Aegina Again

The main event on Aegina was recuperation and recharge. Once again, we stayed at the Bamboo Cottage in the lush and leafy grounds of the gorgeous Rastoni Hotel. Our cool and comfy terrace provided the perfect plot for reading, napping and gassing, dealing cards and enjoying a few trips around the Scrabble board, all washed down with cheap and cheerful local plonk. I beat Liam at seven-card gin rummy; he thrashed me at the wordy game. I suspect he cheated by swapping tiles while I was retrieving the wine from the fridge to refresh our glasses. He denied it, of course.

Early evenings were spent wandering around town poking our noses down alleys and browsing for tourist tat. Good-looking Aegina Town is stuffed with handsome pastel-painted neo-classical buildings and pretty churches. Occasionally, though, we’d stumble upon a tumbledown wreck in dire need of some TLC. Liam loves a doer-upper. It sets his pulse racing with ‘what ifs’.

All too soon it was over and it was back to Athens for one final night in the vibrant and captivating city of wisdom. It’s also the city of graffiti. Pretty much everything is tagged. After a while, you just stop noticing. And alongside the fancy bits, some of the buildings are a bit knackered. But we loved it anyway.

We shall return.

Greece Street

Following a couple of sweaty days in frenetic Athens, we caught the fast hydrofoil from the Port of Piraeus to Aegina for a few days of rest and relaxation. After a welcome drink by the harbourside in pretty Aegina Town, we ventured on to our holiday lodgings along a narrow street. Memories of a different time, different place came flooding back.

Like many old Anatolian thoroughfares, Turkey Street was just wide enough for two emaciated camels to pass each other unhindered. This constraint never seemed to trouble the locals but for us, motorcades of Nissan tanks flanked by Vespas on amphetamines made for a testing pedestrian experience. Aided by the now-you-see-them-now-you-don’t pavements, death or permanent disability lurked at every twist and turn of the perilous road.

Turkey Street, Chapter 2

OK, there were no Nissan tanks but there were high-speed Vespas aplenty as we navigated along the now-you-see-them-now-you-don’t pavements, dragging our cases behind. We had to keep our wits about us.

Back in the day, our Bodrum digs were on the corner of what I called Turkey Street and Sentry Lane.

Mind you, Turkey Street didn’t feature a row of garden gnomes standing guard. Who knew gnomes were popular beyond the gardens of Middle England?

The similarity between Bodrum and Aegina was uncanny. So much so that, for me, the road to our hotel shall forever be called ‘Greece Street’.

Athens, City of Wisdom

Like our first trip to Athens last year, our flight was delayed by an hour. But unlike our first trip, our passage through passport control at Athens Airport was a breeze. It was then déjà vu all the way to the Attalos Hotel, a short and sweaty case-wheeling stroll from Monastiraki Square, once the throbbing heart of Ottoman Athens. And it’s still throbbing today with a milling crowd of many nations. After dumping our belongings we headed straight up to the intimate rooftop bar with its jaw-dropping views of the Acropolis.

Last year we embarked on our very own Greek odyssey, taking in the ancient sites at Epidaurus, Mycenae, Olympia and Delphi. This time was more of a museum vibe. Our morning excursion was to the National Archaeological Museum, a neo-classical pile showcasing the best finds from Greece’s glorious past. There’s so much to see that it’s simply overwhelming.

Nevertheless, we were particularly drawn to the many faces from the past.

And the sculptures of butt-naked blokes went down well too judging by the throng of over-excited onlookers. Some statues had their meat and two veg intact, others not. In more modern times, many a male member was hacked off by buttoned-up curators, and sometimes, rather than being discarded, they were hidden away in secret museum collections. Imagine it, a pick-a-willy drawer in size order.

Of all the stunning exhibits, this was my favourite. Standing at just over two metres tall, the magnificent bronze ‘Jockey of Artemision’ is dated to around 150–140 BCE and was recovered from a shipwreck in 1926.

Our afternoon expedition was to the über-modern Acropolis Museum, nestled at the foot of the famous rock and built to house artefacts found on the citadel and the surrounding slopes, from the Greek Bronze Age to the Roman and Byzantine eras. It is, perhaps, the most beautiful museum I have ever visited. We were politely but firmly discouraged from taking pictures but I sneaked in a few of the ladies of old Athens anyway. I know, naughty Jack.

Having had our fill of ancient Athens, we café-crawled back to our hotel through modern Athens, stopping off at various watering holes along the way with a final snifter in the rooftop bar before our short-hop ferry to Aegina the following day for the next leg of our journey.

Yet Another Greek Intermission

Yet again, I’m off-air as we perk our pansies in Greece. While we’re away resting our weary old carcasses, here’s another random selection of images that caught my eye from both home and away. As usual, it’s a crazy mix. My favourite is the picture of the chair lift and mini funicular railway we stumbled across in lovely Lakka on Paxos as we made our way to the town beach. It leads to and from an old fella’s house who parks his mobility scooter at the bottom. Genius! Who needs a carer when you can do it all yourself? Shame it wouldn’t work on our twisty cottage stairs.

Athens, The Return

We’re getting greedy, Greece-wise. Two Hellenic adventures last year and two again this year. First up was our trip in July to perfect Paxos and the Venetian splendour that is Corfu Old Town. This time, we’re heading back to restful Aegina and the Bamboo Cottage, top and tailed with time in busy, buzzy, bustling Athens. Yes, it’s a partial reprise of last summer’s epic odyssey minus the ancient tumbledown ruins. Much cheap, local ‘workaday’ wine will be consumed. Stick to what you know and love, I say!

Sun, Fun and the Footie

We’ve finally recovered from our latest Hellenic odyssey to pretty Paxos and the Venetian glory of Corfu Old Town. While old Blighty baked under cloudless skies, we basked in Greek heat around a warm pool topped off by ouzo-fuelled steamy evenings of mirth and hot gossip with our travel companions. Thank you, you know who you are. A memory to savour was watching England beat Norway at the footie. We joined the rowdy crowd of many nations squeezed into cafés along the Liston, Corfu’s iconic Parisian-inspired arcade. Business was brisk as the drinks kept clinking and the tills kept ringing. Let’s not dwell on England’s later defeat by Argentina.

As for the rest, I’ll let the snaps do the talking…

Thanks to ‘Linda’ our official royal photographer for most of the pics.

Given the scorcher at home, I fretted that our little plot might wilt in the relentless heat. I needn’t have worried. Our neighbour did a splendid job with the watering can. Thank you!

Another Greek Intermission

I’m off-air as we perk our pansies on pretty Paxos. While we’re away tanning our wrinkly old hides, here’s a random selection of images that caught my eye. As usual, it’s an eclectic mix of snaps.

First up – a twinkly Christmas 2025.

Then we have our April anniversary celebrations and red wedding tulips.

Our room for all seasons.

And finally, the utterly bonkers.

Creatures of Habit

I think it must be an age thing, but these days, we’ve become creatures of habit. When we stumble on something or somewhere we like, we tend to stick with it. For us, familiarity breeds comfort, not contempt. So once again we’re jetting off to the gorgeous Greek island of Paxos, followed by a couple of days re-sampling the Venetian delights of Corfu Old Town, a UNESCO World Heritage site. Well, I say ‘jetting’, but it’s actually car, plane, taxi, ferry, then taxi again. This trip, we’re taking a couple of village people along for the ride. They like a drink too. Yamas!

Top of the Pansy Pops 2025

Yes, folks, it’s that time again when I look back at another year of my missives from the sticks. The most popular broadcasts of 2025 have a distinctly nostalgic feel, with the leader-board dominated by anniversaries and commemorations, righting wrongs, resurrected traditions, memory lanes and old haunts, and topped with a trip to the seaside.

Numbers-wise, Perking the Pansies enjoyed the best year since 2014, so there’s still some life in the old blog yet. Blimey!

Oh, I Do Like to Be Beside the Seaside

What better way to spend a sunny spring afternoon than a trip to the seaside? We’d never been to Southwold, the classy resort on the Suffolk coast because, without our own wheels, it’s a bit of a trek. So an equally classy neighbour took pity on us and offered to take us. We had a…

Idyllic Ithaca – the Return

It’s taken quite a while but we’ve finally recovered from our frolic-filled sojourn on Ithaca. For our second expedition, we were accompanied by a couple of fellow village people who added an extra helping of spice to the mix. We had a ball. We haven’t laughed so much in years. It was well worth the…

Nowt as Queer as Folk

ours is a quiet little village where little happens except for occasional (but mercifully rare) low-level anti-social behaviour – like bored teens on the wacky baccy and cheap cider mucking about down by the river.But there’s one misdemeanour guaranteed to get everyone’s blood boiling – dog poo. Man’s (and woman’s) best friend is big business…

Turkey Street with Bettany Hughes

People who know me know that I love an old ruin. Nothing gets me going more than a pile of ancient tumbledown stones. When I can’t visit ’em, I watch programmes about ’em on the box. And few TV pundits get the sap rising better than classical scholar Bettany Hughes. Buxom Bettany flits and flirts…

End of a Vera

I am bereft. After 14 series over 13 years, we’ve just watched the final two episodes of Vera, featuring the dishevelled and irascible detective from the fictitious Northumberland and City Police Force, played with great panache by the wonderful Brenda Blethyn. Based in and around England’s most northerly county, Vera blends the gritty streets of…

Okay, You, One Sentence Should Do It

Our double anniversary has sneaked up on us again – 19 years since our eyes met across a busy West End gay bar fit to bursting with a gossipy after-work crowd, and 17 years since we got hitched. This year, we’ve decided to push the boat out and paddle down the Seine. Yes, we’re off…

Lest We Forget

We joined the enthusiastic crowd of locals gathered on Church Plain in front of the Loddon War Memorial to celebrate the 80th anniversary of VE Day – the end of the Second World War in Europe. The organisers did a splendid job. So too did the kids from the local primary school who serenaded us…

Happy Birthday, Perking the Pansies

“In the beginning there was work and work was God. After 35 years in the business, the endless predictability made me question the Faith. Liam, on the other hand, was neither bored nor unchallenged but was routinely subjected to the ephemeral demands of a capricious boss, a soft and warm Christmas tree fairy with a…

LGBT Armed Forces Memorial – No More Shame

Last month, His Maj, King Charles, dedicated the first national memorial honouring LGBT armed forces personnel, 25 years after the ban on LGBT people serving in the military was lifted. Before this, those who were – or who were thought to be – gay or transgender were subjected to interrogation and discharge, a brutal and utterly needless…

Dwile Flonking

A couple of summers ago, I wrote a tongue in cheek piece about Dwile flonking, a notorious East Anglian pub game involving two teams of twelve players, each taking a turn to girt (dance) around the other while attempting to avoid a beer-soaked dwile (cloth) flonked (flung) by the non-girting team. Imagine my amazement to…


Once again, a five-year-old tongue twisting post about a game old bird fit for the pot took centre stage – all thanks to the magic of AI. In fact, it’s currently the most popular post of all time. Blimey!

I’m Not a Pheasant Plucker

When I put food out for the birds, I don’t expect a big fat pheasant to waddle along and scoff the lot. Bold as brass it was. Where’s the pheasant plucker when you need him? I feel a tongue twister coming on. I’m not the pheasant plucker, I’m the pheasant plucker’s mate, And I’m only…


And what was the most popular image of the year? Drum roll please…

This image of John Garner and me from our first holiday together – to Majorca. Anything that keeps alive the memory of an extraordinary young man is fine by me. As I once wrote in a book…

I remembered John cuddling a weeping stranger at London Pride after the red balloons had been released, each one commemorating someone who had died of AIDS. I remembered John buying a McDonald’s Happy Meal and handing it, without a word, to a beggar on the street. I remembered John helping a drunken tramp to his feet because he’d fallen over and cut his face. I remembered his quick wit and winning smile that lit up my life.

Perking the Pansies, Chapter 15, Jack’s Guardian Angel

Happy New Year to one and all. If I were the praying kind, I’d be straight down on my knees wishing for a lot more peace, goodwill and glad tidings in 2026.

Room With a View

When we first waded ashore to the fabled isle of Ithaca, we stumbled upon a tumbledown wreck of a house, perched by the waterside and overlooking a pine-dressed Frikes Bay. Sad, unloved and barely standing, a wonky For Sale sign hung precariously from the front wall. It was the ultimate doer-upper (or puller-downer and start again-er). But with such a glorious aspect and a view to sell your soul for, we expected it to be snapped up in no time and transformed into something truly magical. Over dinner, we fantasised about snapping it up ourselves. Romantic notions of the perfect place to live out our dotage were encouraged by the robust local plonk. The more we drank, the more possible it seemed.

Of course, the next day, reality dawned and all romantic notions of our place in the sun evaporated. Like many Greek islands out of season, not-so-idyllic Ithaca is cold, wet and closed, wild winter tempests could sweep us out to sea without a paddle and what about healthcare for our aging bones? Also, the prospect of trying to learn a new language with an unfamiliar alphabet made our old brains hurt. The booze from the night before didn’t exactly help. Besides, the curse of Brexit meant it was nigh on impossible anyway. That was two years ago.

Imagine our surprise when, this year, back in Ithaca, we stumbled upon the same tumbledown wreck with the same wonky For Sale sign hanging precariously from the front wall. We started to romanticise all over again. Well, an old boy can dream, can’t he? I wonder…