Some folks think it is easy putting on an event such as Sharestock. Far from it. Every single item has to be ordered, accounted for and laid out ready for use. Barely a day goes by without something now arriving at the Welsh Hovel which Joshua and I unpack and lay out in my office. Cutlery for each of the four meals, coffee machines, coffee and decaf, filters, tea, plates, bowls, the speakers, the mikes, the batteries, a big screen, cabling, boxes for ice cream, freezer boxes for milk, the list goes on and on and on. But all is in hand, Joshua and I are not panicking (yet) and September 7 is still three weeks away which means we must start making the nettle beer tomorrow.
It was last year that I contacted the celebrated campaigner on the matter of historic sexual abuse at Britain’s public schools, Alex Renton, to discuss how to push my old school to be more proactive in addressing its own scandals. My abuse at the hands of sadistic Geoffrey Eve was physical. But other boys suffered sexual abuse. One victim, having suppressed his memories for decades has finally decided to confront them, contacted Renton who put him in touch with me. We spoke last week.
As you may be aware my type 2 diabetes was raging and I was in a bad way at around Christmas. Since then, there has been a complete lifestyle change. I cannot reverse some of the damage done but it is in my power to stop things getting worse. This morning there is a very positive an update on my weight and my blood sugars.
Anyone who has ever visited the Welsh Hovel will remember the tall conifer in the garden which blocks out vast amounts of light to the annexe, the newer part of the house (1700s and 1800s). As you can see below this giant tree is now gone. The fir branches are now piled up behind the goat barn in ahuge pile making my November 5 preparations almost complete.
We know that what we are being told is just not true but if the media and the State tell us often enough maybe we will start to doubt what we see with our own eyes, what we hear with our own ears and what logic dictates. From an empty woodshed I reflect on what the Met Office termed the warmest spring on record. And on news out of Poland regarding the Nordstream explosions of two years ago.
A large courgette, spring onions, potatoes, beetroot, radishes and some garlic and shallotts to dry and store. One trip to the garden and a few minutes harvesting.
My mother was a self sufficiency nut in the spirit of John Seymour with whom she corresponded, a believer in a sort of communitarian way of thinking. I spent a, not entirely happy, summer on a Welsh agricultural commune with her. Even then, aged six or seven I guess there must have been a latent capitalist and libertarian within me because I remember that I sensed unhappiness and impending implosion. There were loud arguments among the adults. Some folks worked hard in the fields while others listened to folk music and dreamed of the revolution. In the end those who worked walked and those who did not had to go and find someone else to sponge off.
This is just the first tray. Another has now arrived in my office/food storage area. The garlic needs about four weeks to dry before I clean it again and string it up in the larder. The shallotts need about half that time before they are stored in an open tray in the kitchen. All in all there are about twenty cloves of garlic which the Mrs uses in her Indian cooking quite a bit and I use in salad dressings and when cooking prawns for the kids. So, I reckon, we have enough to tide us over until the spring garlic is ready. The shallots? Added to pheasant and bacon stew in the Autumn, what could be better?
Some plums went to my neighbour the rest will be turned into ice cream llater this afternoon. While Joshua is sometimes reluctant to garden there is never any objection to making ice cream. The raspberries will be turned into ice cream tomorrow. Its a treat a day for the kids here at the Welsh Hovel.
Not literally but I am stunned how, in a Greek absence of less than three weeks everything has grown so fast. Naturally it is the weeds that have grown most rapidly and I sense some hard days ahead for myself and Joshua on that front.
Of course Ukraine and the US election are linked. The ex BBC man Sopel has severe Trump Derngement Syndrome and is looking at polls and getting very excited. But are Trump or Russia really losing? The podcast explains why not.
When we first arrived in Kambos the eating out choice was either the Kourounis taverna come grocery store run by lovely Eleni or Miranda’s the small taverna at the top of the Square. Eleni does food as a sideline and it’s great but a limited choice. Miranda’s “menu” was the one dish she was serving that day.
Young Joshua, aka the pest, has always made a habit of collecting a bunch of useless pebbles from whichever beach he goes to and this holiday was no different. Nearly all of the beaches of the Mani are pebbles rather than sand so on our trips to the seaside he had ample opportunity to collect.
After my mum died we had a series of Warwick University students, mainly from the Classics department set up by my Dad, come to look after us as babysittters. There was one of my heroes in jounalism, the great Neil M. who got his break onto Fleet Street by scooping a sex scandal involving the pop star Howard Jones who, until then, was thought to be rather a wholesome fellow. Classy. I am still in touch with Neil who was one of the 30 folks able to attend the funeral of my father during covid. If only we had been shooting grouse we could have had more. Thanks Boris Johnson you total arsehole.
There is a way that Greeks talk quickly and loudly that makes you feel as if they are shouting at you. They aren’t. Maybe it is just the way the language is put together. Anyhow poor mad lefty J had a load of this not only from lovely Eleni at the Kourounis taverna but from Eleni’s husband, the sister of the murderer and a couple of other folks the other day. And the target of their ire was me.
