Inspired by some of the wonderful homes we've been in this summer we decided that the new villa here would be a great place to experiment with colour. So with visions of terracotta and warm honey colours we headed for the paint souks tonight! Now I am sure that this works in most countries in the world but here we have discovered it is a very hit and miss affair.
We entered a likely shop which sold and mixed paints. It was full of men drinking tea with only one person actually knowing what to do. After sitting us down amidst the tea gathering, we were given a lot of paint swatches (all international we were told, they think this helps!) and the obligatory tea. Well I chose a lovely-ish terracotta and a warm cream colour and felt quite heartened by the simplicity of the task. Big mistake! Colours were mixed and lids firmly hammered in place. It was the pounding of the lid that sent alarm bells winging their way towards me! "Do you think that I could see the colour?" With lots of head bobbing and hissing through teeth, the lid was prized open with a chisel and a mallet. And there it was my lovely new colour; fuscia! It was nothing like the colour I had chosen! They all assured me that after two hours the colour would be exactly like the one I had chosen; I don't think so, do you?

There is perhaps a certain poetic justice in the severe lack in my immediate vicinity, of bright cosmopolitan life and frivolity of any kind; a respite from two months in Cyprus indulging in all excesses! Yes, I am back to begin a new academic year in Saudi and rapidly becoming resigned to the fact yet again.
The flight to Jordan was smooth and uneventful. Our stay at the Sheraton in Amman was excellent, as usual. The most amazing experience on the drive down to Tabuk, apart from me trying to find a high enough sand dune for me to pee behind, was the border crossing! Saudi officials were extremely polite, smiled and welcomed us back as if we were long lost friends!
Karim has done an excellent job of looking after our temporary villa and we have the keys for the new villa. We will be going to have a good look round before we officially take it over.
So once the move is over and the term underway, it's heads down (literally sometimes) and roll on Christmas. This is when we escape the festive hysteria here (NOT) and fly back to Cyprus. We intend to lurk peacefully in the hills of Kili, with calm and quiet and big wide views, blue skies and mild winter air.

SOB! SOB! Be back in a few days time and actually writing from the Middle East! Be prepared for more camel photographs and the traffic islands, I bet you can't wait!

I have spent almost thirty minutes trying to think of my answer to the first question on a super power. I thought of being able to teleport myself as being a good one. I could meet you all in a wine bar tonight! But then being invisible would be fun but then I remembered the film where he was eating, yuk! I thought being able to see into the future has its possibilities! I would only want to be able to see a week at a time, well in actual fact just for a short time on Saturday night (are you with me yet?) A roll over week and a 16 million prize, that would be enough.
That time has arrived and only one night remaining in our Cyprus home. We have to travel back to Saudi starting our journey tomorrow night by flying into Amman in Jordan. We stay the night at a hotel where we have left the 4x4 and then begin the journey south through Jordan to the Saudi border. I dread going back! The censorship, the restrictions for me, security issues and that awful border to go through. Once we were at the border for 4 hours whilst they stripped the car down almost to its axle.
Now if I had my super power...

Whilst Blog Hopping last night I came across what could be a fun thing to do; if you join in that is. You pose five pointless questions and then get to see other peoples spin on each one. Well that is if you join in of course, if you don't, I get to look stupid again:
(So feel like answering five pointless questions?)
1. If you could have a super power what would it be?

2. What is the highest you have ever been? (aeroplanes not allowed)

3. Finish this statement as it pertains to your life: In a world where....

4. Have you ever seen a ghost or UFO?

5. You can have lunch with four people, who would they be? (Extra credit question: If there was a brawl who would be the last person standing?)

At a recent social occasion I happened to get into conversation with 'A' and mentioned that my favourite magazine was 25 Beautiful Homes. I was thrilled when I was told, "Oh, you should talk to 'G', he's designed three of those, our apartment in Edinburgh was featured in Period Homes and Antiques and he designed a few of the rooms in Holyrood Castle!"
Wow, I had stumbled right into designer heaven. So when I grovelled, (yep, absolutely no shame) to be allowed a look-see at their present home, we were kindly invited for drinks last night.
The whole visit was a marvellous experience from start to finish. Drinks were served in antique rummers, the canapes were exquisite and 'A' invited us to stay for an excellent meal!
They have had such an interesting life that we were enthralled from start to finish; we left reluctantly. However, I can report that the interior is 'absolutely fabulous'! The colours used are vibrant but there is such style and panache that it works.
When we returned to our little villa we walked around enthusiastically talking about colour, scumble glaze, shelving, mirrors and art. We have been inspired!





This is a page from Period Homes and Antiques featuring the Edinburgh apartment.

Working in the Middle East is not ideal but one of the biggest compensations is that we have met some terrific people. We met Bob and Jenny in Dhahran but we have become firm friends since we have both bought properties a few miles from each other in Cyprus.
Throughout their life, their world map has been picked up many times, shaken vigorously and replaced in different locations; this final one offering improved views and amenities which they have been quick to appreciate, once they had got over the travel sickness.
You can tell how happy they are because they both have smiles that bounce around a room like balloons. Last night we were invited for dinner and Jenny again produced a fabulous meal. They had spent many years in the Lebanon and so the meal was an authentic Lebanese affair. The table was set on the patio beneath three huge palms and a black sky with a tracery of stars. The air was heavy with the scent of jasmine and the only sound was the trickling of water from the fountain.
This was one of the most memorable nights of our summer vacation.

I haven't been around for a few days, what with parties and going out for meals but my BIGGEST news is that I've been to the opticians.
You need a little history here, oh yes you do, to fully appreciate the torturous road to Damascus that my myopia has taken. When I was 8 years old I was diagnosed by a school nurse (a beast of a woman) as needing glasses! I was not allowed to choose the pair I wanted but ended up with a pink pair of National Health jobbies that were the ugliest thing you have ever seen. My mother put them in my satchel every morning and I hid them behind the garden wall and retrieved them on my return journey in the afternoon.
For the next 14 years I looked at the world in a kind of fuzzy, wide eyed way until...contact lenses! Yippee, I could see! It was magical! At last I started to get on the right bus and friends, who were beginning to think I was a stuck-up c** because I always walked by them until they hollered, were over the moon. So I have been happily wearing contact lenses for 32 years!
I was reading a copy of Hello in the opticians, waiting for Phil to get his eyes tested, when out he comes with the optician who wanted to see the person who had been wearing contact lenses for 32 years (me; a bit of an oddity apparently!) Well Phil and Elexi (the optician) by cajoling, begging and then dragging me into the testing room, managed to get me to have my eyes tested. Now I believe if it aint broken why fix it, but with horror stories of contacts seriously affecting my sight, I agreed to have a pair of glasses. However, it has taken two visits, yesterday and early this morning, and promises that they won't look like the bottoms of a bottle and, most importantly of all, I got to spend an hour choosing frames. I tried Bulgari, Prada, Dior but the pair I've chosen are Chanel and they are tiny, light little things with the logo on the lens (I wanted them in diamonds but Phil said that was a bit over the top.)
I'll let you know how I get on with them.

We had a meal on the harbour front last night.

Lunch out today with lots of old friends and some new people. Food was simple but excellent value and very well cooked. The highlight for me was when I went to sprinkle water on Phil from a fountain. It's amazing how much water two cupped hands can hold and as the fountain had terrapins swimming in it, a drenched and spluttering Phil gasped, "Oh, I'm covered in terrapin pee!!"

This is the view from the terrace where we had our meal.

We are so layed back at the moment that I am in grave danger of having to have the sunlounger surgically removed from my back. Well maybe a bit of an exaggeration because I have actually swum 30 lengths of our pool each day which is quite something for me. Phil has now got 'reading in the pool', down to a fine art; a 'noodle' under each arm and one under his feet.
The brain cells only get jiggled about when we have to decide what we are having for lunch:
"Do you fancy something simple like a sandwich?"
"Yeh, that'll do nicely."
"Brown bread, village bread, olive bread, focaccia, cheese, nut, rye or white?"
"Errrmmm..., oh, you decide, I don't mind."
"Tzatziki, quacamole, taramasalata, hummus?"
"Bleagh, not hummus it tastes like poop!"
"Do you want sun-dried tomatoes or sun-blushed with your salad?"
"Just an ordinary red thing!"
"What dressing do you want on your salad? French, Italian, Blue Cheese, Ranch...?"
"*****Just give me a ham sandwich on white and a pint of Keo!"

Why didn't he say so in the beginning? Anyone else want a sandwich? I've got.......

Flowers on the patio:

BBC World have just announced their Top Ten Britons. Here are two quotes about two of the top three. Any ideas?

"She found that the casket of gold was worthless."

"He left us with 'ideas' ."

You may get the first but the second is far trickier. The prizes are very British, a Fortnum and Mason Hamper and a fish and chip supper at Harry Ramsdons.

Family and friends know that I am the quintessential pessimist. 'What if...' and 'but...' appear with regularity in my conversation. As our time in Cyprus is running out the doubts start to rear their ugly heads. No. I am not about to regale you with the latest fears. However, I wish to announce that I am declaring myself to be a "Healthy Pessimist." It means that no matter what happens, I will be ready! Well it worked for Van Gogh didn't it? Yes I realise that he cut his ear off, ended up in a mental institution (sorry not very PC) and then topped himself but you see, look how famous he is today and he owes everything to "Healthy Pessimism"; I rest my case.

Conversation with my mother-in-law: (only effective if you imagine the accents of the whole cast of East Enders or if you're from anywhere else in the world, think Artful Dodger in Oliver)
"You know Gladys Irene, writing for this Blog page is the only real hobby that I've got."
Adopt accent when in italics..."Oh, is that right Darlin', a Bog page now that's different."
"I mean Phil's got his golf, rugby, skiing..."
"But you've got lots of interests, Darlin'"
"What are they Gladys Irene?"
"Well you like readin' and ....lots of things!"
"Specifically what, though?"
"You know there's your Croaky, you're really good at that Darlin'!"
"My Croaky?"
"Yes, when you do that Croaky, it's a larf!"
"Sorry Gladys Irene, I don't understand."
"Oh, you do Darlin'. Remember when you did the Croaky at the Squadrons Do, your New York, New York was triffic"

Thanks for reminding me Gladys Irene, indeed I do like karaoke! You should hear me...." Just a Hunka, Hunka Burnin' Love...."
Eat your heart out Elvis!

The Summer Sales have been on in Paphos and ever one to take advantage of a bargain, I hotfooted (well actually nipped down in the BM) into the old town.
With temperatures still in the high 80's, it tested even the resolve of this hardened shopper. Now it is a well- known fact that we ladies do not perspire, we just 'glow'! Well normally we do but when you've been foot-slogging from one shop to the next, I was beginning to feel as hot and sticky as a Rugby players y-fronts!
When about to abort operations and seek the cool of the gardens of Kynaris and an ice- cold glass of Chablis, I stumbled upon this chic little boutique; divine! The rails were crammed with lovely little numbers and so I whiled away a pleasant thirty minutes selecting the items I wanted to try on.
At this juncture, several ladies burst, larger than life, in more ways than one, into the shop. From their language I assumed Bulgarian; from their muscles, Olympic shot-putters!
I decided to retreat to the changing rooms to try on the selected garments. At this point it is necessary to explain about the changing facilities in this establishment. There were only two tiny cubicles with curtains across the front for privacy. For someone of my height (5' 10") to successfully pull on any garments for the bottom half, the bottom half had to be pushed out against the curtain.
First few items, on and off and no difficulty. It was time for the Italian, skin tight, white jeans. Oh, bliss they went on and they were perfect. It was whilst getting them off that the problem started. I was hot, bothered, everything was sticking to me, even my under-things beneath the wonderful, white, skin tight, Italian, 'oh, so perfect', jeans. I wriggled and inched them down over my hips but unfortunately an item of underwear was caught up in the waistband and down they came as well! To extricate both, I had to remove them, bending and thus pushing my bottom half against the curtain.
It was at this precise moment that "Olga from the Volga" decided to fling back the curtain of my cubicle exposing my bare bottom to a shop full of bargain seekers who got more than they bargained for!
Needless to say my red cheeks had more to do with the situation than with the heat! And did I stop long enough to buy the 'oh, so perfect', white, skin tight, Italian jeans? Of course I did, they were at a 'rock-bottom' price!

Our exploration of the Cypriot village yesterday came quite by chance. I had seen the spire of the church from the main road and so we interrupted our journey to enable me to take some photographs.



We left the main road and after a series of vertiginous loops and dips along a rutted lane we came upon a peaceful and traditional scene. The narrow streets of the little village were empty, save for a coffeehouse in the centre. Here two old men were sitting before their morning coffee idly scanning the newspapers.
A short way beyond the village the grapevines stood in regimented rows, their branches already heavy with bunches of unripe fruit. We imagined the wine festival that would take place in the coming month and the wine which we knew would be sharp and good.
Round the bend in the road, a hunched figure dressed in black, encouraged the progress of a tired donkey by tapping it on it's boney rump. Tap, tap, keeping in rhythm, as though she was playing an arpeggio on a xylophone.
In all, a pleasant hour. We will go back soon, when the air is cool in the lemon groves and we can sit, take our time and savour the wine.

For all you photography buffs, check this interesting project! You may notice that I have already submitted a photograph!

Windscreen TV Gallery

I've been missing the land of my birth, England's green and pleasant land. The deep and ragged hedgerows, the winding lanes edged with the lace of cow parsley, tall trees where returning rooks settle noisily for the night and the gentler calling of the doves in church spires. I miss the first cool breeze of the evening and the trail of stars under darkness.These things I would dearly like to see but most of all I miss family and friends; tomorrow my thoughts will be with them.






On the way to Latchi today, we explored a little Cypriot village with a most unusual church. I am particularly pleased with the light in the last photograph.

I could talk about the b-b-que, which was great fun. Tell you that we cooked up enough food to satisfy the appetites of a school of Sumo wrestlers. Explain how Phil's idea of tidying up was to go round like a minesweeper, trawling everything into a black plastic bin-bag; hence we now only have three knives and one skewer thing left for corn-on-the-cob. Relate the episode of when the top shelf on the bar-b collapsed under the weight of all the food and the words Phil muttered under his breath and then spluttered into a pint of Keo. Or when we were invaded by a swarm of the ugliest, mad, attack critter hornets doing an impersonation of the Luftwaffe during the Blitz; have to confess that "just ignore them, they won't hurt you," seemed a better proposition than my usual way of trying to knock them senseless and launch them into the valley with a tray, (unfortunately they re-group into dive bombing formation and come back over the horizon even madder than before!) But......

I'm sure you would prefer a photograph of the cactus again.

Lots of people coming for a b-b-que tomorrow night; need to know what goes in potato salad apart from the obvious. Not joking this is a genuine shout for help. I am useless at cooking! Tried to make it last week and it didn't taste quite right and I didn't peel the spuds.

In Saudi it is infuriating to see children hanging out of car windows or sun- roofs when the vehicle is moving. Their safety seems not to be considered and getting tinies to buckle-up is unheard of. So my lament is usually, 'this wouldn't happen in the UK.'
However, please explain that a nation like the UK, which on the whole, cherishes the safety of their children, leave their brains behind when on holiday! Year after year we see holidaymakers hiring small scooters/ motorbikes and then driving without helmets and wearing beach shorts or bikinis. Today I could not believe it when we followed a small motorbike that was going flat out with a man wearing shorts and no helmet and horror of all horrors a very little girl on the back. She was dressed in a bikini; had no helmet and her legs were dangling because she couldn't even reach the foot support. Is it only me that thinks that this is madness?

I had cooled down by the time I took this. We had lunch by the beach today.

I love to write and today I started and couldn't stop! We have thrown our creative efforts into photography but I think the time is right for 'writing'. Hope you read my efforts and I would love to think that you will reciprocate by putting your work on your Blog. I look forward to it.

When Edward came to visit us a few years ago, he left behind a book, ‘Birdsong’ by Sebastian Faulks. I began reading it yesterday and it has had a profound effect upon me. Like a key to Pandora’s Box, once open, memories, long since buried, have come flooding back.
It has taken me back forty-six years when, as a little girl, I was instructed to take my school lunch break at my Aunt’s house. She lived close to the school, across an area which pretentiously laid claim to being a recreation park but which we children called the ‘Rec’.
My Aunt was a warm, welcoming person who was unfortunately, profoundly deaf. Life took place in the kitchen around a vast scrubbed pine table. The four stout legs of which, nestled in the bright coloured pieces of fabric in the rag-rug, which my Aunt had made during long winter nights the previous year. The only other items of furniture were two chairs; an old wooden Windsor chair and a very battered leather armchair the colour of ox blood.
As soon as I arrived I was told to sit at the table. She would stand at the other side sawing the crust off a large, fresh, yeasty white loaf. Once this had been smeared in butter and home-made blackberry jam, it was thrust into my hand. With instructions not to make crumbs on the table, she would sink into the wooden chair by the black range to mash the tea; the leaves being stored in a Coronation tin on the mantle shelf above the range. The shelf was edged with, what must have originally been, a delicate crocheted cream frill, but which now was blackened by the smoke from the coal fire. The other chair was positioned perfectly into the right angle made by the range and the wall, its occupant a shrivelled old man absorbing the heat from the fire, even though the days were unseasonably warm for late September. He seemed to be pointed and angular, knees, elbows, fingers, nose, and his skin was as brown and worn as the leather he was sitting in.
Into this silent room I came each day relishing the peace and tranquillity, a refuge from the hurly burly of young school life. The only noise came from the old clock on the mantle and the crackling and spitting of the fire. Every day was the same; I would run across the waste ground, weave in and out of the broken swings, push through the hole in the hedge at the bottom of the garden and then run up the garden path and into the warmth of the kitchen. My Aunt would be waiting and the comforting rituals would begin, the old man silently watching the proceedings.
It was late November, the clouds were grey and heavy and the wind bitingly cold. I ran faster that day trying to reach the warmth of my Aunt’s house. In my haste I was unaware of the treacherous ice on the path until it was too late. Down I went, putting my hands out in a futile gesture to stop the fall. The wool from my gloves was planed away by the impact of the gravel and the sharp little stones dug into my badly ripped flesh. Crying, I went into the house seeking the comfort that I knew my Aunt would give me. The kitchen was as silent as ever but her place at the table was empty, the only occupant was the old man sitting in the corner. He ignored the snivelling child and continued to stare into the flames of the fire. On the table was a loaf, butter, jam and a carving knife. A note was propped up against a milk bottle. It said that she had got to go to the doctors and to make my own lunch.
With very bloodied and inexperienced hands I attempted to cut the bread. It came away in white chunks and now the tears of frustration joined those of pain and despair. Suddenly fear wiped out all other thoughts as the old man re-arranged and gathered his limbs in an effort to get up. After several attempts he stood and then shuffled his way to the table. I backed away in terror as he picked up the knife. I watched fearfully as he proceeded to cut the bread. He handed me a slice and then dragged his body into the scullery. Returning, he had a metal bowl and strips of clean cloth. He poured water from the kettle into the bowl, then taking my hands he began to clean them and then wind strips of bandage round and round as deferential as a trainer seeing to the needs of a young boxer.
“What’s up, has the cat got y’tongue?”
He didn’t seem to expect an answer, just slumped back into his chair as though that one sentence had created a haemorrhage of effort and energy.
He never spoke to me again and shortly after, my Mother arranged for me to have lunch at a neighbour’s house, offering no explanations.
It was many years later, when rummaging through a drawer, that I came across a box which contained a small medal, three oak leaves in bronze and a fragile, yellowed newspaper clipping. It was written shortly after the First World War and was about my Grandfather. The report praised his bravery and mentioned the nickname that his fellow comrades would shout when the order to go over the top was made. They called him ‘Cloggy’ because once over the top, he kept going until he encountered the enemy. He was so brave that they mentioned him in despatches. I asked my Father why I had never met him and he replied, “ You have, he used to live with your Auntie.”
Written on the front of the box was: “When in doubt, go forward!” The Soldiers’ Motto.
I would like to think that he wrote it.

Do you like your house and do you envisage spending many years there?
Five years ago Phil and I hadn't got a house of our own, we lived in a rented one bedroomed apartment with room only to swing the proverbial pussy. We needed somewhere relatively close to the Middle East, where the lifestyle was relaxed and the people friendly.
One Hadj vacation we came to Cyprus and fell in love with the land where our villa stands now.
Over the years we have lavished our small villa with love and improvements that make it our home. You may remember that at Easter time we replaced the bathroom and this Summer had a patio extended and a wall built. So therefore, it was our intention to tighten our belts and not spend money on the villa this July and August. However, we are a bit like magpies lining our nest with pretty feathers, we can't resisit buying the plants, the pots, the statues and of course the cushions; my passion!
The purchase we made yesterday has truly delighted me. They, there are two of them, were handmade in Zimbabwe (pause for Meryl Streep impersonation, 'Out of Arrrrffrrrika!') and stand in a gravel patch by the kitchen door.



I think they're great fun and we can move them round the garden to ring the changes.

Unfortunately, at the end of August we have to go back to work and Saudi, it's getting harder each time. I spend only fourteen weeks a year in our home and Phil has far less leave than I do. When we get back we have another enforced move of house to go through! All these houses in Saudi, all far bigger than our little villa here but I know where I want to be.

I forgot to mention that another name that frequently crops up in the Looky Likies is Jordon! Now she seems to dominate the denials page of OK Mag. The twist however, seems to be that every guy is denying having slept with her. Continuing through the magazine this morning my attention was drawn to a headline that said "Lookylikies: Pukka!" AND there it was Duncan James from Blue and the Looky Likey, Jamie Oliver. However, turning over more pages there was Duncan James (or Jamie Oliver) with Tara and then later with Janine (I hope not Butcher) So whichever one I spotted at the Anassa, had to be a ten pointer; I guess I win!
So Phil the fact that you spotted Jordan 22 times does not make you the winner!

Back to those holiday snaps...Everyone takes sunset pictures but this is the sun rising over Latchi. I got up for a p... and this was just SO beautiful!

Our 3 days in the Anassa to celebrate our wedding anniversary, have been wonderful. This hotel is one of the best I have ever stayed in and the location is quite stunning. So I'm sorry but I'm going to subject you to my holiday snaps:



This is just one of the main entrances to the hotel.



Phil had ordered flowers for me.



We had our posh Anniversary dinner in the Basilica Restaurant; it was exquisite!



This was the view from our balcony.

On the Celebrity Looky Likey front; we were told that someone from a new group called Blue was staying there. So every person who looked slightly unusual had to be Blue, father of Blue, mother of Blue, Blue Peter (brother of Blue)....Now probably we have this all wrong as the hotel manager who told us wasn't too hot on the language front. The funny moment of the break was when Phil asked for brown sauce for his full English breakfast, (I know but as he says 'it just has to be done!') and what arrived, with a flourish, was a pile of brown toast! It must be the London accent.

Finally, I am officially registered for the Scavenger Hunt and my number is 180!!! Had a lovely email from someone who said my photographs are wonderful, hope she wasn't confusing me with someone else!?!