Back home and the pub is full. We just about manage to squeeze on to a table for two after booking by phone on our way back from the airport earlier in the day. We've quickly learned that if we want to eat in our pub, we need to book beforehand.
The Pub Landlord makes a face through the window of the kitchen door and I retaliate from the safety of a bar stool by drawing a 'heart' sign in the air to embarrass him. I once had an onion ring with my steak which I swear was shaped like a heart. I haven't stopped going on about it since.
(In Greece, my garlic mash arranged was deliberately arranged in a heart shape. Oh those romantic Mediterraneans...)
'He's told me to wind you up,' says the barmaid. 'Something about chicken fajitas being really complicated. But I couldn't do that, it wouldn't be fair.'
And then when the Pub Landlady clears away, she says: 'The Pub Landlord wanted me to tell you he was really cross with you about your order. But I couldn't do that, because he wasn't.'
As the talk in the part of the bar we call Compost Corner turns to texting - 'I'd rather go and do some roofing than send a text' - the Pub Landlord comes out and welcomes us home from our holidays.
Since we've been away, one of our dear blog characters has been gravely ill but appears to be making a miraculous recovery (we lit a candle for him in a Greek church) and Celebrity Farmer has got engaged. Other than that, life has plodded on as normal.
The pub's been busy, The Pub Landlord says, but they could do with more people coming in at lunchtimes. Or just more local people coming in for a drink anytime.
As the talk in Compost Corner turns to the internet - 'new fangled stuff, can't get on wi' that' - the Pub Landlord says: 'It's probably about ten per cent local trade.'
Yet if it was facing closure again, the other ninety per cent would be ranting and raging.
Let's hope the new shop, when it opens, will be well supported by all those who've said they miss it.
That's about it.
Love Maddie x
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