The day after tomorrow and great expectations
Rain poured through the end windows, drip-plop-torrent. The wind roared and whistled down the chimney in such a terrifying way that, for a split second, I turned to see the shadow of Mr Grigg and thought it was the convict Abel Magwitch from Great Expectations.
And then the thunder cracked, splitting the sky in two after a great flash of light like an Olympian paparazzi ready to pounce on the world's greatest scoop.
It rained and rained and rained yesterday and then there was a tiny bit of sunshine. Almost enough blue to make a sailor a pair of trousers, albeit a very small one. But even a midget matelot would do for me.
For today, you see, we are bound for the UK, where Daughter Number One is due to have Baby Number Three. After the trauma of the last one, we've volunteered to do school runs and other duties, at least for a while.
Only the flight taking us to Athens from the green isle of Corfu (now we know why it is so green) is cancelled as we wait at the gate, because the visibility is so poor. Which means we will miss our connecting flight. Which means we have to make new plans.
So be it. Time for another coffee in the Agios Magikades kafenion perhaps, in between the showers.
So, think of us, with everything crossed, for a safe trip back to Dorset on Saturday, where friends and relatives say we will need snow shoes and chains on our tyres and a shovel in the boot to get back to Lush Places.
That's if the UK airports aren't at a standstill.
The Day After Tomorrow for the sake of his son, we can do anything, especially for Number One Daughter.
That's about it.
Love Maddie x