What are friends for?

You may well get VERY bored hearing me going on about my friends and friendship in general, in fact you may already pretty well catatonic. Truth be told, I believe friends and friendship
to be, quite simply, the most important things in life. They certainly are in my life, defining and guiding me, helping me to be the best I can be as a human being, but they also remind me that life is not only about taking. Giving features in any conversation about friendship, and sometimes we have to give more, others less, in order to be real friends, friends who care.

It may seem obvious but there is no friendship without caring, in fact no human relationship of whatever hue - if you connect with someone at any level you must care somewhat and in some way. Those of us who go through life removed from emotion - the hard ones, as perhaps they see themselves - in truth have few friends that aren't bought and paid for in one way or another, not necessarily directly financial.

Well I know what MY friends are for: their mission in life is to treat me to lots of lovely lunches, accompanied by gallons of superb wine! And one of these friends invited me to lunch the other day, to a restaurant with which he has a professional relationship as a wine merchant and which boasts a Michelin star. His reason for this kind gesture was to say thank you for my help in making his (and his wife's, of course...!) 25th wedding anniversary trip to Greece a great success. Well, it wasn't really necessary and he knows it, but he is generous and kind, not the sort of person you would want to disappoint by turning down his invitation. So I went along to Clapham old town, ready to suffer for my beliefs...

Make fun, you unbelievers, not sold on eating well; I worked hard for my pleasure as the chef chose the occasion to test his ideas for a new menu, a guinea pig role for which I am temperamentally suited and extremely willing. MY efforts were not in vain, though, as not only was the food spectacular to look at (the pics show this clearly...) but bursting with flavours cleverly interwoven, satisfying but not rich, complex but harmonious. My only gripe, a very slight one at that, was that there was little variation in the texture - I love a bit of crunch here and there - and that only really came into play in the desert, a truly spectacular tarte tatin which I forgot to photograph for you.

To show my true colours as a friend not only did I work my way through the food but forced myself to down agreeable quantities of wine as well, kicking off with a small glass of champagne. The first couple of courses, being fishy, were accompanied by an excellent 1er cru Chablis Forets from Moreau Naudet, complex and mouth filling but with the steely backbone of a 'traditional' Chablis. On this occasion a magnum would have been even better, if not for our health... The Barolo that accompanied our main course was from a modest estate that produces excellent wine in the current style, and our 2009 was no exception despite the difficulties of the vintage. Full but not massive, complex but not excessively so, this went down very well with our gamey main course and drank in a way that would have been inconceivable for old-style Barolo of a similar age. We had a half bottle of sweet wine with the tarte tatin, but I neglected to even note its name, though I remember it as pleasantly mouth-filling but not cloying.

Apparently all good things come to an end, and this lunch certainly did after a double espresso to keep us going for the rest of the day, alas not accompanied by lots of fine cognac - I know, I weep even as I write this - due to further obligations and a need to be able to navigate home successfully, which I duly managed. The warm, humid weather was not, in any case, conducive to significant spirit consumption  if physical effort (i.e any form of movement...) was called for!


Next time your friends tell you how much they care test their mettle: Force them to read this post and then ask them where and when they plan on taking you to lunch to show their appreciation for your true, magnificent friendship. That will sort them out, you'll see, as the good ones take you to their favourite place and order nice things; as this is according to their means even a home event is allowed if it is accompanied by decent wine, good conversation, conviviality and laughter, much laughter, priceless laughter.

I look forward to the day when I can, once again, offer my friends the same warmth and hospitality that they regularly extend to me. And you, dear reader, if you have friends look after them, however you can, as life is a strange old thing - they may not be there tomorrow.

P.S. : I'm finishing this at the home of friends where I've been staying for the weekend, and where good food, great company, laughter and mutual feelings of affection and respect are in evidence.

And their dogs are pretty wonderful too!

A funny thing happened...

You won't believe this, but today it started raining sometime in the afternoon and it's still raining, even though it's nearly midnight. Raining... in London, I ask you... you couldn't make it up!

Now before you start calling the men in the white coats to take me away and lock me in a padded room somewhere, you must understand that this summer has been unusually hot and dry so far, with minimal rainfall. We have simply, therefore, become unaccustomed to its wet embrace and general dampening demeanour. I have not had to use - or even carry - an umbrella for ages. I vaguely remember some spots of rain a couple of weeks ago, but it was hardly significant; we may be seeing the effects of global warming or, considering the one summer previous to this one that was as hot was 1976, we may just be having a hot summer with little rainfall.

Having impressed you with my wonderful photographs of this green and pleasant land over the last couple of posts I must now explain that, in order to be green, this pleasant land must be watered, i.e. rained upon, at regular intervals so that nature can have its fill; there is no other way. But despite

most non-British people thinking that it does nothing but rain here, except when it's pea-soup foggy, this clearly isn't the case. In some years the lack of adequate rainfall is so pronounced that water consumption restrictions are introduced (the famous hosepipe bans) to stop people from consuming the scarce resource outsiders think of as inexhaustible.
Now let me also explain that rain is

a serious pain in the neck as far as I'm concerned because : (a) I hate umbrellas, (b) I don't much care for raincoats and (c) I hate having my movements restricted by the weather and/or getting soaked. Yet the loveliness of Nature at its verdant best is worth at least some of the inconvenience to my esteemed personage, and the site of a small fawn munching away within (yep, it's in one of the photographs) was just spellbinding.

Forgive my playful, humorous style on a subject (rainfall) that can be very important to sectors of the population, especially farmers who rely on the weather to rain or not to rain at certain times - often their livelihood depends on it. But I am not a farmer, just a silly inhabitant of the metropolis that is London and my interests on the subject are trivial, at least to others. Still, the rain has gone again for now, umbrellas have been put away again and my tan, such as it is and gained by walking around London with the sun shining, is developing apace albeit in the style known as lorry driver's tan. The clouds appear and disappear, even threaten a little bit, but in the end do nothing untoward.

Rain in London, ha-ha, you're 'avin' a laugh... It's a rarity, mate!

Summertime, an' the livin' is easy...

The song is pretty clear on that point, isn't it? And while it's a delightful song and a lovely sentiment it doesn't seem so accurate from where I'm standing; I'm still without full-time paid employment and dependent on the charity of friends and family for my day-to-day existence. On the other hand the weather, even here in London, is pretty glorious and nature is in full bloom all around us, making life more pleasant.

This particular post will major on the beauty that surrounds us every day, whether in town or in the countryside, and on the fact that we should not let atrocities, unpleasantness and hate blind us to this.
The mayor of London Sadiq Khan (no, I did not support his candidacy, but am so far pleasantly surprised by his dignity and authority, as well as by his refusal to bow to populist tactics) has been clear that London remains open and welcoming to all. And he means all, despite attempts by weird, inadequate individuals trying to instill hate and prejudice; the mantra of hate, whatever part of the spectrum it manifests itself is both alien to and unwelcome in London. Tolerance rules and life continues, struggling in the shadow of the Grenfell Tower tragedy for sure with all the loss and sorrow that entails. Yet the summer weather makes every day seem precious, alive, even more enjoyable, even in the shadow of death.

The other day I was lucky enough to spend a few hours by the river Thames in an amazingly relaxed and beautiful setting, more like a country village than London, peaceful and calm, a million miles from hectic city life. Admittedly this peaceful oasis is in a rather expensive part of town, but there are other similar places to be found in less exalted areas; they are one of the reasons that London, despite being one of the world's mega-cities, is known as a collection of villages with intense local colour and feel.

Don't think that London alone carries the banner of beauty this summer, though obviously it is the most inclusive of all the places shown in my photographs. Let us share this beauty and ignore the hatred and bigotry all around us. Let us enjoy the beauty to soften the pain of tragedy and to build hope and dreams for a better future.

Part of what I adore about the summer in Britain is that everything is green and bountiful. In the part of the world where (Greece, if you must know) I was born summer is brutal and nature ends up parched and needy under unforgiving sunny skies, something I also love if I can have access to the cooling Aegean sea. But the smells and the feeling is  so different, though glorious. No wonder I was born on the cusp of Taurus and Gemini, schizophrenic but forceful, with strong opinions.

The other thing I adore is the eccentricity, perhaps even more visible in the summering the form of strange blazers, funny hats and VERY individual dresses, formal or otherwise. It is this individuality that sets London (and Britain) apart from the rest of the world in a good sense (unlike Brexit), that spurs on creativity, that makes this place the intellectual powder keg that it is, punching above its weight.

This is my dedication to my adopted home city, my adopted homeland, the beautiful, eccentric, bountiful, creative, individual Britain. Thank you for the affection, the beauty, the inspiration, the friendship! Enjoy the photographs as much as I enjoyed taking them and being part of the magic of a rare hot British summer.

Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside!

Well, of all the funny things to do the other day, I went for a stroll along the beach in the Chichester area, Wittering to be precise. And, apart from the fact that I managed to see a bit too much sun (!!! I know, in England!) and didn't get to have a dip in the sea, I enjoyed myself immensely. Life can be so surprising sometimes.

My lovely friends Chris and Barbara (they sort of feature in one of the photographs) invited me for a weekend at their cottage in Bosham, near Chichester, in Sussex and I was quick to accept, as the weather had been hot for days and I thought it would be nice to get out of London and feel the cooling sea breeze on my face. And so it proved, with the Sussex countryside in full, glorious bloom, lots of sunshine, laughter and relaxation. And food and drink, of course - you know me too well!

The Goodwood Estate just up the road was hosting one of its massive annual events, I think the Festival of Speed, so the whole area was due to be overrun by people and cars, making some destinations (especially nice country pubs!) perhaps difficult to get in to, or to at least enjoy properly. Certain road in the area were also due to be massively busy, especially those giving access to the event. Our solution: avoid Goodwood and environs completely,including all adjoining roads, and stick to our immediate area; this turned out to be an excellent plan.

On Friday evening, after an easy drive down in C + B's car, we opened up the cottage and got it ready to house us over the next couple of nights, then ambled down by Bosham harbour to a lovely brasserie for a bite to eat. The gorgeous flowery lanes just made the walk even more special, the light evening adding to the allure of what it, anyway, a pretty setting; the food and wine at our destination just helped to make it perfect as, through a minor mistake between service and kitchen, we ended up with an extra portion of tasty fish and chips to devour. The mushy peas that accompanied the fish were certainly the best I've tasted in along time. And despite the fact that we were walking back we were very sensible with our drinking - enough for pleasure and no more.

My hosts are prodigious walkers and were contemplating a Saturday spent up hill and down dale, but thankfully they came to their senses: after a restrained breakfast we headed down to East Wittering and spent the morning and early afternoon walking along the beach to West Wittering and back, admiring (surely not the right word...) the various seafront residences, ranging from tumbledown - literally - shack to mock-Tudor mansion, with everything in between. In all we found one house we all thought was interesting and looked as if you could perhaps live in it for more than a weekend here and there and a month in the summer. Some houses were decrepit or had an air of abandonment, others were well maintained and/or busy with people enjoying the weather and a meal. The beach itself is long and unremarkable apart from the distant views and, on the day, was quite busy with people (even in the water), especially as we approached West Wittering with its organised cafe and water sports area.

The cafe is nothing to write home about, but still of a much higher level to many other similar establishments of the not too distant past (remember the Fawlty Towers styleof catering establishment?), with cheerful young serving staff and a nice if plain interior. My cappuccino, from a fully automatic machine, was drinkable, but only just, as was my friends' tea, though their cake looked pretty good (no, I was not jealous!), and I was grateful for the shade indoors. Most people were sitting outside in the sun baking but I demurred as, having being lulled into a sense of false security due to the cloud cover earlier, I had left my hat in the car and was feeling hot and bothered, despite my Mediterranean roots.

The walk back along the beach with the tide well out was more pleasant, with a light breeze and easier walking on the moist hard-packed sand, but I was still pleased to be back in East Wittering where the lovely fishmonger was offering local crabs at an excellent price, thereby solving our lunch issues together with the neighbouring greengrocer. The resulting crab salad sandwiches were not only excellent but light, thus leaving room for the main event - a pub supper - that evening. A mutual friend decided to join us a bit later and we spent the early evening playing croquet good-naturedly but with mixed success, at least for me. Well, when I say mixed success I mean complete disaster, completely ruining my team-mate's chances but increasing everyone's appetite; laughter does that for you!

Our destination for dinner was not a million miles away by car and is apparently renowned in the area for its fresh local fish selection, especially the fish and chips. I know that fried food is not great for one's health nor for an already enlarged physique such as mine, but I could not resist trying the fish and chips in order to compare with that of the previous evening (excuses, excuses...!), especially as they seemed to be selling countless portions. We did try counting, as we were seated next to the serving hatch, but so many were going out and the live singing was - unsuccessfully for me - warbling and distracting away, so countless they shall remain. The food was good but possibly not exceptional, and not unreasonably priced. The service on a teeming Saturday evening, with the sun shining and the singer wailing away, was justifiably a little slow but charming. And the view of the water was just lovely, a great background picture for a super evening, low on alcohol (for the driver, anyway) but high on good spirits and simple enjoyment. Life rarely gets better than this as far as I'm concerned, and I think that my photographs, clumsy as they are, somewhat support my assertion.

 All good things must come to an end according to a well-known expression, and my stint at the seaside had to end too after another quiet evening and a good night's sleep at my friends' cottage. Sunday morning saw us breakfasting, then getting ready to lock up and leave to go back to C & B's home near Guildford, a short, easy drive on that Sunday morning, then for me a train ride back to the Big Smoke, London to you and me, clutching my little suitcase. And taking with me the warmth of the sun, and of true friendship.

Exercise - a Panacea within our reach? (introduction)

The other day I went to a talk by a physiotherapist, ostensibly concerning lower back pain but in reality largely covering the perils of inactivity and how it affects our body in general and our lower back in particular. It is amazing to hear what can go wrong from simply failing to move regularly, and how serious some of the consequences can be, especially when the speaker is not trying to sell you anything.

Our life has become more and more sedentary, with technology often anchoring us to a workspace for most of the day so that we barely move other than to satisfy our basic needs; we often also work out the easiest way of doing that, so as to require minimum physical exertion. When this is allied to our increasing use of labour-saving devices in every aspect of our everyday lives you can see we are very much 'homo inactivus'.

There is another factor, however, complicating this seemingly simple equation: It is, I believe, a fact that more of us are exercising today than ever before, yet there are also more of us suffering either from obesity or from lifestyle-dependent diseases like type 2 diabetes. Our speaker, a young, slim man, made it abundantly clear that structured exercise - such as in a gym - is only part of the answer, that we should tweak our day to day existence to move more and so improve our health. Most of the things we need to do are simple, straightforward and surprisingly effective.

Exercise in all its forms, structured or unstructured, should be about improving our quality of life by boosting our fitness, and so our health. The path we choose - and hence the results - is down to us, our willpower and what we want to achieve; it does not have to involve anything extreme, nor hardship, and we must understand accept that results come in time and in small measures.

As we are constantly urged to be more active, we are also tempted to consume more and more that is fattening, unhealthy or unnatural. Despite the popularity of cooking shows on television and the plentiful availability of good raw materials, many of us regard cooking fresh food as a bit of a waste of time, unproductive, and prefer ready, easy solutions. This has obvious, disastrous results not only for physical health (due to the poor quality or nutritional value of what we consume) but also to our psychological state as eating and relaxing as part of a group (family/peers/friends), that most civilising and civilised activity, is lost to solitary eating in front of the computer.

Yes, we live longer than ever before. It is my belief that we should be looking to improve the quality of this at the same time. Please allow me to return to this subject shortly in order to discuss it in more detail.

London : The Pain and the Glory

My love affair with London is long-standing and passionate, far stronger than any relationship I've had with the opposite sex, much as I've adored women throughout my life. It has survived highs and lows, both personal and general; it has recently been sorely tested again by events rocking the capital one way or the other. Terrorists have tried - and failed miserably - to spread alarm and unhappiness to the populace of our great city, cowardly killing and maiming in the name, ostensibly, of some religious belief. Now a massive fire has devastated a tower block, killing many (we are not sure of the number yet) and traumatising all of Britain, such was the severity of the blaze. London under attack from the gods, man or both?

Yet these events have had the opposite effect on Londoners than people would have predicted. Yes, there is fury that terrorists can strike in the city we love, maiming and killing. Yes, there is anger that a simple fire can consume a building in such a short period of time, making escape for residents next to impossible. Londoners of course want answers, and their city to be safer.

But we have not succumbed to despair and negativity. Even the politicians, lowest of the low in many peoples' books - have refrained from making much political capital out of the tragedies. And it is ordinary Londoners who have shown the true glory of this city, one which disregards all distinctions, rushing in to help in any way possible. Heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time, the latest tragedies bring London together and make all Londoners sadder yet prouder, more determined to improve their city and, hopefully, eliminate tragedies in the future.

To talk of the heroism of the emergency services is to say things that have been said many times before, but these must be repeated time and again so these amazing people receive the recognition and protection that they deserve. They have shown that they are always there in our hour of need and it is society's duty to cherish and reward them adequately so that they can continue to do so. I have always been in awe of the selflessness of the emergency services and feel that now is the time to draw a line on financial cutbacks where they are concerned. London's finest must not have their life made any harder.

It is very difficult, almost impossible actually, to restrict the movement of potential criminals with terrorist intentions in a truly free country, and this freedom is cherished nowhere more so than in London. We know of the problem posed by these rogues (who pretend to be ideologues) but continue to go about our daily business as usual, wary but unfazed and fully cognisant of the risks of our open, accepting society. This is our city, our freedom, not to be diminished or compromised by any Tom, Dick or Harry.

That we love London does not mean that we think it's perfect; the tragedy of the Grenfell Tower fire is indeed proof that it is not. All of us must work to put things right so things like that cannot happen again, nor other horrible things. Let us pressure government, local and central and of whatever colour. Let us try and make our city as close to perfect as possible for all Londoners, so others can fall in love with it also. Much as I did over all those years

ago.

London is beautiful and welcoming but can have an ugly and brutal side - it is, after all a mega-city, home to disparate millions. It also has a big heart, though, a very big heart that events, throughout history, have been unable to crush. And while I cannot vouch for Londoners of the distant past, most of the people I have met over the many years of living here have been decent, caring and considerate, ready to help those in need.

The world will have seen this too after the latest tragedies, as we have had to cope with events in the full glare of the media. I hope that they will understand that we feel the pain, deep inside, because we love our city and those we share it with. I hope that they have also noticed the pride in the community, in humanity, in our city.

Is it any wonder that the most successful beer brewed in London is called London Pride? Or that it is one of my all-time favourites?

St. Peter's donkey

I am not certain if Saint Peter had a donkey and, if so, what kind it was; my knowledge of donkeys is limited, my interest in them also. It pains me very little to admit that my knowledge of Saint Peter - or any other saint for that matter - is pretty sketchy too but, in any case, the donkey I am referring to is not alive, at least not in any hee-hawing sense, though it has plenty of life in it... It is, in many ways, a Funky Donkey.

This Funky Donkey resides on Andros, one of the largest islands of the Cyclades, that group of islands in the Aegean Sea famous for being arid and full of little white houses glittering in the sun. Traditionally Andros has neither, but is water rich, verdant and with a neoclassical architectural heritage (now being eroded by said white constructions), so does not feature in the typical cycladic postcard. This is a wealthy island, mainly from shipping and trading, with its own significant production of fruit and veg, a livestock industry and even its own bottled mineral water - so it is an unlikely tourist hotspot. But it is blessed with some stunning scenery, including excellent beaches, one of which is called St. Peter's Beach.

Did St. Peter himself ever visit Andros and spend time on her beaches? Did he prance around in his bathing costume, sunning himself while preaching to people he hoped to convert? I fancy not, but it is irrelevant anyway, as the name exists and persists, derived it seems from a ruined edifice called St. Peter's Tower, which is on the hill behind the beach; I am informed that this was probably a signal beacon tower built in the 3rd or 4th century BC, part of an elaborate inter-island warning system. Why that, or the nearby village,  acquired the name of the saint who ended up in Rome I don't know, and in the immortal words of Rhett Butler 'Frankly my dear, I don't give a ----' (you can insert your own variation, should you wish, the original is damn...).

Our Funky Donkey then is a beach bar, one of three along the length of St. Peter's beach, and the last on your right hand side as you leave Gavrion, the main port of the island, to head to Chora and most everywhere else on the island. All three enjoy access to the same clear (most of the time, anyway) waters and offer seemingly similar services, including beach umbrellas, sun loungers and a bar providing refreshments and snacks. A quick look may leave you wondering why I choose to write about one of the three, as they all appear to be similar... bear with me!

The difference, as with most things in life, is in the detail, something you will notice should you be fortunate enough to spend leisure time on the island and try these places. The proprietor of the Donkey, Stelios Mamais, is keen that his customers enjoy the best possible service for their money, so has excellent quality sun loungers (sturdy and comfortable), better than anything else on the island, or most islands for that matter. These not only give the customers pleasure, but provide him with years and years of loyal service, so were well worth the investment. An investment that was a leap of faith on his part as, until this year when he was granted a 3-year deal, his concession had always been on a year by year basis making all investment a risk. Stelios himself - and why are they all called Stelios?? - is a quiet man, hiding behind the bar and overseeing all activity.

A couple of years ago I was able to take an extended break on Andros, staying in a small holiday apartment belonging to a friend, and took full advantage of the facilities provided by said Funky Donkey, including ice-cold beer and light snacks. I reserved my greatest appreciation for the complimentary bottle of water they included with the umbrella/sun lounger rental, a nice touch and so necessary during hot Greek summer days, but especially for their kindness and hospitality, which was not proportional to the size of the bill you ran up.

This isn't some slick corporate setup, with marketing budgets and an impersonal feel, nor is it a luxurious establishment of the kind found on the island of Mykonos, full of bells and whistles. Nobody splashes champagne about, it isn't a showy kind of place. Rather, this is a local small business, run by local people and contributing directly to the local economy. It's imperfect, quirky, put together by the owners and not a design team; it offers decent service, value for money and is struggles to make a living. But it deserves to do well, as Stelios stubbornly continues to improve his little domaine; with security of tenure for three years he should be able to do much more than before, as he's always looking for new ideas and ways to improve.

If your idea of a good holiday is clubbing all night and sleeping all day, then Andros is not for you and the Funky Donkey will leave you cold. In fact, most of the Greek islands don't cater for you, though there are one or two that do, heaven help them. Andros is about the simple beauty of the place, which can be seen both on foot/bus and by car/motorbike, the good beaches (organised like our funky friend, or remote and bare where you need to carry your own refreshments and shade) with the clear, cool waters and some excellent if simple food in traditional restaurants all over. You will not be bumping into the jet set here - there is, after all, no airport on the island - and most of the glamorous stuff happens in the big houses of Chora belonging to the shipping families, tucked away on the other side of the island. The rest is simple and largely welcoming, easy to get to from Athens airport (a short boat ride away) and with something to offer for most of the year.

The Funky Donkey lives during the summer, however, appearing every year around the end of May and disappearing almost without trace before the end of September, as the summer slowly winds down and its disciples return to whence they came, making its presence unnecessary. It's a good little Donkey, really, though I'll leave the funkiness rating up to you; as no bolt of lightning has destroyed it so far I can only assume St. Peter approves its presence on his beach too, maybe almost as much as I do.