I have just finished reading Lawrence Durrell’s book ‘Bitter Lemons’, written in 1956, and it covers the uprising of the Greeks against the British here in Cyprus. I am so ignorant about this country and only know about the 1974 invasion by the Turks, and so this whole visit has been an education. For anyone wanting to learn more, I believe a book called ‘The Genocide Files’ is a must. For now though I am bewitched by the idyllic days that are unfolding with the springtime. On our way down to the sea we passed a field thick with cyclamen plants and fragile anemones. It was like a tapestry or Turkish carpet, and then we come across a splash of poppies. Apparently the anemone flower blossomed on the ground where Aphrodite shed her tears after her lover, Adonis, was killed hunting for wild boar.

We haven’t hired a car for these last 2 weeks and instead have been marching about on foot or cycling. The weather is hot and the countryside is ablaze with yellow daisies, and the little caterpillars have been blown hither and thither, and we find them on the beach, valiantly nosing their way into the sea, or crossing the paths from one field to an identical one on the other side, and the crested larks swoop down for a mid-morning snack before spiralling up into the blue for a better view.

It is all so rural,

and our walk to the village of Iskele takes us through the fields of corn and flowers and I have had to come down from my high fallutin’ ways of running out to the co-op for all my needs, and accept the gnarled carrots and sad looking mushrooms that are on offer here, and just buy what is in season. It seems it is  artichokes at the moment, so tomorrow I am going to try and cook one. I thought I would make some lovely garlicy aioli to dip the fleshy ends into.

I had been feeling a little low and thought it was due to a lack of meat, as my supply of B12 is now depleted, so all in all, I was like a lion needing to kill a zebra. We marched through the fields with a sense of purpose, and found a butcher shop with lots of chicken and lamb (too fatty). I asked for meat for steak, so the young lad sharpened his knives and made a great feat of slicing and cutting and so on. We left with 7 pieces of steak for the grand price of 30 Turkish Lira (about £12). I cooked it up, with onions and roasted red peppers, and cut potatoes into wedges and roasted them in a pool of olive oil and lemon juice. The aroma was wonderful and I was like a happy lioness licking my lips. Well… it was all so disappointing. The meat was tougher than leather (I imagine) and we had to saw each piece into slithers in order to swallow it. It might have been a zebra for all we know, or maybe a relation??? Ginger or Merry Legs or even the Black Beauty himself. Last night I made a witches’ cauldron of onions, the remaining steak, mushrooms, garlic, carrots and blood red wine. It was delicious. Energy levels have arisen and all is now well in the kingdom of  ‘The Gaeldom’.

The afternoons have been heavenly, we lie by the pool, and I watch John sideways through my dark glasses as he edits ‘The Highland Rocks’.

I keep an eye out if he frowns, or his lips twitch to suppress a smile. He has 10 more pages to go, and so far so good. Then of course, he has to correct it all on the screen. He mutters crossly at all my bad stage management, and choreography. But I think I have the thumbs up!

We have been watching the BBC series ‘I Claudius’, made in 1976. It is very dated and almost like watching live theatre, rather than a TV film. The story however, is fantastic and there are some brilliant performances. I felt we needed to get updated with all the history and it makes our visits to the ancient sites so much more meaningful. I am so shocked at all the poisonings and murder that went on in the Royal Court. We have just watched the episodes featuring Augustus and his evil wife, Livia, and now Tiberius is in power, but tonight Caligula is due to take power, and in the wings waits Nero… Oh my! I can’t wait for 8 o’clock – that’s when we have ‘show time’!!!

And now, I must get on with the day – all dressed up and made up like a lady. Old habits die hard.  I remember a former colleague of mine, Liz Pritchard, who was the peripatetic Music Teacher when we lived up in the West Highlands, saying to me how one always must maintain personal standards. She herself lived in the village of Sheildaig, miles from all her schools. Each day she travelled to Dornie, Glenelg, Inverinate, Kyle, Plockton and maybe even Kyleakin on Skye. When she finally got home at night, she would cook her dinner and set the table with silver and crystal and lovely place mats. ‘So easy to let oneself go, and start eating off a tray,’ she said. Quite.

I am off to cycle to the shop to buy some wrinkled up beans with mascara and lipstick firmly in place. Standards are NOT dropping here.