I Guess It's All Relative

I'm shamelessly pinching the opening sentence of Beccy's last post to use as the title for this post, for no reason other than it's true!
Blogging is one of those things people do when they have embarked on something new and exciting (or they are trying to sell you something) before they get bored and realise that what they are doing may not actually be either that new or that exciting - at least not to anybody else. And it's fair to say that's what happens with me, I have these rushes of blogging excitement early on, before I think "why would any other bugger be interested in any of this stuff? I'm writing it and I'm not!" or when I'm incensed by the stupidity of something - as per my Brexit rant, which seems like forever ago now.
Today's blog is for neither a rant nor to try to tell anybody all about by exciting life in Cyprus, I had a revelation whilst walking the dogs the other day - it actually doesn't matter whether I think it's exciting or whether anybody out there in the cloud thinks so either - it's worth writing stuff down anyway to help us remember!
So that's the deep and meaningful (?) stuff done with, normal service will now be resumed. Some people who are fortunate enough to be recipients of our ramblings will probably be astonished to learn the Divisional Commander James Guy has finally admitted defeat and realised that he isn't the Peter Pan of the police world and has finally called it a day. I went to his retirement party at one of the hotels on Larnaca strip just to make the sure the old bugger wasn't playing an early April Fools joke (it cost 60 euros for me and Beccy - whoever heard of a retirement do where you have to pay to get in!), but it was true, Jim resplendent in a kilt excited stage left. It was interesting to note that the Chief Constable's speech revolved almost entirely around how nice Jim had been to the Richmond Villagers (which for those of you who don't know - are nothing whatsoever to do with the police- except when they decide not to arrest them for breaking numerous laws) and nothing to do with any kind of police work at all!
What else has happened since the Brexit rant- quite a bit really, in no particular order here are some of the highlights.....
Whittle came and visited, we met up watched something that sort of passed as football (England's Euros campaign), went North and had a meal in a restaurant with no menus. That really was a first for me, the place looked lovely so in we went, got a table for four (because there were four of us) and asked for the menu. Blank looks followed, so thinking it was a language thing, speaking in my best English for foreigners I repeated very slowly and loudly "Can     we      have      a         m     e      n     u  pleeeeeease?", to which the bloke who had been called over by blank look guy said - "No menu - kebab". So being even more stereotypically British instead of saying "That's OK my good man, we'll try somewhere with a broader food base", we said "Oh alright kebabs for 4 please"
What followed was perhaps the biggest plate of meat I have ever seen in my life, they must have killed and cooked two entire goats and seven chickens which they then served with 14 different salads, grilled peppers, halloumi and chips - I thought it was great, the Whittle's who it's fair to say can be a little conservative in their food tastes were perhaps not quite as impressed - but what did I care I got to eat one and three quarter goats!
We did Romania & Bulgaria with the boys, France and Brussels by ourselves (I won't cover this in too much detail - as Beccy has already shared the photos of those adventures).
Laid to rest Cathy's mum up at Cape Greco - which was actually a much more solemn occasion than either me or Beccy thought it would be. So solemn in fact that on the way up to Cape Greco we decided that we couldn't just hurl her ashes of a cliff, so we went in Paralimni to get something suitable to mark the spot. So after a tour of Kokkinos supermarket we eventually emerged with some very tasteful plastic flowers and some cable ties. Whilst getting very peculiar looks from Eastern European tourist I secured the flowers to the back of a park bench looking out over the sea. Then I very carefully opened the container and shook Gladys' ashes out over the cliff. At exactly that moment a zephyr of wind caught the ashes and blew some of them back into my eyes. I swear I could hear Gladys laughing!

During the summer we'd been to Brittany, whilst there we'd seen a notaire (a French solicitor) and had discussed how the house could be gifted to me under French law by my mam and dad. It was relatively straight forward he said, I need these papers and then a few weeks to sort it out. So when we went back at New Year, we went armed with said papers and left them with his secretary along with a letter confirming what we'd spoken about in August and telling him we'd be back sometime in February to sign the transfer documents. On our return to Cyprus, we emailed confirming he had the documents and arranged an appointment in February half term - everything going well so far, we'd get the house in my name before Cruella DeVille presses the Article 50 button, we'd be registered in France before the French went barmy and voted in Le Pen as President it'd all work out fine......so we turn up, mam, dad and me for the signing, Beccy an interested spectator only to be greeted by M. Pelegrin with
"Hello - what can I do for you?" -
 I replied that we were there to sign the forms to transfer the house, to which he replies"ah so when do you want to do that?",
 Thinking he was joking I laughed nervously and said "Now would be good"
"C'est impossible, you need three weeks" and at that point he clearly remembered something and left the room. A few minutes later he returned with our file, he read it, then looked up and said something along the lines of "I'm really sorry, I haven't done the work - I just forgot please forgive me I'll do it now for free" actually he never said any of that, he did apologise, said he hadn't done it and that if he was us he'd collect all the papers and storm out of the office.
Obviously being British we said "Oh don't worry about it, these things happen, I'm sure you'll get around to it when you can. I think a cup of tea would be in order" most of that is true apart from the cup of tea bit. Dad fumed silently and gave him a few "Paddington bear hard stares" but I don't think M Pelegrin has read Paddington so it was a bit wasted. M. Pelegrin said he'd sort it out for next time we came and here's a bill for 2,600 euros to pay in advance before I do! I went back to the house and cut down a tree - chainsaws are great therapy. We go back in April 13 days after Cruella does her bit, but hopefully before the French vote in a loony.
It's fair to say I got a little bit down after this setback - it is a worry not knowing what's going to happen after March 29th, but there's nothing I can do about it - so I'm not going to worry about it anymore, what will be will be.
And after watching Comic Relief the other night I thought "do I really have too much to worry about?"
Which brings me neatly back to the beginning - it really is all relative.

A Winters Tale

Now I do realise it is all relative, but Winter seems to be a long one this year.  I am sat typing whilst there is a raging storm outside.  Temperatures have been low this winter, we have even had a few nights below freezing and now the weather has just warmed up a little and the storms have set in.   There are signs of spring though, flowers are starting to bloom and the lemon blossom outside the kitchen window is stunning, I will soon be chittering on about high temperatures I'm sure.

We have had a quiet few months since Christmas, work has been dominant with a few black tie 'do's' thrown in for good measure.  The main event though was a trip to Kermin.  We can now get flights direct from Larnaca to Paris so off we pootled for a week of rest in France.  Andy's idea of rest is to crank up the chainsaw, take down a couple of trees, move seasoned logs to the wood shed, chop and cut more logs and plant fruit trees.  The latter being easier said than done, the ground in Kermin is almost pure stone in places, digging with a spade is impossible - a trusty pickaxe is what is required! It is heavy work, but Andy finds it particularly theraputic.  I resorted to much weedkilling which I hate doing, but at the moment because we are there so infrequently it is the most sensible and effective way of keeping the nettles and brambles at bay.

We also partook of all those things which should be enjoyed while in Brittany, we slurped a few glasses of wine, munched on cheese snuggled in around the fire and visited the coast.

Beccy xx