Losing it

I keep losing things.

Weekend before last we stayed with a group of friends in a most fantastic Scottish hideaway. We got really spoiled; there was a resident French chef, the highly accomplished Christian Morel (who is usually found cooking on La Seine where he runs gourmet cruises), a wonderful room with a glorious view and a balcony, fine wines and excellent company.

On Saturday we walked along the river to the little town of St Boswell's where Rosamund de la Hey runs her lovely book shop, Main Street Books, serving the most delicious cappuccinos that side of the Pennines.

I missed a magnificent fly-pass by the two swans in the picture by a whisker...

On Sunday we wandered around the ruins of a 12th century abbey, where - our host argued - the nuns had prayed so intensely, it'd left the place with a sense complete serenity. He was right, because to me at least, it felt quite unreal to walk amongst the roofless structures. The ancient trees surrounding the site were magnificent too.

All weekend we were served five star cuisine. I was so relaxed that I joked I may never leave the place - it would be a perfect writing spot. Perhaps this was why on leaving for the train on Sunday, belly full of roast pork lunch with the best crackling I've ever tasted (I don't even like cracking...) I left my newly acquired iPhone behind. 'Who forgets their iPhone?' asked  Husband at the station and felt my forehead. 'Perhaps you're coming down with something,' he laughed. 

I felt silly as this hare - but isn't he beautiful?

Luckily the lady of the house is a most organised and kind person and posted the phone to me immediately and we were re-united at the local Royal Mail collection office a day later.

The following weekend I was off on a jolly with the girls to Athens. (I posted about the trip here.) Yes, I know we are far from 'girls' at this stage of life, but as we've known each other since the school days when we were mere lasses (I really enjoyed Scotland...) we still call the meet-ups 'girls weekends'. 

The day before, as one does, I had a manicure. One mustn't be seen to be unkempt with 'old' girlfriends - they are at once one's most loyal supporters and harshest critics. For this essential bit of pre-holiday pampering I removed my rings. Could I find the damned things again the next morning before leaving for the airport? I asked the beauty salon: no, they didn't have them. Ashamed, I had to phone Husband before boarding to ask him to put the rings in a safe place if he spotted them. 'So you're off to Athens, full of Greeks, with your girlfriends and you're not wearing your wedding ring?' I laughed, surely he was joking?

Note no rings and the total absence of eager Greek suitors....

The closest I came to a handsome Greek was at the new Acropolis Museum and they we all made out of old marble. 

On arrival back to London I found my rings on the kitchen top. No-one else had spotted them during the weekend. Our new kitchen is tiny (as I may have mentioned before); how dear Husband and Son had missed them is a mystery. I was utterly relieved, however. Most of these rings have been with me for more than 25 years and included engagement, wedding and eternity rings. 

I was beginning to really worry about my state of mind when the following day I couldn't find my watch. Now this is not a small item. It was bought for me by Husband as a moving present (a lie: truth is I ordered it from Net-a-Porter and Husband agreed I shouldn't send it back - that's the same thing, right?). For a whole week I could not find the watch anywhere in our new flat. I began to wonder whether stupidly I'd left it behind in the hotel room in Athens. After all, I'd spent the whole of the weekend going back and forth to my room fetching this and that forgotten item. (It was mostly the damned iPhone) Had it not been for my dear friends, who each time we met up in the lobby, posed the question, 'Have you got everything?' I'm sure I would have walked out of the hotel without my knickers on or something equally insalubrious.

Yesterday I did find the watch - it had slipped down from the bathroom shelf onto the boxing covering the pipework and was neatly lying behind a bottle of disinfectant.

Of course there can be many reasons for my sudden inability to find things, or my great ability to hide them from myself. We've recently had quite a life-changing Big Move from the country to the city. The new flat is in a state of disarray as we still have no wardrobes or book shelves up. But the sad truth is I've always been like this. My Mother tells me stories of how as a child I often came home complaining that I'd lost my toys, bicycle, or all of the pocket money I'd been given only an hour or so earlier. More than once we found the Markka coins under a swing, or in the pocket of an overcoat that I'd been wearing. (Husband says he wishes he'd known this before he married me and that now everything makes sense....) In a way, of course, it's a relief that at least these recent events aren't signs of a deteriorating brain, though I really do not doubt that I'm losing it. I'll just have to accept the fact that I've been losing something all my life.  

No rain in Athens

I'm not sure what I expected from my first ever trip to Athens. Of course I knew it had the ancient sites, and that the Olympics there had induced a rebuilding programme, and that they were fairly sore about Lord Elgin. But apart from that I really only saw the trip as a get-together with my (not-so) old school friends, with the added bonus of a little bit of late autumn sunshine.

Week before the trip, however, I'd abandoned all hope of wandering around the ruins, or getting a tan: the weather men were forecasting heavy rain for Athens. I unpacked my flip-flops and instead began to look forward to just the good food, a few drinks and plenty of in-hotel-natter with my friends.

We'd booked to stay in a smart boutique hotel in the Psiri, an up-and-coming district that at first glance didn't quite look the kind of area I would have chosen. Around us were many 'interesting buildings with a lot of development potential', and a sprawling flea market, selling everything from mis-matched men's brogues to crystal chandeliers to pots and pans and DIY tools. Opposite was a dark cellar of a night club/bar which according to one guide was 'an old favourite' of Greek artists and film stars. When we poked our noses in there, it was I who felt 'the old favourite', with emphasis on the 'old'. The tables were occupied by lovely, lively, slim young things. There was also a distinct scent of the more adventurous of smokes. Perhaps twenty years earlier we would have voted to stay, but instead my friends and I escaped to the hotel opposite.   

Ochre and Brown Hotel is small and modern, has very friendly and helpful staff. There's a simple but freshly prepared breakfast; you can't ask for more than that. We had two rooms: I was alone in a double and my two friends in a suite with a balcony overlooking the Acropolis. It was this balcony that became our favourite spot. We had our morning coffee there, enjoying the use of a complimentary Nespresso machine, as well as several nightcaps admiring the view of the illuminated Acropolis and discussing life's ups and downs.

Our balcony

Local property with a lot of development potential...

Flea market a few streets away spilled onto the street outside our hotel. Very handy.

When we'd arrived on Thursday evening, as predicted, the heavens opened. We watched the large droplets fall onto the pavement outside while we ate in the hotel restaurant. I quietly wished I'd taken my Wellingtons as well as a sturdy raincoat instead of the flimsy little umbrella I'd bought from Accessorize a few weeks earlier. 

The next morning we woke to bright sunshine, and the dry weather held for the whole of the weekend. On Sunday, when we eventually decided to climb the hill and take a closer look at the monument we'd been admiring from afar, it was so hot I wished I'd packed a summer dress and a straw hat, as well as the flip-flops. Only mad dogs and Englishmen....or should I say only mad Finnish women.    

But I'm getting ahead of myself. On Friday we began the weekend by walking up to the newly built Acropolis Museum, a wonder of a building perched on the foot of the hill from the Acropolis itself. The entrance with its sail-like roof and toughened glass floor, which had a view of the ongoing archaeological dig below, was impressive enough, but inside was even more awe-inspiring. Someone once told me that the light in Greece is different. The modern building, housing exhibits from thousands of years ago, certainly knew how to make use of this 'different' light. Wandering around the vast rooms, with floor to ceiling windows with sheer blinds, I felt a strange sense of peace fall upon me. It was as if nothing on the outside mattered, or existed. It didn't even annoy me when we provoked unwelcome leering from one bored-looking male museum guard just because we, like the schoolgirls we once were, giggled at the handsomely endowed parts of some of the marble Gods.

Entrance to the Acropolis Museum

Glass floor in the entrance

Open section of the entrance

Inside the museum with Acropolis as a backdrop

On the top floor of the museum there was an outdoor cafe, again with a sail-inspired roof. The terrace overlooked the Acropolis, which in turn was reflected onto the glass wall of the museum. It was simply stunning. And the food and wine wasn't that bad either. 

Acropolis Museum Cafe

We spent the rest of the day wandering along the Ermou shopping street, making our way slowly back to the hotel. After a short turn-around we got into a taxi and drove Southeast to Spondi, a Michelin-starred restaurant in the Pagrati district, in the shadow of the Panathenaic Stadium. After a truly superb meal we headed back to the hotel and the balcony for a night cap. The view was again breath-taking. By this stage I was feeling no pain....or rain for that matter.

The main attraction