It has been nearly two years since we were here in Cyprus. Then it was January and bitterly cold and I remember sitting huddled in my dressing gown in front of the 2 bar electric fire. Now it is hot, but there is a change in the wind, there is a feeling of a turning of the season. Tourists are sparse here in the north part of the island, only the Russian stalwarts who have made their lives here at the resort are in evidence. We have been so lucky to have this apartment to come to, and I think John’s son is glad to have it lived in too. We did the usual mop and clean up of the gathering dust and sand, swigging an EFES beer to keep us going, then we settled down to rediscover all our old haunts.

It takes a while to get used to the rhythm of North Cyprus; the mess, the litter and broken bottles, the scars of buildings left abandoned, some from the war in 1974, and some from running out of funds. New developments have started to blot the landscape that once were fields of grain and Jerusalem artichokes. New holiday flats and tower blocks are preventing us seeing the sunset over the Kyrenian mountains. But saying all that, now that we are at the end of our two weeks, I feel more accepting, less critical, and instead relish the football size pomegranates, the feeling of hot sun on my back and the incredible turquoise colours of the sea.

Every night we are serenaded by some troubadour by the pool as we check our emails or sip a brandy sour, and I look with a little envy at the tall skinny Russian girls, and try and suck in my tummy. At least they are not doing yoga at the side of the pool like they did the last time (wearing very little, it was quite disconcerting).

We have been cycling across the fields to the Friday market in Iskele and coming back laden with oranges and olive bread and tomatoes and lemons.

My best cycle run is to Cyprus Gardens. It is along the coast and was derelict when we came across it the first time, nearly five years ago. Now the holiday cottages are dazzling white, trimmed with blue, and the pool is clean and plump tourists lie with legs akimbo and simmer and shimmer all basted in shiny oil. It is also a casino, but we are a little afraid to venture into those doors. Instead we sit beneath an olive tree and sip beer and look out at the dazzling sea. Sometimes I feel like a character out of Tender is the Night and sometimes I pretend I am Jacqueline Onassis, in my own private world. I think it is my favourite place.

Sadly, yesterday after cycling to the very spot, drinking the beer, feeling mellow and ready to go for a lovely Turkish pancake lunch of halloumi and spinach, I found my bike had a puncture. Oh woe. I had to march it home along the road in the hot sun, so no joy there. John’s big toe has finally let him down, his old karate injury has gone all arthritic and it is proving agony to walk any distance. But he has been cycling, way out of my league. He had his own adventure, cycling up the tortuous bends to Kantara castle. He didn’t quite make it, due to a twinge in his knee, and he didn’t want any more injuries, so he turned about. But, all in all he did about 38 kilometres, which is very impressive. I get puffed at a mere incline on the flat road.

My birthday was heaven on earth. I had a 3-hour spa treatment. My Indonesian lady rubbed Israeli products from the Dead Sea, giving me a Turkish hammam with Dead Sea salt, then she painted me in mud and wrapped me up in cling film. I felt like a supermarket chicken. She then gave me reflexology and a deep head massage. Oh my, it was so good. After sploshing all the mud off, I was then rubbed down in oil with hot stones. The final treat was a facial, given by a tall imposing dominatrix type girl from Kazakhstan. She was a little scary and I apologised for my dry skin. ‘Your skin is very dry,’ was her only conversation. She had me swathed in potions and covered my face like a mummy, then pinched and kneaded, and finally I staggered to leave. My face felt as soft and smooth and all my wrinkles had gone – I looked about nine years old. I think I would like to put Miss Kazakhstan in my suitcase and take her home.

Revisiting all our haunts in Kyrenia and Bellapais were just a little bit disappointing this time as it is the end of the season.

We are both so glad that we did decided not to buy a property here. The trip up to the Karpaz was nice, and the picnic and then the walk over the weird rock formations along the shore, that looked as though dinosaurs had once walked there, were good.

Sadly, the monastery of St Andrew is still undergoing renovation. So… a long drive to see scaffolding.

I did stand outside and pray to the saint, to see if he could fix John’s toe. (St Andrew is reputed to have given back someone’s sight.) I remember once we brought body parts and the head of a Barbie doll and left them surreptitiously beside the icon of the Saint. Didn’t realise you had to buy little metal trinkets depicting the part of the body you needed fixing. There were eyes, and feet and so on for sale. Quite funny. Wonder what the priest in charge thought of our weird offerings!

But on Thursday we did see plenty of donkeys, and happily they seemed less neglected than before. They were intent on getting inside the car, and we gave them some leftovers. Their diet must be supplemented by so many weird things they get from tourists. Some guy was feeding them biscuits; I just wish we had remembered and we could have taken some cabbage or carrots or something.

We did the obligatory visit to Famagusta and walked through the lanes of the walled city. The best thing for me was the freshly squeezed pomegranate juice. Heavenly.

I do love the weekly English newspaper, Cyprus Today. In it we get all the society news: of fund raising events, pictures of ‘Tom’s 65^th birthday’, outraged protests to stop the trapping of migrant birds, road accidents, and the increasing number of British residents who are finding they cannot pay for their hospital bills when they become seriously ill – it is really a problem for them. I read of the Police Officers ‘beaten senseless’ as they tried to break up a group of men who were kicking a lamppost outside the Kyrenia Municipality headquarters – the report didn’t actually say WHY the men were so unhappy with the lamppost!

Talks are to start in Switzerland next month, hoping that some peaceful solution can be reached between the Greek Cypriots and the Turkish Cypriots. I think the whole idea is fine in theory but there are so many problems, especially with ownership of land and property. Just this week in Guzelyurt people are up in arms that their town might be conceded to South Cyprus: ‘Our people have great emotional attachment to their homes and they want the town to remain under Turkish administration post-settlement’.

Ah well, better not hold our breath.

Now it is time for lunch, then a read of our books by the pool. John is going all googly-eyed as he has been doing the jigsaw puzzle for about an hour. I think this might be the hardest one we’ve attempted – a LOT of snow!

Later – a week later in fact.

We are home now, hit the ground running and I am still hyper-ventilating. After one night in Larnaca we joined the throngs of tourists leaving the island. Our Jet2 flight was the last one for the season. Our Larnaca visit was memorable mainly by my impromptu haircut. I was savaged by a razor-wielding granny, who performed the whole thing in 8 minutes and charged me 8 euros for the pleasure. I look like a convict now. The fringe was hacked with nail scissors, and I could audition for the part of Julius Caesar if I wanted.

So with a hat plonked on my head I joined John on a mini-trip to view a wreck viewed from a glass bottom boat. It went down in the 1970s carrying cars and lorries from Sweden, but is now a hot spot for sports divers and assorted fishes.

And back to chilly October in Scotland, and a MacMillan Coffee Morning that I decided to host on the morning after I returned – it turned out brilliantly. Then it was back to the cooker and a Thali curry meal was prepared for a lunch party yesterday.

Sadly, my mother has fallen, breaking her hip, so we will visit tomorrow. At ninety-two she is doing her best, but I am told not to expect too much.

So, farewell to Cyprus, and the hot sunshine and hello to glorious sunrises here over the Firth of Forth.

I look out over the sea wall and am enriched, endowed with a priceless heritage that is my very own.  While on this earth no one can take away from me the sun, the sea and the variable winds that roar or whisper by.

And  here is John, modelling his latest hat!