It is but a week until we board a plane to go to Rethymno in Crete, and I really look forward to it. I’ve been there before, with mum and dad, and what I remember is an awfully long beach between the hotel and the town centre.
Rethymno is a Venetian town, built as an outpost during the middle ages. It is entirely dominated by an old Venetian fort, and the architecture in the town centre is more Italian than Greek.
In one of those old houses, there’s a restaurant where lemon trees grow, and when mum and dad and I were there, they served a fantastic Kleftiko. I have decided to take Mark there, if it still exists. It also served fantastic Saganaki.
But, it’s still more than a week before we go. We leave on the eleventh, and come back on the 18th. Then, it’s just the weekend left of this summer, and on the following Monday I begin my year-long commute back and forth between London and this town.
I have to say I suffer a little bit of trepidation about that. Half my days rage with nightmare scenarios where I ruin the venerable old journal, and make a total fool of myself. The other half flows with daydreams about me dazzling them with my sheer brilliance, and they offer me the world and all that’s in it on the third day. Cough. Let’s not get carried away, right?
Mark has finally finished his brick-laying for this summer, and I have actually seen him a little bit these last couple of days. He’s caught up with that bit of his social circle I’m not included in. Old friends and enemies to reacquaint himself with after working like a bee all summer.
I still have two days of selling T-shirts and trousers until my stint in the waged proletariat is over for this season. Next week should be quieter, and although I always say this, it seems, maybe my blogging will be done more diligently. Or we go wild here to savour our last fully free week.