08 August 2013


How very interesting. I wish I'd had this in my early days here. 

I'd come out to perform the job of live-in care-giver for my mother. It almost immediately went catastrophically cruelly wrong and I found myself blind-sided and bullied, thwarted and thieved from.

Spikka da Grik ~ one of those wonderful free government classes came up and my mother enrolled us both. 

Her own Greek was impressively fluent after her lessons in the early 1970s but she came along and we sat together. She didnt bother to correct or interrupt others' efforts but was incapable of leaving any question alone directed to me until I exploded and begged her in the bowels of Christ to shut the fuchsia up or at least leave the pronunciation guidance to the excellent Joanna.

Exercise ~ I was intrigued to read of the benefits of exercise. My mother was an enthusiastic gardenry hobbyist and certainly benefited from the exercise of clambering round the extensive property.

I had never in my life felt the slightest interest in the hobby and had been lucky enough never to have been around any pressure to waste time or temper on the pastime. Until I came to Corfu in April 2006.

For some reason - misplaced duty, heavy hints, bullying - I found myself mismanaging my time to the extent that, of a 5-day working week, I probably found myself out in the garden for two or three days at a time, up to 2-3 hours per session - a treadmill of futility.

Often, we'd set off for the lessons after a demoralising time in the garden so I arrived already depressed and beaten and ashamed at my inability to organise my time for the duties I'd been hired for.

I remember sitting there as some very useful lessons were bring imparted but unable to get past the shame of having reached the age of 61 and still finding myself with a garden implement in my hand. If I couldnt take command of my life at that basic level, what on earth was I fooling myself for imagining I could learn a new language?

All self-esteem was drained, all pride or enthusiasm in what I had to offer. In the end, I had nothing to offer because my life was reduced to that of a slave awaiting the next instruction.

So the 'exercise' was wasted on me and seemed only to fester and drain my diminishing reserves of amour propre

A selfish self-referential hobby too big for its boots.

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