The Spice of Life

Lately we've really had some amazing changes in the weather. Today, Monday February 25th, it's been around 18-19ºC and we've been up to town to do a bit of shopping. We had coffee in one of the chic new cafe bars near the new marina and stared out in bright sunlight at a choppy sea.

Just a couple of days ago, however, it was a different story. Perhaps I should say a "couple of nights" ago, since at around 1.30am on Saturday morning, we experienced the hailstorm to end all hailstorms. During the Friday evening there had been quite a few big thunder crashes, following a few flashes of fork lightning, all par for the course during a Rhodean winter. But as the evening wore on the thunder abated and so did the rain which we'd had during the early evening. All gone  ...or so we thought.

As I mentioned above, it was around 1.30am and I was lying in bed listening to music on my iPod. It was another of those nights when I wasn't sleeping too good, so a bit of Jethro Tull was easing me through the small hours. My wife was sound asleep until she was woken up by the hail. It had started coming down so heavily that I couldn't hear the music on the earphones properly!! So we both got up and took a look on the terrace outside the front door...

The above was taken after my dearly beloved had decided to try sweeping it up. I suggested that it perhaps ought to wait until morning and so she gave it up as a bad job. It's strange because, the thermometer was showing around 11ºC, yet here was all this hail pelting down on every surface and making more noise than a football crowd when their team has just scored. So much hail fell here in Kiotari in the space of probably only about 20 minutes, that the following morning, which dawned clear and bright, I was nevertheless able to take this...

In seven and a half years of living here we'd never seen anything like it. It looked as though we'd had snow. And, here, we got off lightly. Despite the intensity of the falling hail, it was all small stuff. Paying a visit to our friend Gilma down near Plimmiri, he told us that mixed in amongst the small stuff down there were some hailstones as big as tennis balls. It was hard to believe that he wasn't exaggerating, until he pointed us toward a nearby huge prickly pear plant, which bore the battle scars of the rock-hard chunks of ice that had bombarded it...

Gilma told us that he couldn't recall such a storm, and he's in his seventies. 

•

During the afternoon of Friday 22nd, we'd gone for a walk down to the beach because the sea was really up and I wanted to snap a few photos. If you've ever lazed on Kiotari beach during the height of the season, taking the occasional dip in the flat-calm crystal clear water of the Mediterranean Sea, you may just about recognize the place in these...

Yup, somewhere along there is Gennadi village, about 3k away

This is across the road from the La Strada taverna

S'a bit like a view of the Scottish coast, yea?

They say that variety is the spice if life. Well, the weather lately has certainly proven the point to us. Just yesterday we ate lunch out under the parasol in 19ºC and bright sunlight. I even partook of a cold beer!

•

Finally, walking to Gennadi a couple of weeks back, we walked past this...

Sadly, it's a not altogether uncommon sight on a Greek island. Tell you what though, it certainly makes you think about whether it's a good idea to send or read a text message, or even answer your mobile phone while driving. It just might turn your whole world upsidedown.

A Cock and Ball Story...

I wouldn't say that I'm the world's greatest expert at handling full-grown cockerels. The last time I had any close contact with such feathered creatures was probably about fifty years ago, when, as a schoolboy, I used to help out on Billy Ashley's farm, down the Carlingcot lane in Tunley, the village where I spent nine years of my childhood primarily in the 1950's and early 60's.

To be frank here, I haven't been on the same side of a fence as a cock for as long as I can remember. Thus I was a little unprepared for what was to befall me this Monday afternoon. If you were bored enough to have read the entire saga in the post "Water and a Wild Goose Chase" then you'll be familiar with the ballcock incident. I'm particularly pleased with myself for having ordered two new balls for the ballcock in our "Spitaki's" tank since, not a week after installing one of them, the water was overflowing again and - having replaced the new one I'd fitted with the spare - I shook the one which I'd just taken out and heard the tell-tale sound of water swishing about inside it. Hey ho.

So, this afternoon as I was going to be passing Despoina's DIY store, which has a large gravelled parking area out front, into which one turns to get off the main road when visiting the store, I decided to take the faulty ball back and ask her to order me yet another new one. When you turn off of the road and enter the parking area for Despoina's store, you are confronted with rolls of wire fencing, rolls of that green material which we all have the habit of using as a windbreak to protect our veggie patches and fruit trees, lengths of plastic tubing, several wheelbarrows, PVC fluid storage tanks and all kinds of other stuff which the local Greek needs in a rural area of an Island such as Rhodes. All this stuff forms a kind of channel leading you up the ramp and into the entrance.

What you don't always bargain for is a rogue hen and cock. The store is a free-standing building and, as you face it from the road, to its left is a recently installed wire fenced pen around a tree, into which have been installed a clutch of hens and a cockerel. I haven't actually asked Despoina, but I get the impression that she's not particularly impressed with this arrangement. Probably it's a favour for a friend of family member, since I get the feeling that Despoina would rather the feathered incumbents weren't there, truth be told. Why is this you ask?

Well, when I drew up just level with the store's fairly wide front entrance and leapt from the car, black plastic ball in hand, in readiness for me to shake it dramatically near Despoina's ear in order to show her why I needed another replacement, I was confronted with the sight of the amply sized lady in question brandishing a broom and shouting "EXO!! EXO!!" at a pretty large hen and a cockerel, both of which displayed a distinct reluctance to comply with her command to "get out" by leaving the premises.

Quick as a flash, the chivalry in me took control and I headed off around the back of one of the displays in the store, so that I could come at the cock from inside, thus forcing it to flee in the direction of the front entrance. 

Hold that scene just for a moment. Now, we ought to have have suspected that the hens and their male protector were adept at escaping their wiry abode because a couple of weeks ago I'd been buying some small DIY need or other in the self-same store, whilst my wife sat in the car listening to Radio Arhangelos, when, having returned to the car, turned down the stereo (follow me there, guys? Huh?) and begun to drive away, she told me that she'd just witnessed a canine kidnapping. 

"You'll never guess what I've just seen," she said. "A stray dog just wandered in from the road and disappeared round the side of the store. Not thirty seconds later he skulked back, passing within a couple of feet of the car, with a chicken firmly gripped between his jaws. He trotted off out of the compound and off along the road as bold as brass!" Apparently, no amount of clucking (well, can a chicken still cluck with its neck held vicelike in a dog's jaws?) and flapping of its wings could gain its release. She was a little distressed over this. My wife, that is, not the chicken. I mean that's pretty obvious because I'd say the chicken was much more seriously distressed. Mind you, all's well that probably ended well, at least for the bird if not the dog since, not ten minutes later we passed the same dog trotting back toward the store chickenless. There's no way it could have killed and eaten a live chicken in that amount of time so we surmised that she'd made good her escape (the chicken, of course) and the dog was going back to try his or her luck again.

So, armed with the knowledge of this recent experience, we ought not to have been surprised to pull up outside Despoina's store entance and see her jabbing at a couple of fowl with a broom handle.

Returning to my confrontation with the cock, which loomed alarmingly large when I came to within a couple of feet of the beast, I didn't give it a second thought but to threaten it with all the menace I could muster, including a loud "Exo!!" of my own and a few vigorous waves of my arms, fully expecting it to do a "roadrunner" and zip out of the store before you could say "foghorn leghorn". But it did just the opposite. It damn well took a step or two toward me with its comb all erect and made as if to lunge!! I had no idea that a cockerel would be so plucky, if you'll excuse the pun. Flippin' cheek. But the fact was, I was now in serious danger of losing my cred with this lady in distress, store owner Despoina, who was standing aside in full expectation of seeing me drive the offending bird right past her and out of the store. The bird's beak was noticeably level with my family allowance too, thus causing me to break into a cold sweat at what could possibly transpire imminently if I didn't handle the situation properly.

Well, don't ask me how I did it, but a couple more rather ginger gestures later and the cock evidently thought better of a showdown and strode defiantly out of the store at his own pace (just to make it known that he was exercising his own choice in the matter), while I followed at a safe distance trying to show Despoina that I was quite the expert in cock-driving. I think I got away with it.

Well, I wouldn't have liked Despoina to think I was chicken, now would I?

Power Shower

A quick pic of a sharp shower out on the bay a couple of days ago...

No twisters as yet this winter. Just as well really, since one came ashore and totally destroyed a taverna, ripped the roof off a house and beheaded a poor unfortunate cow last winter.

Good joke someone told me today. A customer asks for a burger in a Tesco cafeteria. "What would you like on it?" asks the assistant, "Oh, I'll have a tenner each way," replies the customer.

Names and Natural Phenomena

In the piece "Weather or Not", which I posted on January 30th, there's a photo showing the castle taken during a recent walk up to Asklipio to collect our mail. On that particular day we decided to take a stroll around the village but only got as far as the Nikolas Taverna...

This photo of Nikos Traditional Taverna is courtesy of TripAdvisor

...where, sitting out front on the wooden terrace, we spotted the diminutive and ever smiling George, who owns the Pelekanos taverna [Pelican's Nest] on Kiotari beach, sitting with his uncle, whom we'd met previously at the Gre Cafe [mentioned in two posts, this one and this one] down near our place some weeks back. He and his wife had not long retired and moved back to Asklipio from Canada, where they'd lived and worked for a few decades.

The two men arose as one and displayed all the body language that suggested that they were expecting us to park ourselves at their table with them and so, naturally, we acquiesced, as you do. An animated discussion soon ensued in which George told us about a fishing expedition (it was this big, ...like yea) and why he'd decided not to open the taverna this winter. He'd tried it last year but with limited success and so it wasn't worth his while. This sparked further talk about how little extra cash locals have available these days and thus it also came around to us asking how the taverna got the name.

Well, we kind of knew that it was because his surname is Pelekanos, but that in itself had always puzzled us. It's a very common surname around these parts and yet doesn't sound particularly apt. I mean, the etymology of the name isn't obvious right off the bat now is it?

"Aha," said our friend, "it's an old Greek word and relates to the kind of work done by my ancestors. It's actually one of the oldest surnames on the island."

"So, what does it mean then?" we asked.

"Literally, Ax-man. My ancestors were tree-fellers. If you look up the word 'πελεκά' [peleka] it still means 'ax'."

"But," said Maria, "I thought someone who works with wood was called a "ξυλουργός [xylourgos]."

"Yes," said George, "but that means carpenter or joiner. An ax-man was a 'pelekanos'."

Of course, it all made sense then, because, recent fires aside, along with several hundreds of years of deforestation, the south of Rhodes is thankfully still blessed with huge pine forests, where the deer still find refuge, even today.

*

Changing the subject completely. yesterday I snapped a photo of an interesting phenomenon, which we often see during the winter months, where the sea assumes the appearance of two entirely different liquids for anything from a few hours to a few days. We've gazed at this on many occasions, but haven't really got an explanation as to why this happens. Take a look...

The sea nearer to shore has that wonderful turquoise colour that makes it appear as though the bottom is pure white sand, like on a tropical island. In fact there are a few locations down the east coast of this island (in Psaltos Bay for example) where this is the case all year round, but here in Kiotari the bottom is more the darker sand and rocks - yet here was this well-defined line right across the bay which demands one's attention.

Just wondering if there's an oceanologist (or anyone with an 'ology' for that matter) reading this who can explain it, perhaps?

Anyway, a little milk, no sugar, but a nice digestive biscuit with mine please...

Shooting Deer and Smashing Scenery

No animals were harmed in the making of this post. The deer were shot with a camera...

Tuesday February 5th at 3.00pm, just a few metres from the road near the Proton Store (Billy's) in Kiotari. There were seven deer in the herd, but one was behind the tree when I "shot" them.

Sunset on Monday February 4th.

A lot of people ask me about the dried-up river beds during the season. Here's one in wintertime folks.

Most olive groves look wonderful in winter, with the sunlight throwing shadowy stripes across a lush green carpet.

As above

The beach at northern Kiotari, across the road from where Dimitri runs his horse-riding business in summer. Cornwall or Kiotari?

Same spot. The beloved washes out a 500ml Amstel bottle she's just found. That's 14 cents back next time we're at AB (supermarket). We decided not to take a dip today!!

Weather or Not

I guess I've always been, as the old song goes, a "cock-eyed optimist", but I really am a "glass half full" type of person, as opposed to someone who bemoans the fact that it's half-empty.

So many of my fellow ex-pats living out here start a conversation with a moan about this winter's weather when, frankly, I just don't get it. I think the first and major factor must be the propensity which all British people have to talk about the weather before all else. This then requires that a conversation be started with a comment of some kind about the elements and I think it's a peculiarly British thing to not be seen as an optimist. It's like admitting to being naive or something, but it's maddening sometimes. 

I hope I'm not going to lose any friends over this, but here's a report about the Rhodean winter weather of 2012-2013 so far.

"I'm fed up with all this rain" some have said to me. What, WHAT? Been away from the UK for too long I reckon. As any reader of my ramblings over the years will know, plus if you're reading this having met me on one of my excursions, when I'm 'working' (I know, galling isn't it)... 

See, look, beavering away at the desk job... (or perhaps: "Now, where DID I put those trousers?")

...you'll know that I often describe a Rhodean winter as like a good British summer. Plus, my wife and I (this bit's sad I know, but...) have a habit of recording days upon which we get some kind of precipitation. In plain English - days when it rains. This, mark you, includes a day when it may only be a shower of half an hour or so, but a little "R" goes on the calendar nevertheless. So far dear reader, we still haven't lived through a calendar month after seven and a half years on Rhodes when it's rained on more than 9 days, yes, 9 days!

Granted, this current winter has seen more heavy periods of rain than for a number of years. Like, ...so? OK, yes, this week sees the first run of successively dry days (expected to last for 10 days or so) for a couple of months, granted. But, there hasn't been one single week so far since the winter began (which means from November 1st until now) when we haven't been able to sit outside to eat lunch or take coffee in warm sunshine at least a couple of times. I'd say that this winter so far is very like a British summer. Changeable, yes, but also well blessed with periods of sunshine between the rainy times. This piece of video below was shot two days ago, on Jan 28th, whilst sitting out front of the house. Note the pleasant silence too (the birds having gone to ground for the afternoon as they often do in the UK in the early afternoon) and there being almost no wind to speak of...

The night time temperatures this winter have also been much milder than for some years. Last winter went on record as containing the longest sustained spell of very cold nights for decades. This winter we've hardly used our log-burner. Quite often this past couple of weeks we've spent an entire evening without even thinking about lighting it as we haven't felt cold enough. Now, I'm not trying to rub anything in for you poor mortals still living in Northern climes, but we used heating from September through to May when we lived in the UK. Almost gets annoying when we think of how hard we worked (along with our kindly neighbours Taki and Naomi) to gather logs a few weeks ago.

This past couple of days we've done a lot of work in the garden and I've been sweating away in just a short-sleeved T-shirt. Fed up with all this rain? Not me folks, not me. Frankly, we need all the rain we can get, knowing that, come the summer we're not going to see a drop for months on end.

Average night time temperature this past couple of weeks: 7 - 12 Celsius
Average day time temperature this past couple of weeks: 15-22 Celsius

View of Asklipio Kastro as we walked up there to collect the mail a couple of weeks ago. Can you spot the buzzard?

Yup, the Chrysanths are in full bloom and it's late January

Used to keep this kind of plant in pots in the UK. Have had several of these in the garden for some years, but this is the first time they've flowered. Fab flowerheads aren't they? What are they called, anyone know?

A view south towards Gennadi from the fledgling orchard. Ships often anchor in the bay when the winds are the other side of the island, which is the prevailing direction. We enjoy finding out what they are here. You can zoom right into your area of coast and click on the vessel for loads of photos and interesting info.

Anyway, I have a piece of friendly advice for any other Brits living out here who think their glass is half empty.

Leave it outside. The rain'll eventually top it up for you!

Water and a Wild Goose Chase

Living out here by choice, we oughtn't to gripe. But there are occasions when we'd kill for a B&Q Depot. Or maybe, if you're Stateside, a Home Depot store.

The water supply to our house is a rather convoluted affair, since the land on which these houses are built is a little higher (above sea level) than the local water cistern that feeds them (along with all the other homes and businesses in the area). This has necessitated the installation of a holding tank on the top of the hill above the houses, to which water is pumped from what we call the "spitaki" [little house], which is a small block-built shed down the valley a little way, near the pig farm. The "spitaki" is several metres lower then the cistern, which is located a little higher and a few hundred metres away over a couple of gentle hills, hence it receives water by gravity. From there an electric pump sends it a further 600 metres up the hill into the holding tank that supplies these houses.

We hadn't had the system installed very long some years ago when the pump burnt out and had to be replaced with a new one. This was due to the fact that it was August, high summer. All the local hotel guests and apartment dwellers nearby were busily showering away, having come back from the beach or poolside, in readiness for their evening out, thus creating a situation where demand exceeded supply and the local cistern dried up. Our holding tank atop the hill above us has a float-switch in it, which is designed to activate the pump when our tank needs its supply replenished. The float-switch activates a relay that, in turn, switches on the pump.

So, after having to fork out for a new pump, the builder decided to install a "slave" tank in the "spitaki", inside which was a regular ball-cock, which is attached to another float switch. If the "slave" tank were to become empty, the float switch would turn off the pump's electricity supply, thus avoiding another burn-out. usually, our tank at the hilltop has ample capacity to keep us hygienic for a few days, by which time the local water supply would be up and running again and we wouldn't even have noticed that there'd been a temporary "drought".

Now, I'm sure you're totally riveted by all the foregoing, but it's essential if you're to get what the story's about, honest. For the first time in years, our neighbour at the top of the hill, whose water pressure isn't as good as ours owing to her house not having such a "head" (height of water tank above house) rang me the other day to tell me that she had no water. Alarm bells rang and I asked her to check with Mac, who lives between us, since he's better clued up on such things than I am. Before long Mac rang me to tell me the bad news. Our holding tank up on the hill-top was almost empty. Something had gone wrong with the system.

To cut a long story ever-so slightly shorter (but not much), after chasing around finding out where to buy a new float switch and electrical relay, we thought we'd sorted out the problem. That is, until we noticed a Niagara-like torrent flowing out from the "spitaki" all over the lane, thus creating a lovely miry patch just after we'd had the "grader" up here to sort out the problems (see the post "Scraping By") caused by the heavy rains we'd enjoyed of late.

OK, OK, I'm getting there, really I am. Call me stupid, but (now, now, I wasn't being literal, ...please!) but at first I thought, "How on earth can the pump be running in reverse? It doesn't make sense".

Then it struck me. It wasn't the pump running backwards at all. It was the ball-cock in the slave tank not shutting off the incoming supply. Quickly assuming my Quasimodo stance, which is needed in order to enter the "spitaki", which was built, I'm sure, well and truly with Hobbits in mind, I crawled in there and unscrewed the large plastic lid of the tank, all the time feeling my feet growing wetter and wetter with the torrent which was flowing out of the tank's overflow. Sure enough, the plastic ball on the brass arm of the valve was submerged. Turning off the water supply at the tap outside I re-entered the hobbit-house, this time with the trusty better half in tow to hold a torch so I could see whilst I undid the grub screw which held the ball in place. After almost giving up in desperation, owing to the corroded nature of the screw head, I finally got it to budge with a pair of grips and drew the ball up out of the tank in much the same way as a gynaecologist holds up the newborn baby. Resisting the urge to slap the ball, I cried "YES!" triumphantly and gave it a vigorous shake. The sound which emanated from it left us in no doubt that it had been taking in water for a while and thus was the reason why the valve wasn't shutting off the flow of water, hence the flood. It was probably at least half-full with water.

Yea, that's the exact model (courtesy of http://www.made-in-china.com/showroom/xh33399/product-detailwqbxnfvGHJWF/China-Ball-Cock-2.html)

OK, so far so good. All that we now needed to do at around 2.30pm was to whip along to Despoina's, the nearest DIY store, which is, as luck would have it, within five minutes by car from the "spitaki". After all, something as simple as a plastic float ball for a brass ball-cock shouldn't be difficult to find, should it?

Entering the store the young and, it had to be said - very pretty, daughter of the usual incumbent (who is Despoina herself) looked up from the laptop screen to which she was almost superglued and gave me a helpful smile.

"Oriste," she said. I held up my faulty ball (now now, no need for that) and shook it. The sound of the ocean swishing around inside told her all she needed to know. "Aha!" She cried and, finishing off whatever it was she'd been doing with the PC, she arose and trotted off into the bowels of the store, whilst I waited hopefully by her desk. Sorely tempted as I was to take a peek at the PC, because I was fully expecting to see Facebook (yes, it's big among Greeks too) plastered all over it, I resisted. From somewhere behind a couple of displays laden with tubes of adhesive and boxes of screws of all shapes and sizes I heard the occasional "Hmmm" and "phwww" accompanied by the sound of various cardboard boxes being moved around and riffled through. The longer I waited, the more the doubts crept in. My worst fears were eventually realized when she trotted back into view empty-handed, shaking her head into the bargain. I knew what she was going to say...

"Sorry, I was sure we had one [ONE!] but it's not there. I can order one for you, though."

"I was rather hoping to fit it today and get the job done, since it affects the water supply to our house." She adopted an expression which indicated a deep understanding of my position. I continued, "I think I'll carry on down to Gennadi and see if Pandeli has one."

"Sure. No problem," she replied, "If he doesn't, drop in on your way back and we'll order one anyway."

To be honest, I'm in the habit of going to Pandeli first, but in this instance, because it was a fairly urgent need and promised to be a modest outlay, I'd chosen the apparently quicker option. Never mind, Pandeli's it would be anyway.

As is usual when I go in to Pandeli's store, he gave me a huge bear hug and asked how things were. Then he asked after Maria, my wife, and I had to explain that she was, in fact, in the car, but wasn't going to come in because she hadn't dressed for the occasion and didn't have her face on (Venus, Mars? You with me here fellas?).  Once again holding up my plastic ball and watching as a miniature shower of droplets came out whilst I shook it, I asked if he had one.

"Of course!" he replied, to my palpable signs of relief. "Hold on, it'll be downstairs." Off he went down the stairs to his Aladdin's cave of a stockroom. Once again I listened to a succession of crashes and bangs, various items being thrust this way and that, the occasional thing dropping on the floor to the accompaniment of the odd Greek expletive. Then there was the sound of footsteps on the concrete steps and soon my friend again came into view triumphantly brandishing a black plastic globe (exactly like the one in the photo above), with the correct fitting containing the required grub screw confirming that it would indeed fit. Slightly larger than the old grey one, which I was continually turning around to try and find a position that didn't result in it dropping water all over the place, I stared at it and exclaimed, "Thavma'sio!"

Ah, yes, but. As is usually the case in such situations, things weren't as they seemed. Just as Pandeli was going around his desk to his electronic cash register, he noticed, as did I simultaneously, a hole in the side of the ball, looking very suspiciously like it had been gnawed by a rat or something. The hole was surrounded by scrape [teeth?] marks and was probably a quarter of an inch in diameter. Mind you, quite why a rat should want to gnaw away at a plastic ball was a mystery to me. But the fact was, there was a hole - thus rendering the ball useless for the purpose to which I wanted to put it. Of course, this being Greece, Pandeli grimaced when I asked if he could just nip down and get me another one. He couldn't. This was the last one he had in the store. Oh joy!

Spotting the look of almost suicidal disappointment upon my visage, he perked up and said, "No worries!! Hold on, I can fix this!!" and scurried off toward the other end of the store and was soon invisible among the racks of DIY products on offer. He was back before you could say "Apogoee'tevsi [disappointment]", carrying two small tins of epoxy resin mix. Deftly flipping off each lid he spooned the appropriate amount from each tin with a small screwdriver and was soon cheerfully mixing the grey paste on a handy piece of corrugated cardboard. Once he was satisfied with the mix, he bade me hold the ball tight while he applied the paste to the hole. As he spatula-ed the stuff over the hole I was doubtful as to whether this would work, as the mix kept dipping in the middle and the hole reappeared a few times. Finally, though, he looked up at me with an air of a professional craftsman who'd just completed another perfect job and said: "Give it half an hour and then shove it in."

My reservations must have been evident. I asked, "Will it really be 'gone off' enough to put it in water within half an hour?"

"All right then, an hour." He smiled, doubtless hoping that his confidence would rub off on me. I asked him, "How much?" and he replied, "Don't worry about it now. See if it holds first. If it does, you can come back and pay me then."

Back in the car and driving toward home, my wife holding the balls one in each hand, trying still to stop the older grey one dropping rust-coloured water over the car seat, she remarked on how the resin on the "new" one was slowly dropping into the hole. I suggested she hold it the other way up, so that it would swell outwards again, which she did. But this had us both thinking seriously that it would be a bad idea to fit this ball this afternoon. So she suggested we drive up to Kalathos, where there's a fairly new electrical store selling all things water and hydraulic, plus a "homebase" DIY store. Not yer real Homebase of course, just a rather huge shed with lots of dusty stock inside, but at least they had a large range of stuff. They'd be bound to have a ballcock ball, wouldn't they?

Fifteen kilometres later, my wife still tutting about the advancing and retreating epoxy resin, we pulled up outside the first of the two Kalathos stores. I took the old ball from her and sprinted across the road, ever conscious of the fact that the afternoon was running out and we needed to get this sorted a.s.a.p. The man behind the counter was already tutting before I'd advanced further than the store door. "We only do electrical stuff here, sir. That's mechanical." OK, so that left us with "Homebase" then, a few hundred metres further up the road. Once again I pulled up, received the old ball and ran inside.

Now, this store is huge and the modest number of staff are in the habit of keeping the lights in each section out unless they need to go there for anything. Very thrifty, but not altogether conducive to browsing around, since it's essentially a windowless tin shed of quite large proportions. Plus, all the stock always seems to be covered in a layer of dust that suggests that very little of it is ever actually sold; yet the place has been there since before we moved out here seven years and more ago, so they must be selling something. Anyway, this afternoon the boss himself, a bearded, stocky man in his early sixties, appeared behind me in such a manner as to give me the heebeejeebees, lurking in the half-light as he was, and asked what he could do for me. Showing him my ball (OK, that's worn that one out by now, all right?) he took it from me, shook it and, doing a passable impression of the surgeon who has to explain to his patient the risks involved in his upcoming operation, nodded his head, but upward first. Now of course, this is the British equivalent of actually shaking it. If a Greek's head goes upwards first, usually accompanied by a "Tch", you know it's a "no".

"Don't have any in that size. Got a larger one though." A glimmer of hope was seeping through the symbolic clouds of this frustrating afternoon. I must have registered a very enthusiastic "yes" for he then tilted his head sideways, in a gesture of "follow me" and headed off into the bowels of the store, throwing light switches here and there as he went, thus illuminating all kinds of dusty DIY delights on Meccano-style shelving racks which were higher than my head. Eventually arriving at such a distant part of the store that I'd have been hopelessly lost trying to find my way out alone, he pulled out from a huge box a black float-ball which resembled the black one which Pandeli had "repaired" in every way except one. It was larger than a football. He must have known that it would be a lost cause, because no sooner had I clapped eyes on it, he secreted it away again in the box, shrugged his shoulders as if to say without words: "well, I did say it was larger, didn't I?"

Twenty minutes later, as we pulled once more into the yard out front of Despoina's DIY store near our home, I saw that Despoina herself, along with her husband Niko were now also present. I'd intended to simply ask their daughter to order me a new ball, but Nikos, ever the genial and helpful chap that he is, grabbed the faulty ball from me and, pushing his glasses further up his nose, proceeded to inspect it as a philatelist would a penny black. 

"Gianni, you can repair this," he declared, shaking it and holding it upside down, whilst yet more of its liquid contents seeped out and dripped on to the floor. I groaned inwardly. It was now a couple of hours since we'd set out from home to simply replace a ball for a brass ball cock. All both Y-Maria and I wanted to do at this stage was get home and have a nice cup of Earl Grey, but here I was, whilst my wife sat in the car studying a patch of epoxy resin as it "cured", having to wait while Nikos explained that I could re-install the old ball and cover it in silicone. 

"But Niko," I replied, "it'll take a couple of hours for the water that's in there to all come out, which means holding it in a certain position for the duration. Plus, you'll notice that the leak appears to be inside the slot where the brass rod slides. It wouldn't be easy to get silicone into that area. And this ball cock is in a very strategic place, if it goes wrong again it'll waste gallons of water and possibly result in another burnt-out pump. No, I'd rather you simply ordered me a new one. No, make that two. I'll keep a spare from now on."

Turning to Despoina, who was sitting in one of her 'customer' chairs, since her daughter was still in the chair behind the desk, with her face a milimetre away from the laptop's screen, I asked, with a note of desperation in my voice, "Can you order it for me please?"

"Sure," she replied, "I'll phone the order through first thing tomorrow. It'll be here at the latest by the day after."

The better half and I drove in the twilight up the lane to the "spitaki", where we stopped and I switched off the master switch for the pump. The water in the tank at the top of the hill would be more than enough to keep our three households going for a few days anyway. We'd gone out at around 2.30pm and been out - all told - for two and a half hours in the hunt for a simple plastic ball. 

Next morning at first light I inspected Pandeli's repaired ball. The resin appeared to have remained intact without a hole appearing again. So I strolled the couple of hundred metres down the lane and installed the thing, opened once more the tap allowing the water from the 'main' through to the valve and switched the pump back on. Tomorrow I'll drop by Despoina's for the new balls, always assuming that they'll have arrived that is. I shall not enjoy going in and asking, "Do you have my balls?"

Couldn't help thinking that, had we been in the UK, I'd have simply tootled along to the nearest B&Q, found a huge stock of the balls in question and been home in a jiff. Mind you, would it have enhanced my life experience in quite the way this particular wild goose chase had? Probably not I suppose.

Fancy playing ball anyone?