An irregular, irreverent, post-modern account of the surreal, the ordinary, and the bizarre happenings on and around the Felia lavender farm in Crete

Saturday, May 20, 2006


Gilbert put the book aside. They were back at the beach - all three of them. Another magnificent day had beckoned them thither. This time he put the book aside finally.

"OK", said Gilbert to himself, "on reflection it is not a bad book. There are, after all, very few really bad books. There are just so many mediocre books. Books that never actually cried out to be either written or read. And there are so many good books waiting that reading a mediocre book seems an heretical act against writing itself." The book though, no matter how mediocre, had flushed his own creative system and he felt ready to draft his reply to Finn. And anyway, Chick would like it - he'd put it to one side for her next visit. She'd enjoy the parts about the Iranian family at least and their tensions as incomers. Kell had enjoyed it too.

It was a Saturday and Xrysos Asteria was heaving. The sea had been cool, and invigorating. A good swim had helped clear his mind. It was a beautiful view - out across the bay and over to the mountains that retained only wispy hints of snow today. And still it was only May! They had been forecasting a summer two degrees cooler than last year in the local papers and they both relished the idea of a summer without the customary heat wave. Only tourists actually liked the very hot weather - the rest of them - the locals - simply suffered it - quite literally suffered. But then the tourists liked a lot of things that the locals could barely stand: other things that they suffered for the sake of tourism. And the money that it brought in of course - let's not forget that little fact.

They packed gritty damp towels into grubby dry canvas bags and made their way back to the car which was parked under a tree for shade - delicious cool shade. The black leather was cool although the air inside was dry and dust laden. They drove home in quiet contentment and pottered around hanging out rinsed costumes and towels that would crust a s they dried in the late afternoon sunshine. They would eat out tonight and so Gilbert settled himself in at the iMac to write to Finn. He could tell Finn about the typewriter - he'd understand!

(to be continued ... ) but read what Gilbert wrote to Finn

1 comment:

  1. Ha, what a delight for one just returned from the Far West where the pleasures of the web are forsooth and forsworn to catch up on your adventures. It brings a glint of pleasure to my rheumy eyes, so it does, to catch up on your poetic scribblings.

    As for your shoebox thingie, well I salivated so much rummaging in there that I dribbled down the napkin I have taken to wearing in place of a cravat. What joy indeed.

    Nevertheless, I fear that you are casting pearls before swine, so I am off to lave my fragile body and annoint it with unctuous oils and perfume before sitting down with a glass that cheers to read and enjoy your epistles all over again.