In terms of the harvest there is not a lot to report. There was no rain, Tim and I ploughed on and we are on track. But Tim is a bit of a photo genius and I bring you two quite amazing photos to entertain you.

I show you the photo below not to demonstrate my support for the 47th President of the USA. Not to show how think I am these days although I am now able to wear a rugby short from my London Irish days and it is loose. No, it was to show that while you shiver back in Airstrip One, the sun was shining here in Greece. Day three was uninterrupted and we made good progress. But pride comes before a fall.

We are in a routine. My assistant Tim is the Albanian grandfather. I am the Albanian grandmother.

For the first time ever I am harvesting olives after Christmas rather than before and I can hear chainsaws, twerkers and threshing machines everywhere. The hills are alive with the sounds of my neighbours harvesting in a far more industrial way than myself and reader T. We work at a rather slower pace.

Natch Jaya’s teachers celebrated the start of term with an INSET day. At 4 AM the snow lay crisp and even if not deep. By the time Jaya, roused daughter 2 and daughter 2’s boyfriend a lot of melting had taken place. But the trio still managed to create Sammy the snowman and dress him in a Wrexham scarf and Canada hat sent by this site’s manager Darren from the land of President Castro Trudeau.

We have had an early season booking and that means the pool is now open from 25 April onwards. we could open it earlier if folks wanted to book. It will stay open until September 30th or later on request. Most of July is now booked out but the rest of the year is still free and as the photos below show it is heavenly. Kalamata airport has direct flights from April and is less than an hour away. I head off in about a week to make a few running repairs and harvest some olives.

Yes, the Western media and politicians promising to back Ukraine until victory lied to you. I look at the situation in Kursk and the Donbas then at 1 small town Russia will capture this week.

However much the Church of England or Church of Wales infuriates me and tests my faith I have always attended Midnight Mass at Christmas. “Yea Lord we Greet You born this happy morning” I sing loudly and walk out into the cold night air filled with optimism and with my weak faith replenished. Gradually my own failings and the miserable state of the world weaken all those positive feelings and then it is Christmas again. This year I did not leave after the last carol I stormed out and I hope that our sparky new vicar understands why.

First, over mince pies (bought in) and home made brandy butter or cream plus mulled wine, potent and made with my special recipe, the 24 of us practised with “Away in a manger”. Then we headed off up the lane to see an elderly and, this year, bereaved, neighbour.

Before our Christmas Carol party my friend C took his chainsaws to the pear tree felled by storm Darragh. I had a play with smaller saw and have now bought myself one on Amazon allowing me to start work tomorrow on creating logs to dry for next winter.

The hideously ugly, modernist, hugely expensive cat box the Mrs bought from Ikea is still being spurned. She moves it around the house to wherever the cats are resting but to no avail. It needs to go on facebook marketplace on aesthetic grounds and because it can be sold as unused. Instead..