As predicted, the heavens opened last night. An hysterical light show, punctuated by atomic blasts of thunder and all the while the rain fell by the bucketload. It was biblical and as with all things biblical, it never really happened.
All week, the weather forecast pointed to stormy weather for Thursday and Friday, so we prepared in the best way we know: by loading up on beer and wine.
Yesterday afternoon, it was a gentle stroll to the Lakka harbour, recommended to me decades ago by, of all people, my dentist.
“You really should go there.”
“Aargh.”
“Great bars, tavernas, sunsets to die for.”
“Garg – ugh.”
And she was right.
Lakka is home to scores of yachts, some visiting, others here for the summer. An endless succession of water taxis drew up to deposit wealthy punters as they sought their evening meals. It brought out the very worst of the working class chip on my shoulder.
There is no way to look dignified scrambling out of an inflatable boat so that was a treat in itself but what I really, really wanted was for someone to fall in. My phone camera poised for a ‘You’ve Been Framed’ moment, it never happened.
We’re staying about 10 minutes from the harbour. Aside from the odd motor car and the inevitable motor cycle, it’s as quiet as the grave. I daren’t even play my bluetooth speaker at low volume, not least because I am so deaf nowadays that I need it ‘loud’ to hear it at all.
So, off to the sun bed it is then, except that it isn’t because as I smugly celebrate the avoidance of storms here in Paxos, right on cue God is shifting his furniture about. “Did you hear that?” “Shit, yes I did. Bugger.”
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