February 2019

As predicted, I am battling pre-travel nerves at present; I am a week off boarding a flight for Melbourne, and am thus plagued by the usual questions: Have I remembered everything? Are my lists complete? Will I ever be ready? But suddenly I am reassured, for in the middle of all the damp winter dreariness a rainbow has appeared. A big beauty, stretching and arching apparently forever. No wonder our ancient ancestors thought such phenomena were a miracle, and ascribed all sorts of powers to them. I am reminded of a line from my favourite hymn, written by George Matheson, a nineteenth century believer in the Christian hope: I trace the rainbow through the rain/And feel the promise is not vain/That morn shall tearless be. Interesting man, Matheson. A Presbyterian minister, product of Glasgow, he went totally blind at 20, whereupon his fiancée broke their engagement. He always claimed that he wrote the hymn in five minutes, and that it was God’s consolation for his double heartbreak. He went on to become a noted theologian, preacher, and writer: Queen Victoria invited him to preach at Balmoral. At the time, this was just about as far as a non-Anglican clergyman could go, at least socially.

New Year’s Day now seems a long way in the past. The Greek family got together in Megara, where No. 2 son lives. The grandchildren had a good if rowdy time, and it was interesting to see the big boys interacting with their younger cousins, who are only 5 and two and a half. Of course we all ate too much, and NYD being St Basil’s Day, when Greek children traditionally receive their presents, there was a lot of excitement, and an equal quantity of torn wrapping paper. The subject of improving resolutions did not come up, which was something of a relief, as I have given up the whole enterprise, my personal history being that of NY resolutions lasting about three days.

The year started with a new experience for Orestes, who will not be six until the end of February. I came into the house, and noticed that his luxuriant locks had been trimmed. But there was something else. ‘Look, Yiayia,’ he said, pointing at his bottom teeth. Sure enough, one was missing. Unsurprisingly, there was some drama involved. O was eating a dried fig; said figs are, in spite of being flavoursome, often tough. He wrenched his fig and thus secured a piece of it, but his tooth came out with the effort.Blood everywhere, said his mother. And he cried with the pain, but was consoled later by the visit of the tooth fairy.

There was some more drama on the day of my departure, for I woke up to the sight of at least six inches of snow, and wondered whether I would be able to get to the Peloponnese. But the buses continued to run, and so I eventually made it. But first I had to get to a metro station in the northern suburbs. The whole area looked very pretty, and reminded me of Germany, while people were having snow fights in the street. But it is not easy, slipping and sliding along the pavements. My thoughts ran thus: If I break a leg, I won’t be able to go to Australia. But this did not happen, for which much thanks.

I eventually settled myself in the Kalamata bus. Next to me was a young woman who clearly wanted to practise her English. She went on to struggle with her grammar. ‘You look like the Queen,’ she said, ‘only much more younger.’ I laughed and said, ‘By twenty years.’ I’ve occasionally thought that I look like the Queen on a bad day, and my late sister definitely bore a resemblance to Princess Margaret.

It is only now that I am receiving Christmas mail. The same story applied last year, when I actually received a card that had taken two months (!!) to get from Geelong to Kalamata. This year’s record is six weeks. In contrast, Hellenic Post and the Royal Mail did very well. When I was last in Australia there was a row about the enormous salary the CEO of Australia Post was supposedly earning. I wonder what the present incumbent is on; I also wonder about the similarities between the 21^stand the 18^thcenturies!

Who would have thought it? I am a tremendous fan of Swiss tennis star Roger Federer, but can’t help being delighted by the fact that Greek Stefanos Tsitsipas has defeated him, and is now through to the quarter-finals of the Australian Open. I feel sorry for Roger, but c’est la vie, especially the life of sport. As all champions know. Tsitsipas is only 20, and the first Greek to get so far in a major tournament. I wish him good luck, and so do about 11 million other people. At least.