A bit of a touch of the blues...

This is a perfect Greek sky.  I don't have a comparison-shot, of the dark clouds hanging over London today.  But boy, am I missing those wide blue heavens.  And the heat, and the sunshine, and the dry air, and all the other great and precious beauties of Hellas.

I thought I had posted a short "I'm going on holiday, yippee!" piece, but it seems to have vanished, along with several other recent posts.  Perhaps it will reappear when I upload this?  Who knows...  The mysteries of blogger are past my fathoming.

I went to Kefalonia for a week; I relaxed and swam in the sea and read a great deal and did some writing and slept a lot.  There were swallows nesting under the eaves of almost every house in the vllage and the air was full of their lyrical twittering, morning to night.  The beach was scruffy and undeveloped, with clean sand and pebbles, pine trees and a few elderly benches along the track at the back.  The sea was clear, and as warm as bathwater.  The tavernas and the couple of local cafes were good, the local wine was excellent, and the nights were silent apart from the croaking of frogs and the calling of owls.

And now I'm back in London, which seems incredibly dark in comparison, and decidedly chilly.  My whole being feels like one huge sigh of regret.  It's just one of those blue returns, when I have more than a touch of dust and ashes, and less of a touch of the human spirit, in me.  I wish I did not live in a country where the sky is so very often grey.  There are places where the colour grey is hauntingly beautiful - in some people's eyes, for example - but in the sky it is just sad.

Something to watch out for...

... if you have Sky tv, at least.  Or if you live in New York.

A little while ago I posted a brief raving burble about Arthur Pita's superb contemporary dance adaptation of Kafka's "The Metamorphosis".  I've just seen that
a) it's going to be broadcast on Sky
b) it's going to tour to New York. 

More information here.

If you possibly can, see this production.  It's incredibly harrowing stuff, but is also one of the most brilliant pieces of theatre I've ever seen.  And Edward Watson is astonishing.  Believe me; I know I always burble, but these superlatives are more justified than I know how to express.

Meanwhile, it's a Bank Holiday weekend, yippee.  Frustratingly it's turned grey and showery bang on cue.  We had been enjoying a wonderful spell of settled, calm, sunny weather.  C'est la vie...

Kew Gardens is looking breathtaking as much of the early spring colour is still around while cherry and crab apple blossom, magnolias and rhododendrons are all blooming as well.  Trees are breaking into leaf faster than I've ever known them to; the horse chestnuts have gone in the space of about ten days from having their bud covers falling off and leaves just starting to emerge, to being in full leaf and coming into flower.  Just like that - boom, it's spring.  The bluebells are starting to appear in the Conservation Area and everywhere the air is shimmering with birdsong.  It's paradisal.  I work in paradise.

And I have groceries to shop for and a load of washing to run, and friends to meet, and chapter fifteen to finish (and chapters sixteen and seventeen as well).

Have a good weekend!