Author: anneethompson

Meg’s Diary: A Broken Ball

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16/6/2025

After my run, I collect Meg and her ball, and go into the lounge (which is carpeted, and out of bounds for Meg). She follows me, and I place the ball on the floor next to her, and tell her: ‘Leave!’ Meg stares at the ball, occasionally placing a paw onto the carpet—which I remind her is not allowed. I then do some floor exercises—press-ups and stretches and stuff—while Meg stares at the ball. Even if someone comes to the door, or walks through the hallway, Meg ignores everything except her ball.

After a few minutes, I praise Meg, throw the ball, continue with the exercises. Meg races down the hall after the ball, brings it back and chews it next to me. After a while (when she has asserted her claim on the ball) she will place it in my hand, ready to repeat.

Today, when I threw the ball, Meg chased after it, then returned without it. She stood in the hall, staring at me. No ball. Something was wrong. I told her to go and fetch the ball.

Meg disappeared for a few minutes. She returned with half the ball. It is made by Kong—and very strong, but it has a separate section in the middle, and over time her chewing means that it has come apart. Meg was very worried by this. She put the half-ball down in front of me and stared, asking what she should do next.

I took the half-ball, and told her to fetch the rest. Meg charged off, and returned with the thin strip that had fallen off the ball. She was obviously very worried by this. I tried to mend it, but it kept falling apart. I shall have to buy a replacement.

***

When we went to the woods today, Meg chased a deer. It happened while we were walking along a narrow footpath, and I was having a rest from sticks and just walking, so Meg had nothing to focus on. She spotted the deer before I did, and was gone in a flash.

I could hear them, crashing through the undergrowth (that would be Meg, she is like a tank when she runs). Then nothing. No sound, no sight, both dog and deer disappeared.

I remember that with Kia, calling her made no difference—if she chased a deer it was a waste of breath. I also think (based on no evidence at all) that if a dog can hear you calling in the distance, it does not make them return but it does give them the confidence to keep running, because they know where the rest of the pack is, so they can leave them there until they have finished chasing the deer. I therefore waited, without making a sound, until I heard the crashing of Meg returning. I quickly turned away, and began to walk off, as if I had not noticed she was missing, and was certainly not waiting for her, and if she got lost, that was her concern. My hope (again, based on no evidence at all) is that if Meg knows I will not wait for her, or even care that she is gone, then perhaps it will stop her running too far. The responsibility to stay ‘with the pack’ belongs with her. I have absolutely no idea whether this makes any difference. Nor do I know what I will do in the event that Meg does not return (because actually, I will care very much). But most of my training of Meg is based on compromise and chances, so hopefully that will never happen.

Hope you make some good compromises this week. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

You Only Get One Life

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I don’t have time to write much this week, but I was wondering—do you have an ethos for life? A sort of ‘code’ that you try to live by?

The thing that I most often try to remind myself is this: You only have one life. Life is short. Live well.

Of course, ‘living well’ is open to interpretation, but for me it means trying to live each day in a good way, a way that makes the world a better place, the way that I think God wants me to live. I realise that living well will be different for different people, but I still think that as a whole, this is a good aim in life. I also try to evaluate how I am doing, to spend a little time at bedtime assessing whether I think I have managed this. Usually I have not, and there are things I wish I hadn’t said or done. But again, I think this is a helpful thing to do—not to beat myself up, but so I can be deliberate about trying to change in the future. I think it is possible, as we get older, to live better lives than we did when we were younger. (Not, I hasten to clarify, better lives than other people—of whatever age—but better than we used to when we were younger.) Maybe, if I live to be a thousand, I might be a holy person.

This time of year is especially important for me to remind myself of this aim (to live well, not to be holy when I’m a thousand). It’s very difficult to prioritise our time as we near the end of the year, and Christmas looms ever nearer, and there is so much that I want to do. Days are not long enough.

Therefore, as I juggle the building stress of knowing I still need to buy lots of gifts, and I ought to clean the floor, and I really need to spend a few hours studying, and I haven’t had my eyes tested for ages and I need to sort that, plus all the regular stuff that has to happen in order to live. Sometimes it’s too much, and I need to stop, and remember. I need to decide what is important today. What needs to go on a list for tomorrow, and what can be fitted in but only if there’s time. And when I am doing stuff—going to the optician or rushing into the supermarket for milk or walking the dog—am I doing it well? Am I making the world, my little bit of the world, better? Sometimes it’s not so much what we do, but how we do it.

I will leave you with that thought for now, because I am trying to decipher a book about Hebrew punctuation, so that I can then decipher the Hebrew. It’s very interesting, but quite complicated, and not many people seem to explain it so I’m rather pleased that I managed to find a book about it. Reading Hebrew is very like reading a secret code, and you need to look for clues beyond the words sometimes. Meg is less interested, and keeps coming to poke me with her nose, so I shall have to walk her soon. But I shall try to do both things well. Because I only have one life, and life is short.

Hope you manage to live well this week. Thanks for reading and take care.
Love, Anne x

He planned to buy her a leaf-blower, so it would be easier for her to see the dog mess when clearing up in the autumn…

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Hello, do you enjoy buying gifts? What about receiving gifts? It seems to me, that people seem to fit into one of two boxes—either they love all things to do with gifts, and joyfully waste money on all sort of things just so they can wrap and give them, and they get tremendous pleasure from receiving gifts—or they feel awkward when receiving a gift and would rather people didn’t waste their money on them, and they would prefer a list when buying gifts so they can buy exactly what the person wants. I wonder, which box would you fit into? Or are you a combination of the two?

Some people are very good at buying ‘surprises.’ They seem able to think about what the recipient enjoys doing (which does of course require that you know the recipient well) and then they buy something to complement the hobby. (I think I have written in a previous blog, how one year Husband went to great effort to get a print of a painting that I had raved over in a gallery. This is now a very treasured possession.)

Here are my tips for buying a gift, just in case you are struggling. Of course, if you are buying for a person in the second box, they might actually prefer that you buy them something from their list, and sometimes that is the kindest thing to do. Sometimes we need to remember the gift is intended to make the recipient happy, it needn’t be something we enjoy giving. But assuming you know the person likes a surprise, here are some suggestions.

If they have a hobby (think about what they enjoy doing regularly) think of a gift for this. Even if they only really relax when watching telly, you can buy them a pretty blanket if they’re a ‘cold’ person, or a cushion, or case to keep their specs in. It’s all about thinking about what they enjoy doing (which probably is not picking up dog mess, even if they spend time doing that every day!)

Food treats are often another good gift. Either buy them something they will enjoy eating/drinking, or bake them their favourite cake/cookies/fudge. (This one does rather depend on your cooking skills, there are definitely some people who I would not like to receive home-baked goodies from!) Or maybe something food-related—a mug for their evening cocoa, a tumbler for their brandy, another teacup for the set they are collecting.

Another favourite of mine—which probably only applies if you are a young adult—is a promise of time. My family in the past have given me vouchers for afternoon tea with them. So I get to spend several hours with my extremely busy child, and we can have a proper chat. A real treat. Once, at a baby shower many years ago, I was given two days of cleaning from a friend who was a cleaner. It was amazing after having a baby to see my house beautifully clean (just as nice as all the Peter Rabbit crockery and knitted cardigans). I imagine a grandparent would appreciate a promise of gardening help in the spring.

Memories are always another excellent gift. A framed photo from the fun-filled holiday, a picture of a pet, the beer we drank in some far-away place. My siblings gave me photos from my childhood when I last had a ‘big’ birthday, and they are very precious.

So there you are, my tips for successful gift-giving. [If my family are reading this, I would really love a couple of baby goats, or alpacas, or donkeys, or calves—but don’t tell Dad because he has banned everything other than poultry!]

I hope you enjoy the preparations for Christmas, and are successful in your gift-buying. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

PS. In case you follow my blog, my last venesection was cancelled because my iron levels were surprisingly low. Yaay! That was a happy surprise. Hoping they stay low for the December test.

*****
anneethompson.com
******

Meg’s Diary: Not Well

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Meg was ill. She started being sick during the night, and was still being ill in the morning.

It’s always very difficult when a dog (or very young child) is ill, because you have to make a decision on their behalf as to how serious it is. I am not a great one for rushing to the doctor/vet whenever someone is ill, because I think usually people/animals get well by themselves. Going to the doctor/vet is just a big hassle (when you’re already stressed after clearing up unexpected mess) plus it means the ill child/dog has to be transported (not always easy when trying to contain mess) plus it mainly introduces them to a whole lot of new germs when their immunity is already low (because it is mostly other germy people/dogs in the waiting rooms). Plus with the vet, there is the lovely addition of the cost.

We do not have pet insurance for Meg. We decided with our other dogs to ‘self-insure,’ noticing that when they were younger they rarely needed medical attention and it was cheaper to pay ourselves than to pay the premium, and when they get old, the premium rises to being very expensive. The pet insurance companies are not running a charity, and we decided the risks were in our favour. Obviously, this is a personal decision, and we are aware that if something unexpected happened, we might have to pay an extremely expensive bill or six. But Kia lived to 16 years  old, and even with a whopping bill for a twisted stomach surgery, we still think we saved money.

Vet bills and insurance is difficult for me. I worry that due to the ease of ‘not really paying’ at the time, people allow vets to undertake evermore complex (and costly) treatments, and I don’t know whether the animal is always better off. It can be hard to let go, but I do think that for an animal—who does not understand the pain or what is happening, sometimes that is the kinder option. I fully understand how difficult the decision can be, I think we lose a little bit of our heart with every animal we lose, and I still mourn my other dogs. But sometimes, when a treatment is difficult and lengthy and the odds of it working are slim or the animal will never be pain-free afterwards, I question whether it is the kindest option. Plus, I think not using insurance keeps things real. I have a problem with balancing priorities with money—there will never be enough in the world, and I know that there are currently people suffering due to lack of resources—is a pet’s life worth more than a child’s? This is an issue for me, and not one that I solve logically. I do spend a lot of money on keeping my pets fed and healthy, and I do give a relatively small amount of money (in regards to how much I keep for myself) to aid agencies. But when there is a huge vet’s bill, if I am paying myself and not just signing a form for the insurance people, it makes me stop, and think, and evaluate. I ask myself whether this huge amount of money is best spent on my pet, and whether I can justify it in the big picture. As I said, it is not logical, and I do not question every coffee I buy in a cafe, or every random pair of shoes that I buy, but I do think that occasionally it is good to have ‘stops’ in our brain, something to make us pause and consider what we should be spending our money on.

But none of these issues were at stake here, Meg was vomiting, and I needed to decide what to do. I tried to think about what she might have eaten, and I realised that we do have poisonous plants in the garden, and although she has never touched them, maybe she did. Or she might have picked up a germ from another dog. Or she may have eaten something that has made her sick but is not dangerous. As I said, it’s the same with a small child—you have to decide whether this is something serious that needs fast medical attention, or something that will get better on its own. I tend to have a general rule that if the patient is basically well in themselves (not too lethargic/listless) and if they are drinking water, they will probably be okay to leave for a day.[1] Then they will either be better or worse, which makes the decision easier. Meg seemed fine in herself, maybe slightly less bouncy, but still keen to come in the garden, and she was drinking water. (Also, she was only being sick, her bowels seemed to be okay, so she wasn’t losing vast amounts of liquid.) I decided to wait and watch (and clean the kitchen floor). After a morning, she seemed completely fine. When she was well the next day, I decided she was better, and stopped worrying. I still have no idea whether she ate something bad, or caught a germ. But my kitchen floor is very clean.

Hope your kitchen floor is clean for a better reason. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

[1] It should be noted that there are certain conditions which do not fit into this rule, and they need to be learnt separately. For example, any of the meningitis signs on a child would get instant attention. In a dog, I know that a twisted stomach does not initially bother them, but they need fast attention: look out for ‘egg-white’ type vomit, when they are not managing to bring up anything from their stomach, and general signs of discomfort or distended tummy. Kia was sick shortly after eating, but none of the food was in her vomit, which was a big sign that something was wrong, but she seemed fine and was excited to be ‘going for a walk’ when we took her to the vet. We managed to get her to a vet in time for them to operate, and she lived for several more years, and she did run along the beach again. (My one question: If we put her through this surgery, will she ever run along the beach again?)

When the Bible Text Disappoints

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When did you last read the Bible? Or do you only read it if you’re in a church? I try to read it each day—one chapter with my morning coffee. I start at the beginning (Genesis) and go right through to the end, then start again. It’s surprising how much I don’t remember! It’s like wellies standing in water—nothing sticks. I have now started to make notes—a few sentences for each chapter, to try and make myself notice what I am reading. So far, it’s working, and it stops me ‘skim-reading’ and makes me think.

This week, I read the bit about Moses returning to Egypt to tell Pharoah to release the Israelites—and it made me think. I am reading it as a theological text—so I am not concerned with whether it’s historically accurate or not (it might be, it might not be). I want to know what the author was trying to explain about the God/human relationship. It’s hard to know what the point of this narrative is.

In brief:[1] Moses eventually obeys God and returns to Egypt to tell Pharoah that he must let the Israelites leave (they are currently slaves). First he goes to the Israelites, shows them some miracles and tells them his message, and they are very excited. At last, after centuries of slavery, God is going to save them. Everyone is happy. Then Moses (and his brother Aaron) go to Pharoah and tell him the same message. Pharoah is angry and sarcastic, and increases the workload of the Israelites, punishing their overseers. The people are so disappointed. Instead of releasing them, Pharoah has made everything harder. So now they feel abandoned (again) by God, and angry with Moses for raising their hopes. God gives Moses another message for Pharoah, and he wonders what the point is—he tells God that he (God) has made everything worse, and now Moses doesn’t even have the backing of the Israelites, so what is the point? I wonder this too—what was the point?

There would, I assume have been elderly Israelites, who after hearing that God was going to release them, saw everything get worse, and then they died. What did this message teach them about God? What did it teach anyone? When God said: ‘I am going to do this,’ people tended to think it would happen soon. But actually, usually in biblical texts, it did not.

The Israelites were told they would be released, and returned to Canaan. Canaan is the land promised to Abraham centuries before. Abraham never received it. He was also promised a son, and he did eventually have a son (Isaac) but not until years later than he expected.[2] (Abraham actually had eight sons, but only Ishmael and Isaac are talked about.)

What are these texts trying to teach us? Perhaps that God can be trusted, but things might not happen fast, or in the way we are expecting? That when all looks like it is going wrong (a bit like the world today) there may be a plan we don’t understand? And if that is the message, the hidden lesson behind the words, then what do we do with that? How does it help to know that people have their hopes raised, only to be disappointed, but eventually it turns out okay. I’m not sure. It is certainly reflected in real life—I have seen lots of people ‘sure’ they understand what God wants, only to discover they are wrong, things don’t happen as expected. Sometimes things (businesses, ministries, churches, charities) fail, despite people being sure that this is what God wants. I don’t know why.

Perhaps (and it’s only a ‘perhaps’ not really an answer) it is to teach us that we do not control God. God is God, and we might sometimes share some of the plan, but never the whole story, and we should not forget that. Perhaps the text teaches us to trust God. Nothing else, just trust. In real life, that is not easy. Humans like to plan for the future. What do you think?

I hope you cope well with any disappointments that happen this week. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

anneethompson.com

[1] Ex.4:27—5:23.

[2] Gen.17 and 21.

When the Week is Difficult

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Hello and how was your week? Mine was difficult—one of those weeks when you look in the diary, and wish you could zoom straight to next weekend. Which, given how short life is, seems a shame, but sometimes the whole week just looks horrible. I survived, fuelled by having had a lovely rest in Crete, and supported by my wonderful husband and friends, I have made it to the weekend and it was not as bad as feared. (Excuse the ** below, the AI censors won’t allow certain words. Don’t read this if medical details upset you.)

My main problem is my health, which I find very irritating. I feel like I had my ‘thing’ when I had the brain tumour, and now it should be someone else’s turn. But life is not like that. As you will know from previous blogs, I have haemochromatosis (my body stores too much iron) which means I have to have monthly venesections (they remove quantities of bl**d) with a bl**d test a few days before. I am a complete wimp when it comes to having things stuck into me, so it never goes well (though I am pretty much used to the bl**d tests now). But however much I pray/recite poetry in foreign languages/ breathe calmly, at about 300 ml my body goes into shock, decides it does not like what is happening, and I go all woozy, and the poor nurse who is struggling with my dodgy veins has to stop. Last month the nurse decided she needed help, so she pushed the ‘emergency’ button (I was in a separate room—usually I am just parked in the corner of the oncology department with all the patients receiving chemotherapy). Soo embarrassing! An alarm sounded round the hospital (Husband, in the waiting room, thought it must be a fire alarm which everyone was ignoring) and my room filled up with people. Really, I cannot describe how embarrassed I was. There were hundreds of people in the room—the ‘crash team’ had arrived, complete with trolleys to resuscitate patients, and oxygen, and monitors—the whole works. I kept apologising, telling them I was fine, but they told me I was completely white, and strapped an oxygen mask to my face (I think mainly to make me stop talking) while they checked my heart hadn’t stopped and things like that. Of course, everything was fine except that my silly body had panicked and sent all the bl**d to my vital organs, leaving nothing for the poor nurse to drain and not enough for me to remain vertical. They gave me a cup of tea and sent me home.

Therefore, this week, my first venesection since my crash-team experience, was not on my list of favourite activities. Monday was the bl**d test. The lovely nurse tried to use my left arm (because the nerves are damaged in the right arm, and it hurts my wrist, even when working at elbow level). Left arm is empty, so right arm it was. Survived. Monday night, the hospital phoned to say they could only see bl**ds for liver test (another thing that seems to be a bit broken, which my GP is trying to fathom) so please could I go back for another bl**d test on Tuesday. Tuesday, second bl**d test, in hospital, and clever nurse managed to find enough bl**d in left arm. Then I had two days off, hoping they would phone and cancel my venesection (like a child, hoping an exam will be cancelled). Friday, I went for the venesection.

All went well, no crash-team involved, clever nurse (a different one) managed to extract a full pint (which never happens). Yaay!

So that’s my week, fully survived and less bad than I feared. Life is often like that isn’t it—the things we dread turn out to be not as bad as we thought—and the absolute sense of relief when they are over is wonderful. I now have three weeks of ‘normal,’ spending time studying, and sorting the animals, and pootling round the house—these are my favourite weeks. My next venesection is on 21st November, but I will be less worried next time—they are never fun, but at least I know the crash-team will not be a new feature each time.

I hope your bad weeks are less awful than you fear. Sometimes, we just have to get on with stuff we hate, knowing it will pass in time. But it’s never fun. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

My Tips for Coping with Bad Health:

  1. The time actually being treated is relatively small, so use the rest of your time well. The journey to the hospital can be a fun chance to sing loudly to favourite songs or chat to the person driving. The waiting room is a good place to read a novel, learn a foreign language, write shopping lists—whatever you want to spend time doing. Don’t just sit and wait, that’s very dreary.
  2. The time not taken with medical stuff is yours—so don’t waste it with constant worry/talking about health. (Not easy!) Decide what you want to do, and focus on that. If I have lots of medical appointments, I try to fit them round the rest of life, rather than living life around medical stuff. Most appointments can be changed slightly to fit round other events.
  3. Plan a little treat for afterwards—and remind yourself of it when you enter the treatment room. A cup of coffee and a cake, a bar of chocolate, a visit with a friend—something to look forward to.
  4. Pray—whatever you believe, this is always good. (There are examples in the Bible of people praying for things they did not expect to receive—and they didn’t![1]—but it’s still a good principle, because you never know what might happen, plus it’s good to dump your worries/hopes/wishes somewhere.) I am praying to be healed of haemochromatosis, which would be a miracle because it can’t be ‘cured’. I’m not expecting this, and I certainly don’t deserve it, but there’s no harm with asking.

[1] 2 Sam.12:16-22.

A Walk in Ierapetra

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Husband announced he was taking me on a walking mystery tour. I didn’t mind the walk, but I didn’t especially want a mystery tour. Plus I had read all the same guidebooks as him, so I felt I knew it would be one of the few ‘sights’ in Ierapetra. But he insisted, and off we went, hat to keep sun out of eyes, sensible shoes for walking, nice bit of sea air, bit of a grumpy attitude.

The first stop was an ice cream. Very nice, I cheered up. I had a ‘Twix’ cone, and walked along the waterfront trying to not let it drip, wishing Husband would not take photos of me while I ate (so maybe still a bit grumpy).

I wondered where we were going, as all the interesting things are situated in the old town. There is the fort, which we run to every morning. Not likely to be that—I am not especially interested in forts. There is also Napoleon’s House, which I was quite keen to see, but when we reached the turning, Husband said we should keep walking. That also ruled out the museum.

We walked to the fort, then turned inland, towards the highlight of ‘the mystery tour.’ It was, if I am honest, disappointing. What had looked online in Google maps like a beautiful garden with a big house next to it, turned out to be what looked like a go-kart track next to a school. I later investigated, and it was actually a bike track, set out to teach traffic rules for cyclists. (The Greek equivalent of the Cycling Proficiency Test.) I could tell Husband was a bit flummoxed by how ugly his ‘beautiful garden’ turned out to be, so I wasn’t as sarcastic as I might have been. It was just a broken fence, with a race track needing some care, a few weeds growing in the dust. Not much of a highlight. 

However, behind it, hidden out of sight, was a more interesting feature. There was a deep, narrow canal, that led away from the sea, to a small lake. There were the remains of walls (looked Roman to my uneducated eye) and lots of fancy walkways, a coffee shop, art forms, a playground, and a lone fisherman. It was clearly disused, but at one time had been significant. But what was it? An elaborate lake for model boats? Too big for that. A disused swimming pool? Too deep and dangerous for that. A port? Not possible, as there was a bridge over the canal, so no boat would be able to enter from the sea. A mystery, even if an unintended one.

When we got home, I spent a long time trying to discover what we had seen. Other blogs described Napoleon’s House, the Museum, the Mosque, the Fort. Nothing about a weird lake next to a deep canal and Roman walls. And then, just as I was about to give up, hurray! I found it.

It had changed significantly from the original size and shape, but at one time it had indeed been Roman. It was a maritime theatre, the site of a Naumachia. The Romans had used it to reenact battles on the water, forcing slaves and gladiators to battle on the lake, while they watched. Hence the deep canal from the sea, the Roman walls, the lake. Obviously over time the size and shape of the lake has changed, but I’m guessing it was too big and deep to completely remove. There were no signs, just some cryptic maritime artwork on a wall. But how interesting. I wonder why it hasn’t been turned into more of an attraction.

We walked back, past Napolieon’s house (apparently he stayed the night here, incognito, leaving a note revealing his identity to be found the following morning). People were smaller in those days. I wonder if the Roman theatre was still a feature in Napoleon’s time, or if he missed it too. Strange how history is in layers of time.

We finished the walk with another coffee next to the beach. In my experience, Crete involves eating a lot of yogurt, and drinking lots of good strong coffee (not together, obviously). Nice afternoon.

I hope you have an interesting week (and are less grumpy than me). Thanks for reading.
Take care,
Love, Anne x

Visiting Spinalonga—‘The Island’

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Several years ago, I read The Island, by Victoria Hislop. Although her writing isn’t really to my taste, I find her books interesting, and The Island described a leper colony, off the coast of Crete. I thought it would be interesting to visit.

We’re staying in Ierapetra, on the south coast (which is sunnier in October) so I shoved a jumper in my bag, and we headed North. It’s possible to catch a ferry from Plaka, which has free parking, so we drove there. The parking was free, the ferry cost €12 for a return ticket, which seemed reasonable, and the ferry ran every 45 minutes. We had just missed one, so we bought a ticket and then wandered up a pretty street while we waited. I needed a coffee and a washroom, so we bought some coffee (very good coffee) from The Pine Tree tavern. The washrooms were very clean (I think everywhere in Crete is very clean) and an espresso and an Americano both cost €2.50–which is as cheap as we have found.

The ferry arrived, we found seats, there was a short wait while it filled with passengers. The ride was very short. We came to a small harbour, with ferries from several other places. There was a ticket office. I don’t know why, but I had assumed the ferry included entrance to the island. Rookie error. It cost a further €20 each to go onto the island. I felt slightly cheated, which makes no sense because I would probably have paid €30 for a ticket on the mainland, but somehow the 2-stage payment felt like a trick. Next time I will do better research. A very vigilant woman was checking tickets at the entrance, and insisted on tearing them in half (even though I had wanted to keep mine—it cost me €20!)

Spinalonga is a popular tourist destination, and it was busy. This didn’t especially spoil it—it was still just about possible to imagine the patients who were taken there in the early 1900s, who managed to survive until their illness defeated them. It was originally a fort, and they destroyed parts of the structure (to the horror of archeologists!) to build a settlement. I read that it became a community, and people even married and had children while living there. The novel I read was not, apparently, overly factual (I think it muddled some events, which happened in different times) but it’s fiction—it’s not meant to be a travel guide. I think Hislop describes places better than she describes people, and I recognised some of the buildings described in the book.

I cannot imagine how it would feel to live so close to the mainland, yet be unable to ever visit. If you were a strong swimmer, you could probably swim across, it’s not far. To be forced to live in isolation, to have to restart you life amongst strangers, must have been unbearably hard. As I read the signs (most were about the fort, but there were a few facts about the leper colony) I began to realise how strong those who made the island better must have been. Some of the people made a community, improving buildings, seeking to enforce a structure to life. As I wandered through their tiny houses, and looked at the uncompromising blue of the sea, I realised that there is a lesson for all of us. Life will always have tough, nasty, times. We choose whether we will fold into ourselves and wait to die, or pick up the pieces that are left and try to make something positive.

We caught the ferry back to Plaka and ended up at the wrong harbour! It was fine, as the town is very small, and we wandered along the main road and decided to find some lunch. We chose The Carob Tree because it had a table of old men drinking coffee and staring at the world, and I firmly believe that local old men know the best places to visit. We were not disappointed. 

We chose a selection from the appetisers menu, with more coffee and a bottle of water. The Cretan Cheesecake turned out to be bread and carob bark, mushed into a sort of cake, with a local cheese and chopped tomatoes on top. It looked very pretty, tasted rather sour, and is definitely worth trying. My favourite was Graviera kantaifi, which was goat’s cheese baked in crispy shredded pastry, served with olive jam (which did not taste like olives—I don’t like olives). It was rich, and hot, and delicious.

We sat inside (near the old men) and watched the world drive past. At various points a van stopped outside, blocking the view, delivering fresh fish, or vegetables, or bottles of gas. It all felt very real and interesting.

I hope you have a good morning too. Thanks for reading.

Take care.

Love, Anne x

More Crete: What is a Tamarisk Tree?

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We are a short walk from the supermarket, which means we can buy things as we need them and don’t need to do a major shopping trip. It’s difficult to find some items, as we know no useful Greek (although I do recognise the letters). Some packets have several languages, which helps (but finding dishwasher salt was a challenge). 

The toilets are like the one in Turkey—you can’t flush paper. Which makes for an unpleasant bin-emptying job each day. Today all the water also stopped, which wasn’t great (not so much because we needed water at the time, more because we wanted to know it would be restored before too long).

We went for a walk around the old town. This was, from what I could see, not very old, other than a church which at some point had been changed into a mosque. There were some lanes, and lots of houses had pots of plants outside, which was pretty, but the buildings themselves are all very ‘rectangles-of-concrete-painted-white’ in style. Which is not so much to my taste.

The people are friendly. We walked past a little church with three old ladies sitting on a bench outside. They called us over, and tried to guess which country we were from, chatting to us in Greek (which we didn’t understand). They smiled a lot.

We then passed a cafe full of old men drinking espressos. My kind of cafe. We stopped, and ordered two espressos (which was good of Husband, who doesn’t like espressos but does like joining in). 

Friday

After a couple of days in the villa (Husband had interviews and I was tired, so it suited both of us) we decided to venture beyond the town. We drove along the south coast, to Monastiri Kapsa. The road was empty, only occasional cars passed us, it was very easy driving—even I could have managed it. The towns we drove through were all similar: concrete blocks painted white, the odd tree struggling in the rocky soil, a few shops, kids on bikes. Mainly lots of concrete, but lots of houses have big terracotta urns outside, filled with plants, which contrasts with the general ugliness of the place and makes it almost pretty. I realise this is very subjective, and many people would find Crete beautiful. But I like trees, and there are very few— mainly rocks and scrub. It is a very brown island.

At one point we passed a herd of goats, being shepherded by two men—no shirts, long grey beards, tanned bodies, fat tummies. The goats were sheltered in a cave on the hillside. I don’t know what they managed to eat, there wasn’t much growing, but they seemed happy. (I think goats are like ducks, they always look cheerful and slightly naughty. Maybe I should keep a couple.)

The monastery, when we reached it, was set on a high rock next to a gorge. I don’t think it was open for visitors. There was a little beach, with people swimming (not much in the way of costumes) and a few tired trees. The gorge was deep, and there was a goat track through the middle, but we didn’t walk it (too lazy). We drove back to the apartment for lunch.

We strolled back to the ‘old man cafe’ this afternoon. They have the best coffee, and they bring it with a bottle of water, which is a nice touch. As we sat there, looking at the beach, I wondered what the twisty trees growing on the beach are. If you open the camera on the Google search bar, it will photograph things and then suggest what they might be (I have never used ‘Google search’ before—it’s rather helpful). The search results suggested they were olive trees, which they are clearly not. It also suggested they were tamarisk trees, which matched exactly. I found this very interesting. 

Tamarisk trees are mentioned in the Old Testament. They are able to survive in salty soil, and they deposit the salt in their leaves, which then fall and make the surrounding ground salty—so other plants never grow near them. They are therefore used metaphorically for Israel, which was called to be a nation separate from other nations in the ancient world. It was fun to see them, with their twisty branches and bubbly cork-like bark and delicate foliage.

It often takes me a day or two to properly see a new place, and I like Ierapetra. It has a nice mix of tourists and real life. It’s not (to my eyes) pretty, but it has some interesting plants, and lots of friendly people. The pace is relaxed. It’s also very clean—there is no litter, the streets are cleaned regularly, and whenever I have used public toilets they have been spotless. If it wasn’t for the dodgy drains, it would be perfect.

I hope you see the good things around you today. Thanks for reading.

Take care.

Love, Anne x

anneethompson.com
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October in Crete

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Crete October 2025

We arrived yesterday. The taxi arrived at 4.30 (I didn’t book the flights) and all went smoothly, so we arrived at the apartment early afternoon. We flew to Heraklion and drove down to Ierapetra on the south coast. The town feels slightly rundown, with white buildings and broken pavements, lots of cats and small shops selling beautiful trinkets. A first impression, so possibly will change. The apartment is right on the coast, with a balcony overlooking the sea, and a short walk to a strip of restaurants. There is a lot of touristy things (restaurants,  tourist shops, beach chairs) but mixed with real life—-a school, a few small businesses, a decent supermarket. I like it. The weather today is sunny (was stormy yesterday, when we arrived) with a fierce wind coming off the sea. I have not yet seen any mosquitoes, but the guidebook says they exist, so I am being cautious.

We have escaped for a holiday. I am hoping to do nothing. I want to read novels, nap, walk along the strip next to the beach for dinner, watch the sunset from the balcony. Husband has other plans, and a list of interesting places to visit. We shall see what happens. The one place I do want to visit is Spinalonga island, because I read the novel, The Island by Victoria Hislop. It used to be a leper colony (until surprisingly recently—leprosy was not a thing that died out thousands of years ago, it exists even today in places that don’t have easy access to antibiotics).

I am also reading a book of Greek myths by Stephen Fry, so I shall smatter my blogs with interesting ancient factoids. (I find it interesting how the Greek myths overlap with myths from Mesopotamia. For example, chaos is a feature of both, and gods vying for control over chaos, and over each other, as well as their reactions to mortals.) When various gods were sorting out the pecking order, Zeus was a baby god, hidden in a cave on Crete (not yet sure which one, but I feel sure it will be labelled somewhere.) He was raised by a goat, and as a toddler god, he snapped off a horn by mistake, This filled with wondrous foods, which is where the cornucopia, the ‘horn of plenty’ comes from. (This will always remind me of Beefeater restaurants in the 1980s, when we had less money and agonised whether we would eat the free ice-cream or pay extra for a Horn of Plenty dessert!) But back to Zeus: After he was a fully-grown god, and had defeated the other gods to be the most powerful, he needed to sort Atlas, who was a super-strong god. So he gave him the task of holding up the sky, to keep it separate from the earth. Over time, the strain was too much, and he evolved into a mountain (the Atlas mountains) and gave his name to a great sea (the Atlantic). People were so grateful (because no one wants the sky to fall down) that whenever they drew maps, they drew a little picture of him (holding the world, even though he actually was holding the sky). Hence an atlas. (More fun facts from Mr Fry to follow! ) I will let you know if we find Zeus’s cave.

Today we have just run along the path next to the beach, and wandered to a nearby coffee shop. So perhaps my restful holiday will actually happen after all. We shall see. I hope you have a peaceful week, whatever you are doing. Thanks for reading.

Take care.

Love, Anne x