I seem to remember that, for some frightful faux pas, the comedian, Lee Hurst, has been no-platformed from various venues. His real problem is that he is not only funny, but also rather right-wing, which are the two reasons why you never see him on TV or hear him on what Radio 4 calls, in a blatant breach of the trade description laws, comedy shows. Yesterday, Mr Hurst utterly nailed a woman called Evie, gender she/they, a keen mask-wearer and a lesbian.
Tuesday was meant to be a relaxing day here at the Greek Hovel with only one renovation issue, the visit of the electrician to mend a light and an extractor fan. He said he’d call two hours before he pitched up but in the end his call was at nearly 8PM to say that he’d be coming “avrio”. Everything is always avrio here in Greece. Except…
The Albanian hired by my business partner, Nicho the Communist, is, supposedly, a true expert. I believe him, but I am left badly confused on three counts.
The sea might look tempting as the sun beats down, but I can assure you that, here in the Mani, it is still mighty “refreshing”. That is to say, cold. It will not heat up to a point where I would dip my toes in the water. However…
It is not smoke from the burning season; it is a mist rising from the valley floor, and clouds coming down from the mountains above us. I wake up, once again, to find that we have enjoyed a night of rainfall. Although good for the olive trees, it will make the mud track a bit of a challenging drive.
Greece was often praised for its authoritarian approach to the scamdemic. You may remember the Guardian and BBC claiming that, while our evil government committed genocide by negligence, Greece’s draconian lockdown had cured the country of covid. Of course, it did not. The lockdown gave the economy another good kick but, as the table shows, Greece has fared relatively badly in terms of covid deaths.
The old cat, which I first fed as a kitten, is still around. I saw her prowling very close to the hovel on our second day. She must be almost eight by now. But a new semi-feral cat has pitched up, who is much younger and looks very different, as you can see below.
This is the first cuddly toy that Jaya has become attached to – a sloth. Given this newfound obsession, her clever mum has found some Sloth wrapping paper for her next Birthday presents. In our household, having a lie-in is known as public sectoring, and is something Joshua is prone to on school days. Anyhow, Sloth lies in bed with Jaya in the morning, so Joshua has decided that it is a public sector worker. I am not quite so sure.
When he was alive, this was an annual ritual. Now Christopher Booker is in a better place, there is no reason for this to stop. The photo is of climate change, or rather, the lack of it, here in Southern Greece.
In Greece, this time of year is known as the “burning season”. We start fires in the olive groves, thus averting their spread over the summer. Therefore, as you drive up from Kalamata to Kambos, everywhere you see small plumes of smoke rising from the fields, as folks rush to finish their burning – before it becomes illegal.
I lay in bed this morning with the cocks having crowed and with the birds tweeting away, but with my family all snoring happily, thinking of how I would tell you about the warming sun of a Greek Spring. Opening the doors to head upstairs for that first pot of coffee and some writing while the family snoozes on,my feet found the tiles outside the door still wet from overnight rain. And above the mountains looming above us, dark clouds assembled. But they will go and by the time we hit a stone covered beach at Kitries later this morning, the sun will be blazing down upon us.
It was our first day here, and I was dog tired. But we headed down to Kambos for a late lunch. I parked my car on the road up from the main street, just past the family home of Eleni from Kourounis taverna.
In any study, you need a control group. When it came to train-wrecking your economy, driving folks to suicide and causing untold misery through mask-wearing, social-distancing, and staying away from dying relatives, the European control group was Sweden. The MSM did the bidding of the experts and a united political class, warning that Sweden would see mass deaths and that the streets of Malmo and Stockholm would be piled high with bodies. Well, not quite, but the language was apocalyptic. Ultimately, we dissenters were wrong, and citizens should only ever “follow the science”. Or else, it would end badly for us all back in Airstrip One.
“When are we going to get to my Greek House”, whined Joshua once again. I shouldn’t blame the little fellow, as it had been a long journey through the night from North Wales via Gatwick. But we were now in the hire car, heading towards Kambos. Just one stop in Kambos, I said, and then to the Hovel. Joshua groaned. But this stop was one I would not pass up.
Yes, Tobacco Factory Theatres really does think 5-year-olds want to see semi-naked adults talking about sex. In the old days, folks making such a suggestion would have been arrested. But, supported with your tax cash, via the Arts Council and Bristol City Council, the progressive class knows – far better than actual parents – what is good for little Johnny. Or Janet, as his parents would now rather “they” be known.
