Paxos 19th August 2008

The sun rises at 6. 

A great orange orb floods the sky with pink and mauve, throwing a path of flame across the burnished bay which is as flat as a plate.

I decide to get up too.

I think I had better write a list

We must Hire a Boat. 

We must discover a Secret Cove.

We must Swim Every Day. 

We must find a Tiny Local Taverna.

We must Wander Through the Olive Groves.

We must familiarise ourselves with the Anaeid

We must quote Classical Greek Poetry at meal times.

It’s 6.15.

Everyone is still asleep.

I decide to go for a swim in the Infinity pool.

I swim in the Infinity Pool. It is very cold.

7.30 I get dressed. 

I wear a pair of gorgeous white trousers from Whistles and a floppy, flowery top and I have bare feet. I put my hair up with a clip and I put my black Dior sunglasses on top of my head. 

I decide to go and sit by the Infinity Poll and read Prosperos Cell because I haven’t got a copy of the Aeneid with me.

8.20. 

The children are all up. 

Maisie and Zac are swimming in the Infinity Pool. Abigail is wafting about in enormous sunglasses trailing yards of green chiffon. She looks like a particularly beautiful preying mantis.

“What shall we do today?’ I ask the children. ‘We need to explore don’t we? There are three main towns on the island called Gaios, Lakka and Loggos. We should explore them all shouldn’t we?’

‘What ?’ says Zac shaking water out of his ears.

‘Why ?’ says Maisie. ‘ I like it just here, in the pool.’ Maisie’s eyes are the same colour as the pool.

‘Why are you wearing white trousers?’ says Abigail. 

10.15.

John gets up. 

John has been lying n bed answering e-mails on his Blackerry.

‘I didn’t think I’d get a signal here.’ he says ‘but actually there’s no problem at all. Is there any breakfast?’ he asks. ‘Shall we watch the Olympics?’

Thursday 21st August 2008

Gaios & White Trousers. Yachts.

Gaios is full to the brim with Yachty Italians.  Yachty Italians wear White Trousers or Sarongs. 

‘I would rather die than wear white trousers.’ says Abigail. ‘At no point is it OK to wear white trousers unless you are actually in the Navy.’ says Abigail. ‘I cannot believe that a whole nation thinks it’s OK to wear them.’

I am quite offended. I have my white Whistles trousers on and was feeling quite stylish.

‘I’m wearing white trousers.’ I say to Abigail. ‘I’m not in the Navy.’ I say.

‘Yes, but you’re not a whole nation are you?’ she says looking at me critically  ‘And you’re not wearing them because you think they look amazing are you? I mean it’s more a case of you not really knowing what to wear isn’t it?’ 

Abigail is wearing some high waisted pink shorts and a stripy French Breton top. She is as thin as a stick and as white as bone. Her hair tumbles down her back like a rusty waterfall.

‘Why do people keep staring at me?’ she asks.

We walk through the Marina. The Marina is full to bursting with Gin Palaces and Yachts and Power Boats.

‘Wow’ says Zac ‘Look at these! Look at that one. That is so cool. Imagine owning one of those, just imagine.’

I can’t imagine.

John is walking slightly ahead of us. His back is wet with sweat. He is fiddling with his Blackberry. He is wearing  blue linen trousers and a crumpled linen shirt. He is wearing socks with his boat shoes. 

He looks like the quintessential Englishman Abroad.

Maisie says she wouldn’t really like to own a big Yacht but she would like a Rowing Boat.

We have lunch in a Taverna.   

Maisie has Kalamari.

John has Octopus.

Abigail has lettuce.

I say ‘Abigail, ‘You will literally die if you don’t eat something other than lettuce.’ 

Abigail has tomatoes with her lettuce.

She really is quite annoying.

Paxos ! August 18th 2008

Everyone knows that ‘Somewhere between Calabria and Corfu the blue really begins’ but of course at 38,000 feet one is not really in a position to appreciate it. 

Air Excel executes one of it’s very most exciting  landings for our delection, thumping down on the tree bedecked, isle to a collective gasp. The woman sitting next to Abigail  buries her head in ‘Hello’ and comes up for air as we shudder to a halt.

‘Don’t worry.’ says Abigail, patting her hand reassuringly. ‘It’ll be the same on the way home. They always do it like that.’

‘They do !’ says Maisie delightedly ‘They always do.’

Zac is as white as a sheet.

A Very Tired Rep meets us at Corfu Airport. She has a Clip Board. She says the same thing over and over again.

‘If you would like to take the left hand door.’ she says ‘Your coach is waiting to take you to The Port. The coach is clearly labelled. Names please ? Oh, thank you so very much. Enjoy your stay.’

‘I wonder how long it is until the end of the season.’ says John.

‘I don’t think she’s going to make it.’ says Abigail.

‘Can we go home by boat?’ says Zac.

We climb onto the coach and the Very Tired Rep climbs on too. 

‘Welcome aboard your Greek Islands Club Coach.’ she intones into a microphone. ‘Now, we have a twenty minute journey to The Port where we will Transfer aboard our Greek Islands Club Boat bound for Paxos. The journey aboard the Greek Island Club Boat will take about two and a half hours. Enjoy your trip.’  she says and collapses into a seat next to the driver.

‘Blimey.’ says John.

Much later we ‘Transfer’ aboard our Greek Islands Club Boat. It is a very nice boat. We sit inside because John and Abigail hate the Sun. They slather themselves in Sun Block even though they are sitting inside, then they both fall asleep. 

Sometimes I think John and Abigail are very Alike.

Zac and Maisie and me sneak outside. We stand on the Bow. 

Zac cheers up. 

‘I’m king of the world.’ he says, spreading his arms wide.

‘That’s from ‘Titanic’ says Maisie.

It is very rough. The crystal dark Ionian Sea flexes smooth blue muscles lifting the Greek Islands Club Boat high atop white flecked waves. 

Suddenly, all around us there are Dolphins, leaping, twisting, riding the wave, and then they are Gone. 

‘That was so cool.’ says Zac.

Much, much later we arrive at our Villa. We have a shiny little Hire Car. We all have to sit on each other and on our suitcases to fit in.

‘Don’t worry.’ says our Rep ‘It’s only a five minute trip up the hill. Once you’ve dumped the cases you’ll fit perfectly.’

The villa is small and square. It stands knee deep in a garden resplendant with Bougainvillia, awash with Plumbago, bedecked with Morning Glory and furnished with ancient, twisted Olives swaying silver then green in the afternoon breeze. 

‘Actually, I think you’ll find that that’s Bindweed 

rather than Morning Glory.’ says John.

Overlooking the sea is an Infinity Pool surronded by Sea Lilies alive with Hummingbird Hawk Moths.

‘I suppose you’re going to tell me that that’s a Paddling Pool.’ I say.

‘It’s much nicer than I thought it was going to be.’ says John.

I love Greece.

Paxos. Air Excel August 18th 2008

We are going to Paxos.

We are packing. 

I am going to spend all night packing. 

I hate packing.

John says he will pack for himself.

Zac says ‘I have left my swimming trunks on the Giant Boat in Sweden.’ 

Abigail is very happy and has packed a Tiny Little Bag full of Tiny Little Clothes. ‘I’m not going to check this in.’ she says.

Maisie says ‘Abigail says there’s no point going to bed because we have to get up again at 3. When’s 3 ?’

‘God, you’re stupid.’ says Zac to Maisie. 

John is stuffing linen shirts into his case.

‘There won’t be an iron there.’ I tell him. ‘ If you don’t fold those shirts up properly they’ll be unwearable.

‘What do you mean, there won’t be an iron there? What kind of place are you taking us too? asks John. John is still Very Cross because of Seasick Steve and the Freight Trains.

‘Oh, you know,’ I say ‘A kind of Aya Napa-come-Faliraki, 18-30 fun-fun-fun all the way without-an-iron kind of place.’ 

‘Well that counts you two out.’ says Abigail, coming into our bedroom.’God.’ she says ‘Why are you taking so much stuff?’

‘I’m taking the iron.’ says John.

We wait at Gate 24 at Gatwick Airport.

We are flying air Excel and I feel a bit sick.

I hate Air Excel.

‘Why can’t Air Excel land a plane properly?’ asks Maisie.

There are two drunk boys playing on a games machine at Gate 24.

‘I’m not sitting next to those two.’ says John.

‘Can I sit near the window?’asks Zac. Zac is not keen on flying.

Later, we are all in the airoplane. 

Zac is sitting near the window.

“This is your Captain, Duncan Goodhew, speaking and I’d like to welcome you all aboard this Air Excel flight to Corfu this morning. I’d also like to apologize for our delayed start today. 

We’re about half an hour behind schedule because we had to off load a couple of drunks and locate their bags to off load those too. I can only apologiz for this but we at Air Excel take anti-social behaviour from our passengers extremely seriously.’ says our Captain. ‘We are about to begin our taxi out to the runway within the next 10 minutes and I would advise that you keep your seatbelts fastened for the duration of the flight, because should the plane have to make any Sudden Moves or take any Evasive Action,  unsecured passengers are likely to find themselves floating around the cabin and the Civil Aviation authority takes a very Dim View of floating passengers.’ he says.

Zac looks a Bit Green. ‘Who does he think he is ? James Bond?’ says Zac.

Abigail is reading the In Flight Shopping Magazine. John has his ear phones in and is listening to Bob Dylan. 

Maisie’s eyes are getting rounder and rounder.

‘Anyway,’ says our Captain ‘failing any other pieces of Bad Behaviour from Idiot Passengers we should be arriving in Corfu at approximately 8.30 am their time and I wish you all an enjoyable trip.’

I pull one of John’s earphones out of his ear.

‘The Captain’s called Duncan Goodhew.’ I tell him.

‘He’s insane.’ says Zac.

Isn’t Duncan Goodhew a bald swimmer from the 70’s?’ says John.

‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised.’ says Abigail, looking up from her Shopping Magazine. ‘Can we buy one of these Underwater Cameras?’she asks.  ‘They look so cool.’

A Level Results. Friday 15th August 2008

Abigail and Posy come back from Dorset. They need to get their A Level results, They need to go into school to get them. 

I am On Tenter Hooks. It’s not ‘Tender Hooks,’ it’s ‘Tenter Hooks’ and I am On Them. 

I am, of course pretending not to be On Them. I am Casual.

‘See you later.’ I say as Abigail trips out the door and heads for the bus stop.’Let me know what you get.’ I call after her.

John is at work.

Maisie is at Jemima’s house. 

I hate her going to Jemima’s house because Jemima is entirely Free Range. Jemima is allowed to Go Anywhere. 

Maisie is Not allowed to Go Anywhere. This throws up all kinds of problems when Masie gets home.

‘Why aren’t I allowed to Go Anywhere?’ asks Maisie when she gets back from Jemima’s house.

‘Because you’re not. That’s all.’ I say ‘Jemima’s mother obviously doesn’t love her at all.’ I say. ‘But don’t tell Jemima that, it might hurt her feelings.’ I add.

Maisie is sceptical.

Zac is on his way back from Sweden. 

He is still alive.

I hate having children. 

Next time, I am not having Any.

Hours Later.

Abigail hasn’t phoned me. I check my mobile.

Abigail hasn’t texted me.

I picture Abigail clutching her envelope in her little, blue hands.

I imagine Abigail catching a train to the Bitter North, to escape the reprecussions of having failed her A Levels.

I imagine never seeing Abigail again.

I text Abigail.

‘U mst txt me. I am qte wrried.’ I text.

I am quite good at texting.

Abigail phones.

‘Have you got your results?’ I ask ‘It doesn’t matter at all what they are. We don’t even care. Not one bit.’ I add.

Abigail has her ‘A’ levels.

‘Everyone was crying.’ she says.

‘Nellie G was hysterical, she won’t get into Medical School. Posy got 3 A’s.’ she says. ‘I am So Happy. I’m going to Stalybridge. I’m going to be a Journalist.’ she sings ‘I’m going to Edit Vogue!’ yells Abigail down the phone.

I’m crying too. 

Not that I cared at all.

Zac's Near Death Experience. My Dermatologist 14th Auguat 2008

I am driving to see my Dermatologist with Maisie. 

I am half way up Marylebone Road when my mobile phone rings.

‘Answer that for me, will you darling.’ I say to Maisie.

It is very difficult to turn left off Marylebone Road into Harley Street because there is a Bus Lane in the way and one is inevitably Carved Up By A Bus, so I am concentrating on my driving.

‘Yes.’ says Maisie into my phone. 

‘Oh.’ she says 

‘Umm... she’s driving.’  she says. 

‘Did you put it out? Does Grandfather know? Don’t tell him.’ says Maisie.

‘Byee.’ she says.

Maisie clicks my phone off and gazes out of the window. ‘Your phone’s run out of battery.’ she says.

‘Is that Regent’s Park?’ she asks. ‘Can we go there after your Botox?’ she says.

‘Who was that?’ I ask ‘Was it Zac? Don’t tell Grandfather what?’ I say. A taxi driver leans on his horn and I swerve out of the Bus Lane.

I veer into Harley Street by the skin of my teeth and a Bus Carves Me Up.

‘Is Zac OK?’ I screech at Maisie.

‘Yes. He’s fine.’ says Maisie ‘He managed to put the fire out and he hasn’t told Grandfather. So....’ says Maisie, fixing me with a steady blue stare ‘everything is fine.’

While I am sitting in The Waiting Room with Maisie at my Dermatologist’s she tells me that Zac told her that while he was alone in the cabin of the 30 Square Metre Boat, he tried to light a gas ring with some Methylated Spirits. 

Maisie says that Zac said ‘It flared right up and caught the bottle on fire, and a bit of my sleeve too, so I threw the bottle away and the fire flew all around the cabin. Then I chucked a saucepan of water at it and it went out.’ 

‘But it’s OK.’ says Maisie ‘Because he tidied all the mess up and covered up the melted bits with a towel so Grandfather doesn’t know.’

Later my Dermatologist says. ‘If this slackness around your eyes is bothering you and if this lack of fullness around your mouth is an issue, you could always consider surgery.’

Daniel Hersheson. Albert CamusWednesday 13th August 2008

I am on the bus on the way to Harvey Nichols to have my hair mended at Daniel Hersheson when Abigail rings my mobile. from Dorset

‘Hi Mum.’ she says ‘We’re fine,’ she says ‘but it’s pouring with rain. We have to spend most of our time in The Pub. We ordered a Jug of Pimms yesterday and do you know what?’

‘What.’ I say.

‘No one had ever ordered a Jug of Pimms there before. Me and Posy had to tell them how to mix it. We had to tell them about putting mint and apples in it and everything. Now when we go into The Pub, they call us “The Pimms Girls.”

‘Oh,’ I say ‘Are you and Posy eating anything apart from Pimms?’ The woman sitting next on me on the bus gives me a funny look. 

‘I mean are you eating as well as drinking?’ I ask Abigail.

‘Yes, yes of course.’ says Abigail. ‘And the television in the cottage doesn’t work so we’re reading a lot too. Posy is reading Kafka and I’m reading Camus. How about that for educated?’ says Abigail.

‘Camus?’ I say ‘Who is Camus. I’ve heard of Kafka, obviously, but I’ve never heard of Camus.’ The woman next to me on the bus flinches, visibly.

‘Mum!’ says Abigail ‘Albert Camus!’ she says, complete with exclaimation marks. ‘You must have heard of him.’

I hear Posy say something in the background.

‘No, I don’t think she is joking.’ says Abigail to Posy.

Later, I arrive at Daniel Hersheson.

‘Who did this to your hair?’ asks my stylist, Amy.

I tell Amy who did it.

‘Oh.’ she says ‘I used to work there. They’ve gone bankrupt now. ‘

‘I expect someone sued them.’ I say.

‘Yes.’ says Amy examining my hair. ‘I expect they did.’

‘Amy.’ I say ‘Have you ever heard of Albert Camus?’

‘Yes, of course.’ says Amy ‘ He won the Nobel prize in 1957. He was French Algerian Existentialist, wasn’t he?’

‘I pick up a copy of ‘Hello’ magazine from a stack next to my chair.

‘Oh look.’ I say ‘Aren’t Brad and Angelina’s babies sweet?’

‘Mmmm.’ says Amy.

Maisie and Me. Monday 11th August 2008

Maisie and me Draw Pictures.

Maisie and me watch The Waltons on DVD.

Maisie and me make Candles and Stickers.

We eat Pot Noodles.

We trawl around Tate Modern

We take Evil for a walk in the Park. 

I wear a hat in case we bump into Inigo in the street . 

I know he probably wouldn’t recognise me anyway, what with all the ravages of 20 years etched onto my face, but you can’t be too careful.

‘Why are you wearing that stupid hat Mum?’ asks Maisie.

‘I just am, that’s all.’ I say.

‘You should go to the hairdresser.’ says Maisie ‘Then you wouldn’t have to wear it.’

I think this is probably a very good idea.

I book an appointment at Daniel Hersheson in Harvey Nichols. Daniel Hersheson is supposed to be very good at mending disastrous hair damage.

I book an appointment for Botox with My Dermatologist at the same time. 

If I do bump into Inigo in the street at least I will look Completely Blank and Expressionless and at least my hair won’t be sticking up.