that leads towards the flatter stretch of grass and trees bounded by Holly Road. Oliver walked confidently beside me, stopping now and then to examine the ground.



Its texture seemed to engross him. I watched as he examined the grass, picking several blades and bringing them to me - a sort of gift. He found twigs, and would have tested them in his mouth had I not gently asked for them. I held his hand on the tarmac path as we strolled homeward over the railway bridge. Back in his pushchair he looked around at people, dogs, geese and a swan flexing its wings, drinking in this new wonderful world. Will all this be recalled in his memory, in a subliminal space that, if he lives as many decades as I, will forever return as a fleeting moment of déjà vu?

Plot 14 - a sheep or a goat?

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Another row of spuds, beans, a marrow and spinach on Plot 14
My allotment is surrounded by unworked plots. Imran took over plot 13, west of mine, in May 2012. After a few day's enthusiastic work he disappeared. I've not met him, though, odd chance, someone called Omar was chatting to me in the park, asking about Handsworth Helping Hands (he'd seen the banner on my bicycle front pannier); said Imran was his friend.
"Next time you see him" I said "can you ask him to work his plot".
Chris R has left Plot 15 to work, since Christmas, a few square metres of Plot 14. What he's planted is being steadily smothered by lengthening grass, dock, nettles and wildflowers. I have made some slight progress on 14 since I took it in June 2010 on the opening day of the Victoria Jubilee Allotments, but there's far more to do. It's partly the limited time I have to give to it, partly my lack of gardening craft, partly my failure to find someone else to work the plot with me. Nearly everyone admits the topsoil, spread by the developer under the S106 Agreement that included all 80 plots, is rather unfriendly - full of spade blunting stones, bricks and other human rubbish, but I've cleared much of that. I've dug over the whole plot, so even where it's grassy digging is easier than it was. I've put up a shed, added a veranda, paved around it, set up a composting space, made paths, planted small fruit trees, made a small lawn opposite the hut; and looked after the flower borders that Lin laid out next to the path before removing allotment gardening from her long 'to do' list.
The thing that really matters is to grow vegetables. I persevere. I've managed to grow a few potatoes, some cabbage, and sprouts, a few onions, runner beans and broad beans - small crops only. Last year was especially wet. This year has been cold into May and even June; but those are excuses. Others have succeeded in growing plenty despite the wet, the onion fly and other pests. Right now I have a line of spinach, some Jerusalem artichokes, a few more potatoes and some garlic. I've just planted a marrow, some broad beans and runner beans, and more potatoes. Now and then I get morose, when I see the amount of uncultivated space on my plot and, despite my efforts, the spread of unwanted grass and wild flowers instead of neat and reliable rows of vegetables. I failed last year, but I maintain the hope that I can present Lin with vegetables from the plot to cook on Christmas Day.
On a more sombre note we have not been able to vote ourselves the local leadership an allotment site needs in this economy. Here we sit on land - a green field site - of great worth for building the new houses the government wants to meet current demand. If nearly every plot was being worked. and the site ran regular events to attract new gardeners, especially young people, using the VJA to draw attention to the importance of DIY cultivation of fresh organically grown vegetables we'd be less vulnerable. But as council's raise allotment rents, and plots get abandoned or hardly used, certain iron rules of land use economics may all too easily begin to apply. The VJA could be vulnerable to suggestions that plot size and numbers be reduced, and in return for certain community contributions, a further part of a site once given wholly to allotments may be the object of an application to build more houses. It's unlikely at the moment, given the political history of the space, but given my estimate that each VJA plot could be worth a good £25,000 as development land, I wish our association was infused with a greater sense of urgency.
"If you're so concerned why don't you get involved?" someone might say
I vowed to myself when I took my plot that my involvement with allotment politics - a ten year campaign to save the VJA from being entirely built over - would cease. That I wasnted to prove to myself that after being off the land since the start of the industrial revolution, the descendant of six generations of embourgeoisement, I could take over a relatively small plot of soil and make it grow me vegetables. I'm trying. There's little question that with few exceptions, the VJA is, like many allotments, a middle class place, rather than a site that reflects the historical purpose of allotments, a phenomenon of urbanisation as working people were driven from the countryside to the cities by modernised agriculture and industrialisation and needed to feed their families. Now on the VJA we see people arriving in shiny cars, using expensive gardening tools, strimmers and cultivators, garden centre sheds and polytunnels,  intent on leisure, recreation, exercise and fresh food free of commercial agribusiness additives and for some  a desire to play their part in creating sustainability!
What a culling there's been since the day three years ago when the place was finally opened and keen new applicants queued to sign up for plots.

My Australian friend John Martin, Director of the Centre for Sustainable Regional Communities in Bendigo, said gently to me a while ago "I wonder, Simon, if you're not more interested in the idea of an allotment, than actually working one". That's proved too true for many.
In the sweat of thy face...

There are sheep who've persevered, who clearly draw food from well worked plots, but there are goats, once enthusiastic, separated from them by two bad summers, the ravages of insects and birds, the difficulty of our stony soil and most of all, I suspect, the contrast between idea and practice.

*** *** ***
I took the films and tapes of Out of Town back to the archive on Monday morning, having dropped off six film-tape pairs at Chris Perry's house over the weekend. I donated £10 of diesel. Denise and I drove to the Holford dump with the rubbish collected from Jo's garden in our road, and I took plants to an address in Havelock Road that volunteers will plant in a flowerbed in Leslie Road.
Named driver for Handsworth Helping Hands


In the afternoon I returned the van to the park compound and walked Oscar back through the park to the allotment, then home where we're preparing to head north on that once happy journey to the Highlands where there's melancholy work to be done at Brin Croft. Thank goodness for the company of Lin who always drives, and Oscar, who's prancing with anticipation at the familiar trek.

*** ***
From Jan:
Simon.  Thanks for sending this and other links. It all confirms what we've spoken about - ideology driven policy formulation. Councils as we have known them "going out of business" (to be replaced by what?). The triple whammy of delegated powers over "toxic" issues; increased costs as a consequence of Welfare Reforms (e.g. benefit capping and bed room tax) and more draconian spending cuts to come (whilst the present ones are yet to fully impact) will test even the most competent and creative council to the limit and beyond. The limits of "innovation and transformation" will emerge quickly. Then what? Are we heading for a residual poor law type of arrangement, heavily dependent on charity? Are other models still feasible? Will councils become local administrators of central diktat to an even greater extent than now? It is obvious that we are beyond the tipping point. Irrespective of who wins the next election, further financial cutbacks are inevitable. This is not a temporary phenomenon but a permanent paradigm change in what local councils are all about against the background of "the end of the welfare state". Who is doing any serious planning or preparations for this scenario? It appears that everybody is floundering. The LGA is fragmenting. SOLACE is saying very little. The impact on managerial -pPolitical relationships are profound.  See you at the end of the month.  Best Jan.

Afterwards

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Writing to the Council
A few days ago we arrived at mum's old home, late but in the long light of the Highland summer. Since then, but for walks with Oscar, it's been work, including composing a letter to the local council to claim exemptions from council tax that ought to have been accorded, but for complicated reasons, have not. The letter with redactions to protect innocent and guilty:
Dear Sir or Madam
Re: Brin Croft, Inverarnie, Property No.**
On Wednesday 12 June I visited the Highland Council service point in Inverness, having just arrived to arrange the clearance of my deceased mother’s house at the address above and finding a council tax/water charge bill for £1650.24 for the financial year 2013-14 and also a ‘final notice’ for the bill. A very helpful council officer, Mary, took details and advised me to write to you to request your assistance in obtaining the council tax discounts to which I should be entitled.
My mother, Mrs Barbara Burnett-Stuart, passed away on November 1st, 2012, but, for reasons I will explain, the executors’ exemption was never applied. As this gets quite complicated, I will give the details in note form.
1. 01/11/12 - Mrs Burnett-Stuart died
2. 12/11/12 - My wife, Linda Baddeley, phoned the Highland Council tax office on my behalf, to inform them of my mother’s death. She explained that, because there were items of significant value in Brin Croft, which I was not allowed to remove until confirmation of the probate, the house being fairly isolated and it being general knowledge that Mrs Burnett-Stuart had died, the executors  (myself and my sister, who currently lives in New York) had employed a caretaker. The representative to whom my wife spoke said that in these circumstances the executors’ exemption might still be applied and that a bereavement form would be sent for me to complete.
3. 14/11/12 – I received a letter from the Highland Council operations team and a form to fill in with the executors’ details. I completed this and posted it by return
4. 16/11/12 – A council tax bill arrived at Brin Croft addressed to Mrs B Burnett-Stuart, for the period 2012 to 2013, indicating that £1096.08 had already been paid and that the amount still due was £548. The reference number for the account was 67-*******-12.
5. 16/11/12 – My wife phoned the Highland Council tax office to question the bill, in view of the fact that it was in Mrs Burnett-Stuart’s name rather than the Executors’ and that she had been told previously that the executors’ exemption might still be applied, in spite of the fact that there was a caretaker living in the house. The council representative informed her that it could not be applied if the house was occupied.
Mrs Baddeley explained that the caretaker, Mrs B****n, had a residence in xxx where she already paid full council tax and requested that the single occupancy discount be applied, as only the caretaker would be living in the house.
The council employee said that Mrs B****n would only be entitled to a 10% “second home” discount, as she had a home in Edinburgh. Mrs Baddeley pointed out that Brin Croft was not Mrs B****n’s  “home”, but her place of work, and that the nature of the work, i.e. being caretaker, required her to live there.
The council employee insisted that Brin Croft was Mrs B****n’s “second home”, and said that the council tax account must be put into her name, as the occupant and the person paying the bill.
Mrs B****n was not in fact paying the bill. As my sister had already returned to her home in New York and I myself live 450 miles away in Birmingham and am regularly out of the UK, Mrs B****n’s account was funded by the executors to pay her salary and all outgoings for Brin Croft, including council tax.
The council employee my wife spoke to would not accept that Mrs B****n was not personally responsible for the council tax. She insisted that the account would be put into Mrs B****n’s name and that only a 10% “second home” discount would be applied.
6. 16/01/13 - The Highland Council sent a bill to Mrs B****n at Brin Croft with “Reason For Issue: New Account”, reference number 62-06****-12. The bill for £617.10, rather than the £548.00 still due according to the previous bill dated 14th November addressed to my mother, was for the period 15th November 2012 to 31st March 2013. No discount of any kind had been applied. Mrs B****n rang the Highland Council and requested single occupancy discount. She was again refused the discount, on the grounds that Brin Croft was her ‘second home’.
7. 06/03/13 – Highland Council sent Mrs B****n a bill for £563.75 indicating that the 10% “second home” discount had been applied. Mrs B****n paid this bill on the 7th March 2013 – payment reference 6****2.
8. 12/03/13 - Highland Council sent Mrs B****n a bill for £1508.10, giving 10% “second home” discount, for the tax year 1st April 2013-31st March 2014. The first payment was due on April 1st 2013.
9. 17/03/13 - With all forms completed by the solicitor and Confirmation having been applied for, I was given permission to start clearing the house. I contacted Mrs B****n, who had taken the caretaking job in the knowledge that it could end with short notice, depending on when permission was given to clear the house, to inform her that her services would only be required until the end of March. All valuables were removed from the house by the end of the month.
10. 29/03/13 (approx.) - Mrs B****n rang Highland Council to inform them of her departure at the end of the month, asking for the account to be put into the name of “The Executors of the Late Barbara Burnett-Stuart”, and requesting that the six months executors’ exemption now be applied, as the property would be empty for the foreseeable future. She was informed that this exemption would only be applied if the immediately previous account holder had died. As Mrs B****n was regarded as the previous account holder and had not died, my sister and myself, as executors, had been deprived of our entitlement to the executors’ exemption.
11. 31/03/13 - All valuables had been removed from the house and Mrs B****n vacated the property.
12. 11/06/13 – My wife and I, having been out of the UK for the whole of April and May, visited Brin Croft to arrange clearance of the remaining contents. In the post there was a council tax bill addressed to Mrs B****n dated 17/04/13 showing that she had paid all council tax due until her departure at the end of March.
There was also a bill stating “Reason For Issue: New Account, reference number 67-*****-13” in the name of “Executor of the Late B Burnett-Stuart” . The bill, for 01/04/13-31/03/14, showed the amount to be paid to be the full £1650.24 council tax, first instalment due 1st May 2013. There was also a council tax reminder/final notice dated 16/05/13, threatening harsh penalties for late payment.
The Highland Council had been informed by Mrs B****n that the property would be empty from April 1st  2013, so must have been aware that there was no-one at Brin Croft to receive the bill. I believe the bereavement form I returned in November 2012 gave my contact details, but, as far as I’m aware, no-one tried to contact me.
13. 12/06/13 - My wife and I spoke to Mary at the Highland Council Service Point in Church Street, Inverness.
Mrs B****n has informed me that during her time at Brin Croft she phoned several times and wrote to the Highland Council twice regarding the council tax issues, but nothing was resolved.
As you can imagine, trying to deal with this has added to the upset and stress already caused by the death of my mother and sorting our all her affairs.  The letter sent with the bereavement form on 12 November 2012 expressed deepest sympathy and stated “Council Tax is charged on a daily basis and in the changed circumstances it is important to ensure you receive every possible discount to which you may have become entitled.”
In effect the only discount which has been received was inappropriate, being a “second home” discount in the wrong name.
Mary at the Inverness Service Point was of the opinion that problems had all stemmed from the account being mistakenly changed into Mrs B****n’s name from 15th November 2012, resulting in two accounts being issued, instead of a single account, from November 1st 2012, in the name of the Executors of Mrs Barbara Burnett-Stuart.
The original account was:
67-****-12 Mrs B Burnett-Stuart
A new account in the name of the Executors of Mrs B Burnett-Stuart should have been opened from 1st November 2012 when she died. However the new account was opened in the name of Mrs E B****n from 15th November 2012:
62-****-12 Mrs E B****n
When Mrs B****n left our employ at the end of March 2013 the new account was opened in the name that should have applied all along:
67-*****-13 Executor of the Late B Burnett Stuart
In order to right matters, I am making a request that the records should be changed to reflect the council tax responsibility of the Executors of Mrs B Burnett-Stuart from November 1st 2012, until such a time in the future as the property is sold. I also believe that the following discounts should be applied:
1. 25% single occupancy discount from 1st  November 2012 to 31st March 2013, when Mrs B****n was employed as caretaker by the executors, due to circumstances beyond their control.
2. Executors’ exemption for the six months, starting 1st April 2013, or until the property is sold, should this be earlier than 30th September 2013.
The full council tax bill for Brin Croft for the year 2012-2013 was £1644.08. My mother paid a total of £1096.08 and the executors, via Mrs B****n, paid £563.75 (£617.10 less 10%), making a total of £1659.83. As you can see, this is £15.75 more than the correct cost for the year, even without taking into account the 10% saved due to the second home discount applied November 15th-31st March. The total charge before taking off this discount amounts to £1713.18. Obviously, as my mother was paying a year’s bill over only ten months, she had paid more than was due on the day the account was wrongly changed to Mrs B****n’s name. The amount due should have been £1644.08/365 x 228 days which equals £1026.99 rather than the £1096.08 she had paid.
In total £1659.83 was paid in council tax and water charges for the year 2012-2013, firstly by Mrs Burnett-Stuart and then by her executors via Mrs B****n.  I believe that the correct charge should have been £1489.81. (Full charge for the year £1644.08.   Mrs Burnett Stuart 228 days = £1026.99. Mrs B****n 137 days = £617.09, less 25% single occupancy discount = £462.82).
I am therefore also requesting that the overpayment of £170.02, which belongs to the four beneficiaries of my mother’s will, be repaid to the solicitor dealing with my mother’s estate:....Mr **** can also confirm that the executors have been responsible for and have paid, via Mrs B****n, all bills at Brin Croft since my mother’s death on November 1st 2012.....I apologise for the length of this letter, but, as you can see, the situation is complicated and took a great deal of words and time to explain. I have been out of the country for most of the year so far, so this is the first opportunity I have had to make this appeal. I believe that Mrs B****n wrote to you more than once while I was away, but had no joy. I was very upset to hear from her that it had been implied, by Highland Council staff, that she was lying about the situation in order to claim a discount on her own behalf to which she was not entitled. I hope this letter (and the considerable time and effort taken to write it!) will show that this was certainly not the case.
I must say that I have been both surprised and disappointed at the way this has been dealt with by the Highland Council and hope that this can now be redressed.
I will be in the UK until September and look forward to hearing from you in due course at the above Birmingham address. If necessary, I can also be contacted by phone on 0121 *** **** or by email at ***@****.
Yours faithfully
Simon Baddeley
"You know" I said to Lin after hours working on this letter - entirely her work - printed and posted by me this morning, also emailed as an attachment to the Operations Manager of Highland Council...
"I can sometimes see the attractions of corruption. Instead of writing this long complaint and petition I could pop down to see a 'friend' in the council and with a swift φακελάκι the whole ruddy mess would be sorted in minutes."
Arriving in the gloaming at Brin Croft
It's strange to be without phone or wifi, but a good test too. We can get a weak mobile signal from a slope at one corner of the garden, but to work on the internet and phone we're buying coffee and biscuits in a 'free wifi' hotel overlooking the river Ness in town.
A weak signal
Colin came round to strim the long grass that's grown around the house since mum died...


...and I've done weeding and pruning and sweeping and clearing - but there's more to do. Our main work's indoors where we have to have the house cleared so as to put it on the market, all items inventoried and accounted for, with some to be kept, some sold, some given to charities.  For some things, transport costs could be higher than the sale price, unless we do our own carriage. One quote we had for the journey to a sale in Edinburgh started at £600. There's an auction at Fraser's at Dingwall in mid-July, so we're creating an 'auction' pile and planning to hire a drive-yourself van. Other items are, though not especially valuable, likely to do better if sold on eBay or Gumtree or taken south and sold at auction there. We may be able to borrow a van for that and so more could be paid to beneficiaries. So there's a 'going south' pile. I'm taking a load of mum's books that none of us wants to Leakey's in Invemess. What they won't buy will go to the charity bookshop over the road. Lin's putting mum's extensive disability equipment on Gumtree, after disability companies told me that you cannot sell these things second hand to public companies or charities - those who perhaps most want it. "Too many ifs and buts about safety, especially for electrically powered items". I suspect we may end up giving away a lot of very expensive kit in good condition and I as an executor will need to justify this.
Mum's scooter bought new which she used once and didn't like (photo: Linda B)
My grief for mum is placeless. Thank goodness. This work is tedious and often frustrating, but I get not the slightest sense of mum's having been here. She's left no presence. That's all in my head wherever I am and in my DNA. She made the places she lived, and when she left them, in this case in dying, they cease to be part of her. What's her is not material, not in objects or sounds or even smells. It's all in my head and heart. So Lin and I are together here, surrounded by objects that carry no charge.
I take Oscar for familiar walks but no longer with the other terriers. He runs back and forth led by his nose, his tail wagging, happy as a Wordsworth child and as bored when stuck with us at home as we concentrate on the banality of probate.
Strathnairn - a fresh summer breeze from the south

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Ill news from beloved Greece - the planned closure of their equivalent of the BBC - TV and radio... a comment on the village website:



14.06.13

                                                      ΨΗΦΙΣΜΑ samaras.jpgΗ Φιλαρμονική Άνω Κορακιάνας «Ο Σπύρος Σαμάρας», ως ένα από τα πολλά σωματεία της Ελλάδας που υπηρετούν τον πολιτισμό και την παιδεία και διαπνέονται από την πίστη στην ελευθερία της σκέψης, τη δημοκρατία και την αγάπη στην πατρίδα, καταδικάζει την μεγάλη προσβολή που συνετελέσθη στο πρόσωπο του ελληνικού λαού με την βίαιη και πραξικοπηματική φίμωση της Ελληνικής Ραδιοφωνίας Τηλεόρασης, εκφράζοντας παράλληλα την συμπαράστασή της στους απολυμένους της.
Το κλείσιμο της Ελληνικής Ραδιοφωνίας Τηλεόρασης, του μόνου εναπομείναντος ισχυρού κυματοθραύστη απέναντι σε κάθε λογής προϊόν υποκουλτούρας και αποχαύνωσης αλλά και συνάμα πυλώνος έκφρασης και διάδοσης του ελληνικού πολιτισμού, στο κέντρο, τη διασπορά αλλά και πολλές ευαίσθητες περιοχές, αποτελεί πράξη εκβαρβαρισμού και γεννά πολλά ερωτηματικά, τώρα που όλοι είμαστε πλέον βέβαιοι για τις «πονηρές» ημέρες που διάγουμε και τις ζοφερές αναμνήσεις που πλησιάζουν απειλητικά από το μέλλον…
                                      Για το Δ.Σ. 
Ο Πρόεδρος του Δ.Σ.                                    Ο Γ. Γραμματέας
 

ΣΠΥΡΙΔΩΝ ΣΑΒΒΑΝΗΣ                                 ΣΤΑΜΑΤΗΣ ΑΠΕΡΓΗΣ



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