Clueless...

It is a source of enduring sorrow for me as a Greek national to watch successive Greek governments behave with a level of incompetence that is unmatched anywhere in the civilised world. It is particularly maddening, though, to observe the current incumbents pretend that they have any idea of how to run a country, never mind one that has endured over ten years of economic hardship. They actually make Mrs. May's mob appear efficient, difficult as that may seem at present.

You will hear little of this away from Greece, as the Government is good at misinformation and pretence, at 'cooking the books' if you like, then pretending all is swell. They work very hard at convincing the EU that they have mastered the crisis, that they have balanced the books and that growth is on the way. Alas it is not so, as growth will only come from the private sector, a sector that under the current SYRIZA government has carried most of the weight of the crisis. And there is no sign on the street that good things are happening, that this is about to change.

There have been grandiose announcements over recent years about the investments that would be rolling in, with international companies supposedly so dazzled by the opportunities available that they'd be throwing money at Greece just to get on the gravy train. Unsurprisingly, little external investment has materialised, partly due to a penal tax system unevenly enforced and partly due to ridiculously outdated attitudes towards business and archaic employment legislation.

For their latest trick this bunch of incompetents has chosen to increase the nominal minimum wage by a goodly amount. Never mind that there is no growth anywhere in sight, never mind that most SME businesses in Greece are just about holding on to life, ignore that this undermines the country's already substandard competitiveness - no, elections are nearing and this makes a good soundbite, creating another make-believe scenario like all the ones that got Greece in this mess in the first place. Politically they may be adept, these creatures - though that remains to be seen at the polls as and when the next elections occur - but commercially they are morons.

Coming as I do from a family that has been international for well over two hundred years and despite having spent nearly half my life away from Greece, primarily in the UK, I remain in many ways a proud Greek like my ancestors before me. But the succession of intellectual midgets who have reduced this lovely little country to pauper status and who, for the sake of their own short-sighted, petty little ambitions, are quite prepared to strip it of all its dignity, I feel nothing but revulsion and disgust.

Furthermore, I refuse to forgive them even though they know not what they are doing.

A tribute to the great Ed Whitlock

Ed who, I hear you ask, dear reader, and I cannot blame you. Though Ed Whitlock is the stuff of legend, he is little known outside the running world, yet he is one of the best long-distance runners of all time, certainly above the age of 60. He passed away in 2017 of prostate cancer at the age of 86, leaving the world poorer - Whitlock held many marathon world records, the most impressive of which may be running it in under three hours above the age of 70 (he was 73 at the time!).

Ed Whitlock was born in the London area and was a competitive runner during and immediately after his schooldays in Britain, but moved to Canada and abandoned running in his early twenties. He went back to it in his forties, concentrating on middle distances until running his first marathon with little preparation at age 48 in 2:31:23. Running petered out again until retirement from the day job in his sixties, when he took up road racing and set himself targets; it's fair to say that he achieved most of these, if not always in the timescale he had envisaged.

It is impossible to convey - especially to non-runners - how enormous his achievements were. He had a runner's build, true, but many others do too without achieving half as much. He obviously had something special, something that allowed him not only to tear up the record books on the way but to do so with grace, style and immense modesty. No preening for him, no posing, no self-importance, but a big smile and a glimpse, perhaps, of the steel underneath that allowed him his achievements. To say that he was admired and revered by his fellow runners (and running enthusiasts) for what he achieved - and the way he did so - is an understatement.

His training routine was completely unorthodox, as he paid no attention to anything other than his running and that at a slow pace - he ran laps around a local cemetery. Not for him the strength training, intervals, cross-training or other 'modern distractions'; why, he hardly even bothered with stretching! He also bothered little about all the technical clothing available, shoes or other equipment, so long as he was comfortable. Most importantly, he made it absolutely clear that his way was tailored to suit him, his body and requirements, and was not to be recommended as a 'how to do it' approach for anyone else.

Yesterday I, at the ripe old age of nearly 64, went out for another of my training 'runs' (more like a stumble, really...), trying as I am to regain the fitness levels I lost after an illness in the summer and subsequent masterly inactivity. While even when slim I do not quite possess a runner's physique, normally I am a decent runner who dreams of one day running a marathon in not much above 4 hours; that is, with all the proper training in place and without injuries. At my age (more or less) the amazing Mr. Whitlock easily ran sub-3 hour marathons, up to the age of 74 and beyond; at 85 he ran the marathon in under 4 hours!

Not everyone can be an Ed Whitlock, for sure, but we should all able to enjoy the benefits of exercise - even competitive sport - at any age. It does us good in every way, provided we are sensible, listen to our body, avoid injuries and train properly. Equally importantly, as far as I'm concerned, we mustn't forget that whatever our achievements there's always somebody else who has achieved more and that it is important to be modest. For all that Ed Whitlock was a role model, and one that I admire immeasurably.

And the winner is: Tennis!

Cards on the table time, there is nothing quite like winning in a competitive activity. Winning at the top level in anything (well, almost...) is absolutely amazing and gives the winner an incredible feeling, something impossible to describe. Being human, it is then easy to get carried away on the strength of being a winner and become obnoxious, tiresome, supremely arrogant.

Roger Federer has been at the top - or thereabouts - of the tennis world for a very long time, still playing amazing tennis at the advanced (ha-ha!) age of 37 and is currently ranked no.3 in the world. He has broken most records available by playing supreme tennis - stylish, powerful, effective yet graceful. More importantly for me  he has always appeared to be a graceful, modest, polite human being, never spiteful in defeat but displaying an iron discipline to 'do better next time'. He is a true icon of the sport of tennis, someone to be roundly admired.

The young Greek man - Stefanos Tsitsipas - who has just beaten Roger Federer in the Australian Open 4th round, hopefully represents the future of tennis, or certainly of the kind represented by Roger Federer. Not only does he play in a style reminiscent of the master, but with the benefit bestowed upon him by his youth (he is only 20 years old) he can make the power and elegance last and last. Furthermore, while he is obviously a very determined young man, he is also calm, modest and polite; he knows he has supreme ability but is comfortable in his own skin.

The little I have seen of Tsitsipas playing tennis, including a few minutes of highlights of the 4th round in Australia against Federer, he plays exciting tennis that is a joy to watch, push-push-push all the time. His strokes are big, elegant and powerful, with a style defined by athleticism and great court control. Should he be fortunate and not suffer any serious injuries, physical or mental, we should see a lot more of this man at the top of the tennis tree. He may even cause tennis mania in Greek youth...

Roger Federer, gracious in defeat as always, praised Tsitsipas highly, saying he lost to the better man on the day. Tsitsipas himself could hardly believe the scale of his achievement, especially against a man who had been his idol as a young player and was still a force to be reckoned with. Let us hope that both men continue to shine with their skill and grace on the world tennis stage and giving us all comportment lessons off it.

Last minute treat!

You have often heard me, dear reader, talk about how lucky I am in having good friends, friends who not only look out for me but have helped me in substantial ways in my hour(s) of need. One of them, ACM, happened to be in the neighbourhood today, after extensive travelling on business and leisure (the Christmas holidays) over the last few weeks, and invited me to a last minute dinner and catch-up last night.

Many years ago, during my properly active wine merchant days and when we both lived in London, I used to occasionally help top up his cellar with rather fine things from time to time. Though without stock of my own these days I am happy to advise if and when needed, and to help in the consumption of what is already in friends' cellars as and when invited. Some of the wines catch even me by surprise, rather unusual for an old dog like me, but on this occasion I must admit to a very pleasant turn of events.

We only had two wines for the two of us, one of which was no surprise at all, a glorious blanc des blancs Comtes de Champagne 2006 from Taittinger. This is made only in good years (though with global warming and more efficient technology these are more plentiful) and, as the description previously given implies, is made only from Chardonnay grapes. These come from top vineyards rated grand cru and, together with the attention heaped on the grapes by the Taittinger team, produce a very refined wine indeed. This is class in a glass, toasty, yeasty, spicy, refined and delicate, but not lacking power and length. The vintage we tasted, from a tricky vintage and over ten years old, was young and vigorous with more in store - a superb, restrained champagne and a real treat!

The surprise of the evening, though, was a claret from the 1975 vintage. Now 1975 claret has had a chequered history, starting life lauded as a super star when first tasted, only to fall from grace in the mid to late eighties as the wines failed to soften and its tannins proved to be longer lived than the fruit. This general opinion lingered, yet time has helped some of the better wines emerge from their tannin cocoon and achieve their long-expected stature. So when my friend proposed a 1975 I was highly sceptical, fearing the worst but knowing I was safe, as there were several potentially interesting alternatives.

Chateau Lynch Bages (Lunch Bags to the UK wine trade...!) is a wine long regarded as batting above its 5th Growth official classification; so it proved this time. Whilst the cork was at the end of its life, I managed to remove it more or less in one piece with the aid of a screwpull-type corkscrew, some deft handiwork and a bit of luck. The wine was decanted and sieved, had vigorous very young colour and hardly any sediment, looking nothing like the 43-year old veteran that it was. The nose was full of rich red berry fruit, hints of grassy mint and vigour, whilst the palate was smooth, rich, clean and seductive, still young and with decent, if not excessive, length. Well, I say! I had expected a wine lacking in fruit, harder and nearing the end of its days but this, though possibly better a few years ago, has years ahead of it...  wow! A classic, classy claret to stir the old loins, a perfect drink to enjoy - and a pleasant surprise to boot - and, though fine Bordeaux wines can never move me in the way that fine Burgundy does, this was that often talked about but rarely encountered rarity, textbook fine claret.

That, dear friends, is the beauty of wine and of wine appreciation. Wine is a living thing, capable of great disappointments but even greater thrills, surprises and real pleasure. It is a life-enhancer, a bonus, something that can make our life better if halfway understood, is properly appreciated and even loved. Yes, fine wine is also a commercial product, but one that is alive and made with affection and dedication rarely found elsewhere.

No wonder the ancient Greeks had a god of wine (Dionysos) I don't know of a product more deserving.

Shattered Dreams

I've just watched, via the magic of the internet, a short press conference by Andy Murray, the Scot who  was at the top of the tennis world not that long ago, ranked number 1 in the world. Unable to hold back his emotions - and his tears - Murray conceded that his injury and the pain derived from it may be about to put an end to his career, leaving him feeling he has not fulfilled his potential and achieved all that he was capable of, despite three Grand Slam wins and an overall record no British tennis player can match in the modern era.

Murray is crying, I believe, not because of the physical pain, though I'm sure that can at times be excruciating, but for the loss of his dreams - he now has to, perhaps, set aside everything else that he was hoping (even expecting!) to achieve in tennis. This proud Scot is crying for the dreams that may never be, the lost dreams, the shattered dreams; this is a feeling that many of us have on occasion felt and have had to live with at one level or another.

Some years ago - forty to be precise, but who's counting - I decided to pursue my dream of becoming a professional motor racing driver, hoping to win races internationally and, ultimately, reach Formula 1 and become world champion. In order to try and achieve this I gave up a comfortable life in Greece, liquidated what little assets I had (a car, a motorbike, a guitar etc.) and moved to the UK, hoping to serve my apprenticeship and rise through the ranks. Previously I'd been to the Jim Russell Racing Drivers School in Norfolk, where I'd shown some promise in what was an almost entirely new field to me - single seater racing - and where I got the bug seriously. Like many other young guys - and it was mainly guys in those unenlightened days - I put the rest of my life on hold to try and succeed. And like all the others I had great belief in myself and my abilities and was prepared to do almost anything to get where I wanted to go.

Life for aspiring anythings is hard and full of sacrifices, and motor racing is no different. My contemporaries and I slept on floors and in cars, did odd jobs to earn pocket money or worked on our own cars in order to save, even went without food just so we could manage to pay for our racing. Some of us borrowed money, others used savings or sold assets (including houses, farms etc.), a few had wealthy families to help, but we all dreamed together of winning, of success, of reaching our goals. 'We are the Champions' by Queen was popular at the time and we all felt it talked about us.

Often you will see successful people in some walk of life who will say that all you need to do to get there is to believe in yourself and to want it enough, something that I know from personal experience not to be true. In fact the opposite holds true: unless you want something badly enough and are prepared to put yourself out to achieve it you will never get anywhere!

Andy Murray has made the sacrifices, as has his brother, guided by their extremely able and determined mother. Andy has also shown himself to be a supremely gifted tennis player who has managed to combine talent, determination, skill and good fortune to reach the top; he has enjoyed the spoils and was planning/hoping to stay at the top for a while. Now he can see this all disappearing because of frailty in his body, something that neither he nor science seem able to fix. It is a crushing disappointment.

For different reasons, specifically the inability to raise the appropriate finance (sponsorship etc.), I also had to face not being able to continue in my chosen sport/profession. Even more painfully, my efforts were not rewarded with reaching the top levels and winning championships, leaving me both unfulfilled AND disappointed. Of course I felt crushed inside, as many others do in similar circumstances when one cannot govern one's own fate, and have always felt that I would one day go back and complete the dream (the plan?). Alas it was not to be and now the only two people I would have collaborated with to attempt serious driving again are both dead. And I am too old to be a Formula 1 racing driver, but not too old to remember the bitterness of when I had to accept that my 'career' as a racing driver was, in all likelihood, over.

A little of the bitter taste remains. I feel for Andy Murray and wish him well.

Details of yesterday's dinner

For once, dear reader, I am vaguely keeping my promise and going back to a subject quickly, rather than letting time pass as I talk about other things. Last night's dinner is still fresh in my mind and, as tonight is a stay-in-and-eat-little-drinking-even-less kind of night, I am able to return to last night's events fresh.

The menu was, as described yesterday, simple but bursting with flavours, sometimes subtle, others bold. We kicked off with gruyere gougeres, little choux with a tantalising hint of gruyere cheese, light as a feather but oh, so tasty; these are a classic accompaniment to aperitifs and go well with almost everything. Last night we sipped a glorious Roederer Cristal champagne from 1996 (a good year in Champagne), a still surprisingly young and fresh mouthful, perfectly balanced with delicate white fruit and light caramel tones, good acidity and a typically long finish. It is a great pity that Cristal is popular among the mindless cretins who think champagne - and Cristal in particular - is a status symbol to be ostentatiously wasted in nightclubs, for it is a seriously good wine for true lovers but is, alas, overpriced.

The first course was a stunning cream of bean soup with trompette de la mort mushrooms, a tan, thick liquid with a subtle, nutty taste, combining beautifully with the meatiness of the mushrooms, whose slight crunch added a texture play to the dish. This most satisfying dish we combined with two Swiss white wines, both from the Chasselas grape, one from the Valais and the 2008 vintage, the other from Canton Vaud and 2009 - two different regions, two very different wines! Viticulture in Switzerland is difficult due to the weather and the mountainous terrain, with Swiss wines not noted for their power, high alcohol or zinging acidity. Rather they are subtle beasts with delicate nuances, impressing with their difference and not with their punch. The Fendant du Valais President Troillet 2008 from Marie-Therese Chappaz is just such a wine, with clean delicate white fruit and mineral tones on nose and palate, interesting but a tad hollow. The St-Saphorin Grand Cru "Les Blassinges" 2008 by Pierre-Luc Leyvraz is a bigger wine from perhaps a better vintage, showing richer than the previous on the nose and in the mouth, but still a tad hollow on the finish. Both wines were very good with the course they accompanied and of great interest to any serious wine lover.

The main course of Osso Bucco with polenta sported soft meat with a rich, supremely tasty sauce, a superlative form of comfort food. To accompany this we had a Bandol red wine from a magnum - Domaine Tempier 1988 cuvee speciale Cabassaou - which was not only extremely rare, from a small terroir and old vines, but also extremely impressive. Only wines of the highest quality remain youthful after thirty years, but this had a deep garnet colour showing little age, a rich red stewed fruit and damson nose, juicy tannins and ripe fruit on the palate, good acidity and a remarkable long finish. A good thing it was too, as it had the weight of flavour to match the food, and it matched it superbly.

The Rocquefort cheese managed to be creamy and strong at the same time, its acidity and strong flavours eliminating the Osso Bucco from the palate. This was beautifully partnered by an ethereal Chateau Climens 1988 from Barsac, all sweet white peaches and honey, which acted as a foil to counter the cheese, ultimately producing real satisfaction. The same wine accompanied the dessert of fresh orange, a great palate cleanser to allow us to have some chocolate, including homemade truffles that were truly melt-in-the-mouth. These sweet wines are at their best heart-stoppingly wonderful, sweet but not one-dimensional and sickly, complex and beguiling. Also, if one avoids one or two of the big names, they are still attractively priced as they remain largely unfashionable both with new consumers and investors. Luckily I am neither, and I adore them, on the rare occasions that I am fortunate enough to encounter them.

A herb tea cleansed my palate again, which allowed me to sneak in a small grappa from that supreme craftsman, alas no longer with us, Romano Levi and his sister Lidia, also now gone. Their grappas were and are highly prized for a reason, being smooth yet characterful, very clean and deeply satisfying,  artisanal, a distillate of life itself. Which moves me, especially after the sadness of the past few weeks, to remember those I have recently lost and think of that simple Jewish toast that I find so appropriate: 'To Life - L'Chaim'.

More solace for little old me

Dear reader, you've been introduced to my good friend JT and his wife MT before, long ago enough for you to know that not only have we been friends for over 40 years but that we tend to eat wonderful things and drink rare and exciting wines when together, mainly thanks to their generosity, kindness and skill in the kitchen. Today was no exception, as we were celebrating JT's nameday (a couple of days late, but who's counting...) with a special dinner with wine to match.

Food is a wonderful thing which in its mundane form keeps us going on a daily basis, but also something that, with just an injection of love and attention, can become exciting, good, more-than-sustenance, joy-giving! There is pleasure to be had in food and it does not have to be elaborate to please - witness J&MT's delicious menu today, based on simple but good materials and wholesome tastes with little trickery, little playing about. The menu was as follows:

!. Gruyere gougeres, that most simple yet utterly delicious chou-like thing, an appetiser, with the fizz.
2. Cream of bean soup with trompette de la mort mushrooms, a complex yet simple recipe.
3. Osso Bucco with polenta, a version of an all-time classic just bursting with flavour.
4. Rocquefort cheese, aged and ...
5. Orange fruit salad, in juice.
6. Chocolates with a herb tea.

As you can see this was a winter menu that was simple but satisfying, properly tasty, with plays on texture and taste to match an intriguing selection of wine from JT's well-equipped and esoteric cellar. The wines were:

1. Roederer Cristal 1996, an aperitif hard to top for quality, never mind the status/prestige shit.
2. Swiss Valais wine from the Chasselas grape, 2009
3. Swiss Vaud wine, Grand Cru from the Chasselas grape, 2008
4. Bandol red wine 1988 in magnum,
5. Chateau Climens 1988, Barsac, a sweetie to match the cheese and dessert.
6. Grappa from the acknowledged master, now deceased, Levi.

Did we enjoy ourselves, I hear you ask, dear reader? Well of course we did. We laughed, ate, drank and laughed again - funny how so much of the conversation now that we are older comprises of flashbacks! But it's good that it does while we're still here to remember the good times, the bad times and all in between, together with the now-absent friends, because soon it will all be ancient history, remembered by no-one.

P.S. : I'll try and write up the tasting notes in a separate post, maybe tomorrow. Patience I am told, dear reader, is a virtue!

After the sadness, a small measure of joy

My day (Tuesday 8th January) started  with a mad, frantic dash across Athens to attend the memorial service for my classmate and childhood friend DJP, who died a couple of weeks or so ago in London (see my previous post). Most of my day before and after the event was filled with sorrow, tears, despair for a loss so unexpected. I fully expected to go to bed full of sadness.

Life is a funny old thing, though, and little events help to transform our mood and outlook - so it was today with me. Sometime yesterday I'd arranged to go and see my friend AJC, whose wife was out on a bridge night the following evening, for a bit of cheese and wine, little expecting that it was going to turn into a total mood-changer. To my mind we were going to have a couple of glasses of plonk with some cheese and, maybe, a bit of something else, tasty if unremarkable. It was not to be.

Andy brought out a few bottles of Greek wine that had been lurking in his cellar since the late seventies or early eighties, none of them particularly special  or highly rated, but adequate, workmanlike bottles. Expectations were low and this was more an event to please his wife, by clearing out and throwing away things well past their sell-by date, rather than a tasting with high expectations - well, we were right and wrong!

The wines to be tasted (all red) were the following:

1. Tsantali Cava 1966 Naoussa, decent level.
2. Tsantali Cava 1976 (2 bottles), both good level, one slightly less than the other.
3. Achaia Clauss Chateau Clauss 1973, slightly reduced level, just above shoulder (Bordelaise).

We started with the 1976 Cava (a designation much in fashion at the time, hinting as it did to special selection, more careful winemaking and extra time in the cellar both in barrel and bottle) from the well-known Northern Greece producer Tsantalis, and the bottle with the slightly lower level. The cork, predictably, disintegrated but came out, albeit in bits and pieces. The wine, made from the Xynomavro (sour black) grape and possibly from the Goumenissa area where Tsantalis has holdings (no indication on the bottle), had a nicely aged deep brick-brown colour and a clean stewed fruit nose, typical of aged xynomavro; on the palate it lacked fruit and freshness but was clean, dry but fading, near the end of its life but still there and drinking just fine, an interesting, rare if unremarkable 42 year old wine.

Our next choice was the 1966 Naoussa, a wine that should age well but whose cork was even more of a problem - part of it came off on the corkscrew but the balance went the other way and into the bottle. Still, we decanted and ran it through a sieve, admired its robust brick-red colour and... alas the wine was corked, badly, and undrinkable. From the same grape variety (Xynomavro) as the previous wine, it looked to be quite rich, with more colour but stank!

The Chateau Clauss at 45 years old turned out to be remarkable, and how. Whilst the cork was a pain in the neck, disintegrating and forcing us to decant, the colour was fairly deep, reluctantly revealing its age with a deep, vibrant centre. The nose was spice and cooked fruit, still lively, even a bit complex with some length - who knew Greek wine could age so well? I think that the grape varieties involved are Mavrodaphne with a touch of Cabernet Sauvignon, which makes sense but I cannot be certain. I CAN be certain that this is a seriously good wine which at its best would have been absolutely stunning. Indeed I have a vague recollection of drinking this wine with my friend around twenty five years ago and that it was well-balanced, with rich spicy red fruits on the palate and a reasonably long finish, a rarity for that time. Alas this wine is no longer made, which is a pity despite the fact that its Chateau name was misleading and altered at some point; Achaia Clauss also is a shadow of its former self, a once dominant wine company that has been unable to keep up with the times.

This tasting proves that wine can have an exceptionally long life if it is stored correctly, away from sunlight and variations in temperature. This applies to most decent quality wine with a proper cork, though only good wine gains from ageing - simple, everyday wine is not worth ageing much as it just becomes old simple, everyday wine, so is largely not worth the bother. So create your sensible cellar, stock it with care and love, sit back and await the enjoyment to come.

So you see, human beings are funny - or at least I'm peculiar - for the discovery and tasting of these little gems and the time spent with a good friend just chatting, drinking, munching gave me pleasure and strength. The alcohol, dear reader, was not the warming factor here; rather, human contact, intellectual stimulation and curiosity, strengthened with affection for everything vinous, were the factors that warmed me up, distracted and entertained me, helping me recover some of my equilibrium. I'm still sad, no doubt, but some of the cloud has been lifted, with a little bit more thankfully lifting all the time.

DJP - A lifetime gone.

DJP and I met at school at the age of 9, when we were both shunted into the advanced English group - about eight out of 150 boys. Though we were all Greeks, we all had English as at least an equal first language, and some of us had actually been born and had grown up outside Greece. He was a boarder, as his parents lived in the UK, so we didn't socialise much outside school, but we became closer through our mutual love of football. In fact at one time we were so close we called each other brother!

In those days he cut a slightly odd figure for a good footballer, as he was chubby and not otherwise particularly athletic, but his ball-controlling skills, determination and an unerring eye for scoring goals made him an indispensable part of the class team, where I was a defender and usually at centre-back. He loved football, something that never diminished throughout his life, and adored Manchester United, so much so that he made me into a ManU fan even though I knew little of English football at the time; I remain in ManU's corner to this day, though perhaps fan is too vivid a description for an indifferent old curmudgeon like me!

We both left Athens College at the same time after our Freshman year, he to finish school in England, I to a mixed school nearby; inevitably, we lost touch for a while. In the late 1970s I met a cousin of his (T.F) while helping at fresher induction at Deree College, got his address and wrote to him, thus reconnecting. He wrote back telling me that he had started working in the family business - shipping - that 'business was in his blood' and that he'd be delighted to see me if I found my way to London. I did, we met up again and our friendship took off once more, to become even closer when I moved to London in 1979.

As an adult DJP lost his puppy fat and became a lithe, good-looking man who liked nothing better than playing football on a Saturday in Regents Park with the Greek community team. Their games were energetic, aggressive, rowdy and very physical - too physical for my short fuse on the couple of times I was invited to take part - so I decided this was not for me, but he remained in the thick of it for many years. Despite being quite a smoker he retained an athleticism and energy that many younger men would have envied.

I was at his wedding in the early 1980s, and the glittering reception that followed; my memory of it all is through a haze of alcohol, as I found it all a bit intimidating and relied on VnT and champagne to see me through. I do recall the happiness, though, with him wearing a big smile throughout. My hangover the day after may have been just reward for my drinking efforts, which continued when a group of us went on to Tramp, then London's most fashionable nightspot, but it didn't dampen the memory of a special evening.

We subsequently met up, first regularly then occasionally as our lives somewhat diverged - I remember visiting them in their first home, a flat in Maida Vale's Clive Court, to watch football on the TV and have a bite to eat - for evenings out (or in), to talk business (or rubbish) and just to be friends. My memory is full of images of DJP - the child I first met, the young boy, the young man, the usually smiling adult - I always considered him my friend despite not getting together very often. And I can never as long as I live forget DJP sobbing down the telephone when he called to tell me that our friend, former classmate and fellow 'advanced' boy CMP had been assassinated by the disgusting 17th November terrorists; he was totally heartbroken, so deeply sad.

Now he too is gone, taken swiftly and unexpectedly, filling the rest of us with sadness. His funeral was held in London and today there was a memorial service in Kefalari, a suburb north of Athens. The weather was, fittingly, snowy and cold but not bleak, the mood in the church was sombre. His daughter spoke movingly about how wonderful a father he had been and, though this was something I had never considered before, it was somehow good to hear, lifting for me the sadness of the occasion somewhat. Loss is never easy and this one is hard to take, especially for his family, but for his friends as well - our memories joint memories become mine alone, no longer to be shared.

Remember the time right after the first year at Athens College when we met up by chance in Chios at Ormos Lo? We were little ten year old boys and you were holding your mother's hand...

Forecasting the weather, and other things

In the last few days there has been a frenzy of extreme weather warnings in Greece, coming from most weather people and organisations entrusted with keeping the general public informed. What struck me was the rising notes of panic, mentions of extreme phenomena and conditions almost too difficult to cope with - gripping stuff! Two storm fronts, one given a masculine name and one a feminine in these more equal times, but whose names managed to escape me, were going to lash out hither and thither bringing rain, high winds and, subsequently, snow, and chaos.

Well it did rain, sometimes heavily, as it often does this time of year. The wind blew a bit as well, sometimes joining in while it was still raining, something not exactly unusual. The sea was a bit rough, clouds scudded around, it was cold, to my mind just like it normally is in wintertime. What was so extreme about all this that required repeated warnings, notes of panic etc. etc.??? There was certainly little chaos, other than some under-prepared drivers getting stuck in snow.

It seems to me that we have so succumbed to the ridiculous illusion that we humans now control and understand everything in our world, so that we are outraged when things develop differently. How else to explain people being surprised and offended when January weather turns cold? How else to explain people expecting 'convenient' weather - not too cold, not too hot, not too wet, not too dry etc. etc. - all year round and overreacting when the nature does not oblige?

As you well know, dear loyal reader, I am rarely speechless, but behaviour as described does get me close to a silent state before I start to sob with despair. Can we truly be that stupid?

Another thing that we seem to have difficulty in grasping is that a forecast is, more often than not, at best an educated guess of what is to happen. The 'educated' part is to do with the use of sophisticated computer modelling and the intelligent input of required, useful parametres; this is not a definitive statement of what is to be - not as far as the weather is concerned, nor in the forecasting of any other future event. Reality may be far different but still forecasting can be useful because it helps us understand and anticipate what may be, making us aware of what MAY be and thus able to be better prepared to face things that will actually happen.

While forecasting is better than Madame Zsa-Zsa's crystal ball or astrology for helping to anticipate the future, it is not a firm guarantee of what WILL happen but an idea of what MAY happen; why we seem unable to fully grasp this is beyond me. The weather - and, indeed, the future - is, at least for now, not fully knowable. Perhaps the future will change this, but until then let's get on with it and stop complaining about things outside our, or anyone's, control.

New Year, New You?

2019 is nearly three days old, days are getting bigger and spring is around the corner - well, a corner somewhere along the way. For some reason, inspired by the New Year, many of us promise ourselves that we will do all sorts of things that will improve/transform our lives and/or those of others, creating the famous 'New Year's Resolutions'; these are usually made in haste and ignored soon thereafter.

How did you spend the days around the turn of the year, the ones that helped push you to make your resolutions? I was on a Greek island, Andros, which was eerily quiet as most of the permanent residents seize the opportunity to get away and head to the mainland - often the bright lights of Athens - for a bit of R & R. Most cafes, eating places and shops were closed, streets were empty, the weather was wintery and the whole experience was completely different to the 'normal' summer experience one is familiar with. To the locals the invading occasional residents appeared to be insane weirdos, heading to a place where nothing was happening, but for the invaders it represents a chance to get away from it all, to relax in the warmth of friendship with like-minded souls. But have we also made resolutions, most of which we are unlikely to keep?

I feel I speak for most when I say that we have vowed to eat less and more healthily, that we will look after ourselves and our health better, that we will be more productive/caring/human. Most resolutions revolve around these things, though you can add details like joining a gym, losing weight, fitting in to smaller size clothes, tor more about being good/honest/whatnot. Most, whatever their nature, will barely last to the end of January.

So are all New Year's Resolutions useless? Should we just never bother, as most will fall by the wayside? To my mind, no, we should bother, we should try to set ourselves goals irrespective of whether we subsequently fail. Perhaps the timing of the New Year places unnecessary strain on things, coming as it does towards the end of a festive season, a season of excess, at least in the modern tradition, making resolutions weaker and, perhaps forced. And, yes, in fact when we have overdone things in one way or another we are more willing to espouse a change, with the beginning of the New Year providing the excuse, a landmark, a starting point. We should not allow the fact that the starting point is somewhat frivolous to affect our pursuit of our, often very worthwhile, goals.

You guessed correctly, dear reader, that in saying these things aloud I am partly talking to myself, trying to convince myself of the wisdom of following a path of intelligent self-awareness and care, with regular exercise and irregular, limited indulgence. I am listening, but will I heed? Will you stick to your resolutions?

Let's compare notes soon. Will in a couple of months time be OK?