A fruit tree for my friend

Bonnie and me on Velanio beach.

At last I have got round to doing what I said I'd do back in September when  Bonnie died, which is to plant a fruit tree by the spot where we buried her.

After talking it over with our landlord we decided to buy what in Greece is known as a λωτόσ, which people would more likely know as a persimmon.

I dug the hole a few feet over from where Bonnie rests and I'm glad to say the digging was much easier than back in September. After all the rain we've had in recent weeks, the ground is a lot softer.

So now we wait and watch and hope that in years to come the tree bears fruit, although what I really wish is that it would grow me another Bonnie. I miss that dog.

I wanted to end this post with some music and at first thought of the 1st Movement from Elgar's Cello Concerto, but beautiful as that is, it is perhaps a bit too sombre. Then I moved on to Lil Wayne's I Miss My Dawgs, but he's definitely not singing about a much-loved pet. So I've chosen instead the late Rufus Thomas singing Walking The Dog, which, while it might not actually be about exercising your dog, is certainly the more upbeat number I was looking for.

At least I've not lost my marbles

"Billes" by Xavier66 - Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Billes.jpg#mediaviewer/File:Billes.jpg 

Among the more unusual things we brought with us to Greece is a small drawstring bag containing about 70 glass marbles, the type children played with many years ago. The picture above shows the sort I mean.

The bulk of them date from my late father's childhood and a few have  been added from my own childhood.

I think the reason we brought them with us was with the idea of making something with them. However, that never came to fruition and now, if only for sentimental reasons, they will remain in their bag.

And that, for the foreseeable future is the nearest Greece is likely to get to having anything with the word marbles in it coming from Britain.

Yes, this is a rather roundabout way of taking on the thorny issue of the Elgin Marbles or the Parthenon Marbles, if you prefer.

While in Britain people may have to stifle a groan, if they show any reaction at all, if the subject of the Elgin Marbles comes up, in Greece feelings run much higher. So it was little surprise to me to read of Greek outrage at the recent news that the British Museum, which holds the Elgin Marbles, has lent some of them to the Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg for that museum's 250th anniversary celebrations.

The view in Greece seemed to be that if some of the marbles could be transported to Russia then surely there was no good reason they could not all come back to Greece and stay here.

The whys and wherefores of the whole issue are complex and generally people seem to take a stance and then work out the argument which supports that view.

"Elgin marbles frieze". Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Elgin_marbles_frieze.jpg#mediaviewer/File:Elgin_marbles_frieze.jpg

There is much talk of Hellenic culture, the legality, or otherwise, of what Lord Elgin did, whether the marbles would have survived if they had been left on the Acropolis, and the global appreciation of one of the glories of Western civilization. As I said, people tend to pick the argument that suits them.

The British Musuem seems fairly adamant that what it has, it holds. Meanwhile, the new Acropolis Museum in Athens has a display which clearly shows the parts of the Parthenon Frieze which could be filled in if the British Museum - and other museums - bowed to Greek demands.

A straightforward explanation of the Parthenon, and the marbles debate, is contained in Professor Mary Beard's excellent book Parthenon. It's clear and entertaining, but perhaps significantly, the good professor doesn't come down on either side of the argument. Too smart, I am sure, although she does present clear reasons for and against in the debate.

As a professional historian, Mary Beard may well feel the need to be slightly circumspect on such issues, but that's not a burden I labour under. So, in a nutshell, yes, I think the marbles from the British Museum and other museums around the world should come home to Greece. They belong in Athens and while they may never again grace the building from which they came, they should be close to it to be appreciated as one entity.

Will it ever happen? Obviously not on my say so alone, but surely the time has come for the marbles to be returned. What was legally acceptable in the 19th century would not be countenanced now.

I suspect that one reason the British Museum and other museums resist the idea of returning items such as the marbles is the fear it could open the floodgates for demands from many countries for the restoration of artefacts removed from them for display in museums. Maybe it would, who knows, but if it did surely that would serve to underline that when it comes to cultural heritage our debts are widespread.

* Many, but maybe not all, of you will know that to lose one's marbles means to lose one's wits. Curiously enough in my Chambers Dictionary the definition for this follows on from an explanation of the Elgin Marbles. Whatever some of you may think, I definitely have not lost MY marbles.

It's been a quiet week

It hardly seems possible that it's only a week since I had to take the heartbreaking decision to let the vet end my dog's suffering. That's why it's been a quiet week - and obviously a sad week, too.

When I describe Bonnie as "my dog", it's not entirely accurate. She was very much a family dog and would be friendly with anyone who would offer her a kind word, a stroke of her lovely soft ears or, even better, slip her an illicit morsel of food.

Bonnie was a black Labrador and like pretty well all of her kind always seemed to have food at the forefront of her mind. It was this which first led me to realise something was wrong with her when she began to refuse meals.

Anyway, I don't want to dwell on the last days of a much loved pet other than to say that things were made easier by the presence of one of my daughters who had come to Skopelos for a short holiday. Having the first day of your holiday taken up by the death of a pet is not a good start to any break, but I was glad I had a hand to hold and a shoulder to cry on.

So now Bonnie is at rest in the olive grove. My landlord, who was very fond of Bonnie, helped me dig a grave and we buried her with one of her favourite toys, a rather grubby Father Christmas doll, which she would often present to visitors to the house. In a few weeks I will buy a fruit tree which we will plant over her. It seems fitting that a dog with such wide and varied tastes in food should have a fruit tree nearby.

I am trying desperately hard not to be sentimental in this post, but it's difficult. I miss her enthusiastic greeting every time I returned home, I miss the way she would place her head on my knee and give me a soulful stare (yes, I know it usually meant she wanted food) and above all I just miss her presence. But life goes on and I am grateful for the time we had with Bonnie, a good and faithful friend.

Just at the moment I can't lay my hands on a picture of Bonnie. I'll try to find one soon. In the meantime, here's Led Zeppelin singing a song which while not about a black Labrador apparently was named after one. I have to admit that whenever I played Led Zep Bonnie seemed to wander off, I don't think she was a fan. Even so, this is dedicated to her.

The seven ages of holidaymakers

WE are getting near the end of the holiday season here on Skopelos. The last charter flights to the nearest airport on our neighbouring rock of Skiathos will be, I think, some time early in October.

As the season progresses so the nature of the holidaymakers who come to Skopelos changes. Assuming the season starts in May the progression of holidaymakers goes something like this: mature couples, outdoor types, families with pre-school age children, families with school age children, Greeks, young couples and single-sex groups of young adults, older people.

That's sort of seven groups if not ages. By my reckoning we are in the last stages, so there are quite a few older folk around. I think they like it because it's quieter, not so hot and probably there are a few bargains to be had for getting here. They are quite easy to spot as a lot of them appear to like walking - I have no criticism of that - and you can see them wandering around clutching maps.

In terms of numbers it's very much a Bell curve with the peak being late July/August, which is the favoured time for Greeks to go on holiday. It's easy to spot some, but only some, Greek holidaymakers because they go jogging. I kid you not. Not all Greek tourists are joggers and not all joggers on Skopelos are on holiday, but I see very few joggers here the rest of the year.

This summer, my dog, Bonnie, and I encountered a Greek couple jogging in the woods near Amarantos (Αμάραντος). They were going in the same direction as us and soon left us behind and so we were slightly surprised when we found the same couple doing yoga on mats next to their car which was parked in the woods. I was more than a little distracted by the woman, a slender, Lycra-clad vision of flexibility, and much less distracted by her rather portly male companion. Anyway, it takes all sorts and maybe I should take a leaf from their book. Just my little joke, I will NEVER go jogging and yoga's a no-no, too.

It might have been stretching things to suggest that there are seven different categories of visitors, but I'm always ready for any chance to acknowledge Shakespeare. So thank you WS for Jaques' monologue from Act II Scene VII of As You Like It. If you'd like a quick look at the monologue then click here.

Now a brief apology. I've been a bad blogger, a very bad blogger, in that I haven't written anything for ages. It's not been an easy year for me or my family, but even so I have sat around at various times this summer thinking "I've got to write something" and then I've just carried on lounging around feeling a bit bored. For such poor service I apologise and to make up for it I offer you this wonderful song by Sam Cooke. By the way this does not mean I want to marry you and take you home, it's just a nice song. OK? The video is a bit ropy, but the shots of the audience make it all worthwhile. Different times indeed.

And finally, a question: Have you ever seen a smiling jogger? No, me neither. That's got to mean something.

Hold on a minute, I'll look it up

I have at least two Greek phrasebooks and somewhere around the house I think there is a third and possibly even a fourth. They are the sort of thing you accumulate over time and jolly useful they are, too. Well, at least in theory.

Nothing can replace having in your head a working knowledge of a foreign language. Even if it's a bit sketchy, I genuinely believe you're better off stumbling along and learning as you go rather than constantly leafing through the pages of a phrasebook.

Yesterday, I successfully purchased a ballcock for our toilet cistern. Ballcock is not a word that appears in either of my phrasebooks nor in my Greek dictionary. Anyway, the transaction wasn't that difficult, I took the broken part with me and in my rough and ready Greek asked: "Have you got one of these, please."

But I still wouldn't be without my phrasebooks, if nothing else they provide plenty of entertainment as I try to work out the sort of situation where I would refer to the book rather than throw myself on the mercy of the Greek person I am trying to communicate with.

The two phrasebooks I have in front of me are a Berlitz, published in 1973, and a Lonely Planet, published in 2006. What a difference more than three decades makes.

The Berlitz book was published when Greece still had the Drachma - something which many Greeks wish was still the case - and besides the usual sections on checking in to hotels includes help on going to the hairdressers. Phrases include how to ask for a pageboy cut and also having ringlets put in your hair.

Having got your hair looking good, you might then want to go to a boxing match. I kid you not, the book even includes a phrase for finding a bout at lightweight. If all that activity leaves you feeling a little peaky, then maybe you need to see a doctor. The book admits it might not be much use in the case of serious injury or illness when you should just let the doctor take over, but the section includes how to explain more minor ailments. My favourite phrase here is one telling the doctor that you've been having nightmares.

In contrast, the Lonely Planet guide reflects the needs of a more modern readership, even including a phrase for explaining that the drugs you are carrying are for personal use. In fairness there is also a section on hairdressing, although no mention of ringlets.

My favourite section in the Lonely Planet phrasebook is the one on sex. While sex might be a universal language, I suppose there are still occasions when you need to make yourself perfectly clear with words. Having said that, I'm not sure that in the throes of passion you'd have either the time or the inclination to look up the phrase or word to say things like "touch me here" or "faster/harder/slower/softer". Maybe actions would speak louder than words.

All this talk of words and love has got me thinking of one of my favourite albums of the 1980s, The Lexicon of Love. Enjoy this video, it's a bit of its time, but the song's a cracker. In fact, the whole album is stonkingly good and I don't care if that makes me sound a bit dated.

Question: What is the most useful phrase you've learned in a foreign language? I make no bones about it, that the phrase which has stood me in good stead in Greek is "I'd like a beer, please". Purely by coincidence it was the first phrase I learned. 

The sound of the summer

AS I write this all I can hear is the sound of cicadas. I live in the middle of an olive grove and so I suppose there must be thousands of the little buggers everywhere and they're all doing that weird thing they do to make a noise.

I suppose, to be fair, I call it a noise, they regard it as communication. But whatever, it is a sound I associate absolutely with summer here on Skopelos. When I used to come here as a holidaymaker, the sound of cicadas was one of the first things I would notice as I got off the plane at Skiathos.

It always seemed quite charming and while it's not the case that I dislike it now, it is relentless and sometimes it would be nice to have a break. Informed sources tell me - I looked it up on Wikipedia - that it is the males that make the noise using a part of their body called a tymbal. The abdomen is largely hollow and acts as a soundbox and so the male cicadas can create a special sound to attract a mate. Be my guest if you wish to draw a comparison with humans....men lacking inner substance, making a lot of noise in the pursuit of sex...nah, silly idea, isn't it?

The sound is quite overpowering and at the hottest part of the day is so loud outside my house that it almost blanks out other sounds. Every now and again, the cicadas stop, even if only for a few seconds, which is quite extraordinary.

Give it a couple of months and the wall of sound will come to an end as the cicadas move on to the next part of their life cycle. To find out more about cicadas, and there are many different types, click here.

Watch this video from the USA to find out what one cicada sounds like and then multiply the effect a couple of gazillion times and you'll get some idea what it's like here.

I called this post "The sound of the summer" and bubbling up through my subconscious came this splendid little ditty from The Members, Sound of the Suburbs.

Question: Have you got a sound you associate with the summer? If you live in the suburbs it might be the sound of drunken young men calling each other various parts of the human anatomy, or it might be slightly older people talking incessantly about house prices. Or it might be the sound of rain pounding on the roof of your tent. Let me know, if I get enough answers we might end up with a scientifically valid survey.

In the land of ifs and buts

The late, great Bobby Moore. England fans
 will know of his significance, everyone else
will just have to accept he was a great man.
 Pic by Carlos Yo. Used under GNU Free
Documentation License

I know a lot of people are already fed up to the back teeth with the World Cup - yes, rugby fans, the football world cup, your turn is next year - even so I can't help following up yesterday's post.

Last night I went out to watch England who were beaten 2-1 by Uruguay, and Greece who achieved a no-score draw against Japan. This leaves England and Greece both needing a) to pull their fingers out and actually win a match, and b) other teams in their groups to have results that favour England and Greece.

Interestingly I noticed this morning that players on both teams have already invoked the Almighty as a possible means of getting through to the next round.

England captain Steven Gerrard, a man who rarely lets a carefree grin cross his face, admitted that England were now at the stage of "clutching at straws." In particular he said: "We need to be professional and pray for that scoreline to go for us."

Specifically, Stevie G needs to pray that Italy beat Costa Rica and Uruguay, something I am sure the Italians are more than capable of, and that England beat Costa Rica by a hatful of goals. Oh dear, can you see where that might go wrong?

Greece were dogged against Japan even after going down to ten men when Greek captain Konstantinos Katsouranis was sent off, something he seems to have a penchant for, having been so punished three times in his last 16 games for club and country.

Dogged or not, bottom of the group is bottom of the group. Defender Sokratis Papasthopoulos has taken a philosophical view, but then, of course, he is Greek and with that name, too. He said: "If things go well, let us get four points with a win in the next game - and if God decides that we are eliminated because of the other result, so be it." What was missed out, but I bet he said it anyway was that favourite Greek phrase "Τι να κάνουμε" - What can we do?

Decision day for both England and Greece is Tuesday, June 24. I can hardly wait, can you?

While writing this I was reminded of the desperation I feel nearly every time I watch the English football team play and "hanging on in quiet desperation" led me to this:

Question: Do you feel desperation while doing something that you really ought to be enjoying? Or is that only for England fans harking back to 1966 (and the late, great Bobby Moore)?