For the first few weeks I had been feeling very low and in a dark place since my return from Scotland. I was glad I had my sewing machine, and I worked like a crazy woman to finish 24 applique butterflies which I finally finished and put 2 quilts together. I think they are nice, so different, one made from scraps and one from Bali batiks. Of course now I have to quilt them.

One morning when I was feeling quite blue I saw on the Doha ladies’ website that some man was in acute danger and need B+ blood, and there was none about apparently. Immediately I jumped into a taxi and zoomed off to give my all. I was most put out, when I was sent away as I didn’t have a resident’s permit and only a passport. The man lived, and although many people were refused to give a blood donation, due to their nationality (South African) etc, there were plenty with the right credentials. Thank goodness.

I was back at the hospital the next day to get my moles checked, just as a precaution. I had the charming Dr Razan, who had skin like a perfect peach which I am sure had never felt the sun’s harsh rays (she wore a headscarf). She went over me with a magnifying glass; making a map … I looked a bit like a starry night, with little dots all over me. I was mortified when she looked at a place where the sun definitely NEVER shines, and then the soles of my feet and palms of my hands. Three places which are great harbourers of melanoma!! Well, there we go. I have a clean bill of health, with not even one freckle that she is vaguely worried about. Good news.

John and I flew to North Cyprus for the Eid holiday. It has been a year since we were there but it just took a quick mop of the floors and some fresh air to blow around the apartment and it was as though it was yesterday. The sun set over the Kyrenia hills and we drank some Efes beer and walked by the Mediterranean and in the following days we soon picked up the gentle pace of life.

Around us were Russians and Ukranians, and for a while it was as though we were back in Kiev, hearing the ‘Dobroye utros’ in greetings, the ‘spasibas’, ‘pajalstas and ‘harashos’. The skinny, beautiful girls didn’t seem interested in tractor driving at all.

We had seen a house on the internet (as you do) and decided to pursue the interest. We drove off with the rep from Busy Bees, and drove to west of Kyrenia to a village nestled in the mountains called Malatya. The house was a dream, all pale blue and white, nestled back off the road, and perched above a very steep drive way. I was reminded of Heidi climbing the Alm to stay with her grandfather.

‘Could this be the house for an ageing Granny?’ I wondered, ‘Would zimmers make it up and down the hill?’

Nevertheless, we both fell in love with it for the views. There were the mountains, and in the distance the blue, blue sea and around us, hidden gardens tucked away, with bushes and colour just dripping everywhere. Olives and lemons fell abandoned. The ground floor and stairs were all Italian white marble. Oh sigh. The lady had apparently lived there for 20 years but her husband had died 2 years ago.

We did consider living there, but at the back of my mind I felt like Napoleon, living in exile. Cyprus is not our home; it belongs to two groups of troubled people with a very sad history.

We heard stories of the war, of how the Greeks massacred and killed an entire village just outside of Iskele, where we live. Of how the Greeks treated the Turks like low class citizens, making them the underdogs. That is why Turkey sent in the troops. (well maybe). It is a point of view. The man talking to us told us of his life in Larnaka before the war. His prize possession was a bicycle. He now owns 4 Mercedes cars, and has a thriving Taxi business in Iskele (the Turkish translation of the Greek word, Larnaka and where many of the Turks came to resettle). No way does he want to go back to how it was, but the Greeks refuse to compromise. They want unification, but on their terms. Our man said the situation is like a tinder box. Anything can happen; no one knows what tomorrow will bring. In the meantime, the UN soldiers drink orange juice in the cafes of Famagusta and 300,000 Turkish Cypriots and Greek Cypriots live in harmony in London. It is only when they return to their homeland that they decide that they cannot possible agree on anything.

So we ate fish and tomatoes and pitta bread. We walked through the fields and along the shore to the newly renovated Cyprus Gardens Hotel (and Casino). The Turks don’t condone gambling in their own country, so instead they pump huge amounts of money into Cyprus, and there are casinos everywhere. Plenty of money to be sure, but there is no evidence that it is helping the farmers or the common people or the general economy.

Anyway we sat under a tree and looked out at the sea. I felt as though I was in a scene from F. Scott Fitzgerald’s ‘Tender is the Night’. I thought of the roles of Dick Diver and his schizophrenic wife, Nicole, and the dark gloom that seemed to hover over their lives in the South of France. I must read it again. The place had an atmosphere.

Walking back along the beach we came across a very large dead turtle. A gash was on its side and a flipper had been cut. Perhaps it got entangled with a boat propeller, or a shark or what?? Poor thing. John tried to push it out into the waves, but as in all things, the sea just washed it back up on to the shore again, where the crows were waiting.

We left the North of the island and drove to Larnaka for our last night.

It was my birthday and we celebrated in the most beautiful, quirky Greek Art restaurant, and made friends with a large party also celebrating. We ate lamb and drank red wine, and it was a happy time. We walked out to the marina under a full moon and red signs in English, Greek, and Russian, and smiled at people wearing T shirts that announced they “Live to Party, Party to Live”. Fine.

And now, I am back in Doha, and am going to make Sicilian squash and chickpea stew. No doubt John will be thrilled about that.

He has just rung to say that an English school teacher has been murdered here. Her body was found in the desert, burnt. She was 24 years old, and the suspects have been arrested.

I am so upset for her, and her family. It is unthinkable. How precious we all are, to each other and to our families. We must live and give thanks. We have so much.