U: Worth it for the map alone

My letter U reason to be cheerful could arguably have gone under the letter T, but at this stage in proceedings I'm intent on getting the job done, so U is for Underground, the subterranean rail system in London.

To be honest the Underground, often known as the Tube, is a bit skanky in places. It's old and some of the stations have seen better days. Also quite a bit of it is above ground, but we don't need to worry about that.

To me it's the Underground and it's a good way of getting round London, particularly if you can avoid rush hour, and it has one absolutely brilliant aspect which is particularly why I chose it for the letter U. The London Underground has one of the best maps ever produced in the history of maps.

I like maps, in fact, my letter M could have been maps, and while there are many superb maps out there which I would never tire of looking at, the Underground map is a masterpiece. The important thing about it is that you understand what it tells you and it doesn't matter in the slightest how that information relates to the physical geography of the city you are travelling around.

This is Transport For London's latest version of the
Underground map. 

There are versions of maps showing the Underground, particularly in its early days, and some of them are quite wonderful, but I'm going to have to avoid giving in to my inner map geek if I am ever to get to the end of the Blogging from A to Z Challenge.

In some respects the obvious song to go with this posting is Down in the Tube Station at Midnight by The Jam, but it's not the cheeriest of songs. Instead I've gone for The Underground Train Calypso by Lord Kitchener (not the British field marshal). The recording is a bit scratchy, but I like it.

• Question: Do you like the London Underground  and, in particular, its map or does it leave you feeling you might end up in completely the wrong place and never see daylight again?

I: Going off the rails for Ivor

I'm not sure to what extent my letter I reason to be cheerful is based solely on childhood memories as opposed to being something I like and find charming even now. I'm not even sure that matters.

Anyway, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present Ivor the Engine. If ever I'm feeling a bit confounded and knocked about by life then just sit me down in front of an episode of Ivor the Engine and I'll soon feel a lot better.

Yes, for those who don't know, Ivor the Engine is a children's animation about a small green steam locomotive who lived in the "top left hand corner of Wales".

The animations were the creation of Oliver Postgate and Peter Firmin and were delightfully low-tech. The noise of Ivor going along the track was made by Oliver Postgate with his mouth. This has the advantage that all of us who have watched Ivor the Engine can have a go ourselves at making the same noise. Hours of fun, as you can see.

It might suggest dreadful insecurities on my part that I find Ivor the Engine so comforting, but in a world where evil people do evil things and then gloat about it, the chance to immerse myself in a world where all problems are gently resolved, often with a cup of tea, is one I accept gratefully.

See whether Ivor the Engine calms you down by watching this episode.

Oliver Postgate and Peter Firmin also made another children's animation that I particularly like, namely Noggin the Nog. This tells stories about Noggin who is basically a kindly Viking king.

I love the theme tune to Ivor the Engine, which features a nice bit of bassoon, but I thought I'd like to put something a bit more raucous as the music to go with this post. I've chosen 5:15 by The Who. Anything less like Ivor the Engine than The Who's brass-heavy blast about a pilled-up Mod heading for Brighton on the 5:15 would be hard to find, but it's a great song.

Question: Do you like steam trains? If you know about Ivor the Engine and Thomas the Tank Engine, which do you prefer? Let me know in the comments section.

P is for Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

You can't really do road trips in the UK. Well, not as I imagine them to be possible in the USA. Even so, my letter P selection links in to the nearest I ever got to doing a regular road trip.

I used to live in Devon, my parents in Kent. Consequently I got to know the drive between the South-West of England and its South-Easternmost point pretty well. Sometimes I had my children with me so music to keep us entertained was important. I'm pleased to say that Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers were a cross-generational favourite.

The route I took went past Stonehenge so Tom Petty often provided the accompaniment to a quick stop at the 'henge for a pee before heading on to the horrors of the M3 followed by that monument to traffic congestion, the M25. Somewhere in the preceding sentence there ought to be a joke about rock music and a load of old rocks, but I'm not sure I can be bothered. You have a go if you want to.

Here's the man himself, not looking like an ancient monument.

And here's Stonehenge. When I was a child we would stop there on our way to holidays in the South-West and I would clamber all over the stones. If you try that now, guards dressed as druids will appear and shoot you with Tazers.

Also-rans: Gene Pitney. I once went to a Gene Pitney concert, I think mainly because I was the only person who would take the review tickets. He struck me as being not very tall, but had a mighty voice. He reminded me of a person I used to know called Walter, who had mental health problems. This was not because, like Walter, Gene Pitney went around going "Hello, Curly" at people, but because they both had a slightly vulnerable look to them.

And then someone asks THAT question

The island is quiet at this time of year.

In my life I have been asked some tricky questions, generally along the lines of "What the hell do you think you're doing?", and usually I've been able to give a good account of myself.

But since living here there is one question that leaves me tongue tied and often trying to find a way to change the subject. The question in question, as it were, tends to be along the lines of "And how do you spend your day?"

To be frank I blame the Protestant work ethic for tripping me up here. I cannot help feeling that in answer to the question "What do you do on Skopelos?" I should reel off a long list of improving tasks that I complete each day. Instead of which I reply with a few ums and ers and then go "Well, I always find something to do." This is a weak and ineffectual answer and I can see the other person thinking "Ah ha! Late riser, boozy lunch, snooze in the afternoon, evening meal, rest of the day spent slumped in front of the telly."

To counter this completely false notion (for instance we don't even have a telly) I now offer my account of a fairly typical day written with a nod to those articles in Sunday newspapers in which the great and the good explain how they pack so much in to 24 hours. Thus:

"It's winter now, so although I usually wake at about 6am I lie in bed waiting for it to get light enough to take the dog out and listening to the bloody cockerel going on and on. As soon as I judge it to be daybreak, I stagger downstairs to be greeted by black Labrador Bonnie, who is keen to get on with things. But before I can do that I have to deal with three raucous cats who have gathered outside the kitchen door and are determined to be fed.

Bonnie considers entering a monastery.

Then it's off, usually to some nearby woods, to let Bonnie have a run. During the course of this walk, I might well collect pine cones which make wonderful firelighters. On the drive back I am likely to encounter at least one herd of goats on the road. Giving the goatman a cheery wave, I steer my way through the herd. I used to wait for them to clear the road, but realised this is not the Greek way. With care and determination you will find a way through that does not involve running over livestock.

Once back home I feed Bonnie and usually let out Kevin the endangered cockerel to have the run of the land on his own. He used to be with all the other chickens, but they were attacking him and so he now lives in isolation. The other chickens will come out when Kevin, who is not the crowing cockerel, is safely back in his own quarters. Recent experiences have led me to have a rather jaundiced view of chickens, they are not my favourite creatures.

Then it's a leisurely breakfast for me, during which I read. My other half is not a morning person so breakfast is a solitary occasion, hence the reading.We probably both prefer it that way. Often just before breakfast I'll spend a little time using my Greek language CDs. I am confident that if I live to be 100 I should be quite fluent.

Usually by this time herself has arisen and come downstairs for her first cup of coffee, cigarette and initial inspection of the garden. There is a clear division of labour here. She gardens, I bask in its glory.

We then move on to one of the trickiest jobs of the day - deciding what we shall have for our evening meal. In the summer it is easy enough to eat out, but during the winter there is only a handful of tavernas open and going out means leaving the warmth of a log fire so we plot a tasty dish for the evening and then go out to buy supplies.

It is then that one of the most important lessons of island life is reinforced. If the weather is bad and boats can't get through then some food stocks are going to run low and our "best laid plans gang aft agley". This requires a rethink on the food front, all of which takes time. I should add here that we have never gone hungry and we do eat well, but you have to like what you get, rather than expect to get what you like.

While out we might stop off for coffee, which in Greece is not a hurried thing, or bump in to friends and exchange news. This, too, cannot be done quickly. Topics to be addressed will be the weather, what vegetables they have growing in their garden, places they have eaten and what said meals were like, pet welfare and will the boat get in? Depending on the time of year, other topics might include family visitors heading for Skopelos and the scandalous prices charged by airlines for flights to and from the UK.

By now it will be early afternoon, so time for a light lunch. Not too light, though, food is important here. This is likely to be followed by more reading and maybe, just maybe, a short siesta, although these are better left for the hot afternoons of summer.

Currently, we are trying to learn French if for no other reason than we think it's a good thing to do and I am acutely aware that I didn't make the most of the opportunity I had to learn the language when I was at school.

A rare moment of peace from the cats as they stuff themselves.

As the afternoon goes on, it's time to take Bonnie out again while fending off ravenous cats. There is also the question of lighting the fire. Having a log fire is a great thing, arguably better than the telly on most nights, but if you have an open fire you have to learn its ways and prove your commitment otherwise it will smoke sulkily and then go out. You've guessed it, all this takes time.

The evening is spent eating, listening to The Archers online and surfing the net looking for pictures of dogs with funny faces or cats sleeping in odd locations. There is also more reading to be done and tackling the fearsome Times Jumbo Cryptic Crossword. By now you should be getting some idea of just how packed the day is. I roll in to bed around 11.30pm when I read some more and then turn off the light, pausing only to count my blessings, which I know are many."

So there you have it, my "Day In The Life" and I haven't even mentioned chopping wood, rescuing cats from trees, or chasing chickens off the flower garden before they eat all the seedlings. Not to mention staring out of the window at the house over the road and wondering when it will be finished (not any time soon, the most work that has been done on it since we've been here followed a direct hit by lightning).

Anyway, in answer to the question "How do you fill your day?" rest assured I always find something to do.

Parting is such sweet sorrow

Our old friend Shakespeare comes to the rescue for the title of this post. He's got a phrase for almost every occasion and the occasion this time is saying goodbye, which to be honest I'm not very good at. I'm even worse when it comes to seeing someone off on a boat.

So this morning we had to wave off one of our daughters who has been staying with us for a fortnight and the only way off this island - unless you're a well-heeled type with access to a helicopter - is by boat. Consequently we all drove down to the harbour for the early Flying Cat and although I always try to put a brave face on it I can't help but shed a few tears whenever I'm seeing someone off from the harbour.

What is it about waving goodbye to someone who is leaving by boat? Does it stir up emotions that go back to the time when the only way to travel long distances was by sea and when someone left on a boat they very often would be gone for a long time? Or is it just that I'm a bit soft and feel a wrench when I say goodbye to someone I love? I don't know and to be truthful I'm writing this more as therapy to take my mind off my gloom than to psychoanalyse myself, but there's no getting away from it that for me seeing someone leave on a boat gets to me much more than watching them drive off down the road or disappear through an airport departure gate.

Anyway, you'll have to excuse me now as I'm going to sit around and be a bit doleful for a while.