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The Landlady: Up the Slippery Slope
I can officially announce that the weather in Southern Turkey at the beginning of this month was almost identical to the weather experienced here in the UK, apart from, in Marmaris at least, it was reported to be very rainy.
I was told this by the smug man at passport control when we returned to Gatwick. He was clearly enjoying the fact that lots of moaning Brits were coming back through passport control complaining about the dismal Turkish weather. I equally smugly replied that, one and a half hours further down the peninsula where my little house is situated, the weather was nigh-
“no finer hangover cure than a quick plunge into the un-warmed Mediterranean”
Although the weather was perfect for me, some of the other residents of my little village were lamenting the unusually slow onset of summer in Southern Turkey. One lady claimed that, had her electric blanket still been working, she would have made use of it on these chilly May days. I have agreed to take her a new one when I return to Turkey in June.
It certainly felt like summer was on its way to me, and me and my friend M spent a few days on the beach and even went into the (fairly icy, it has to be said) sea on one occasion. There is no finer hangover cure than a quick plunge into the un-warmed Mediterranean. We were not alone in our endeavours to enjoy springtime beach life and we were accompanied by several pasty-skinned locals, who offered to buy us a beer as they were clearly impressed by our mettle.
Because it was my friend M’s birthday while we were in Turkey, we had a little gathering at my house. It had to be little as the house is minute, but 13 people, three dogs (one of them quite smelly) and a donkey managed to squeeze into my front yard and eat a late lunch on a balmy, for me at least, Sunday afternoon. Luckily, the donkey (known to her friends as Dusty) was more concerned with eating all the weeds and thistles in the twitten outside and seemed uninterested in the buffet. My neighbour from across the way attended for a while and I had a chat with him in German, as that was the only common language we shared. He was, he repeatedly told me, ‘eighty-nine-and-a-half’. He was also, with his somewhat captive audience, keen to tell us that his house was up for sale. As squiffy as some of us were, I don’t think there were any takers, although I might have a look when I return in mid-June. By then, I am hoping to be able to use my brand new electric fan and put away the hot water bottle until November...