Top Cat

Street dogs are less prevalent in Bodrum than in Yalıkavak. The few canines wandering the streets are vastly outnumbered by the litters of feral cats that bother al fresco diners and rummage through the bins. After our neighbours moved in they encouraged a tabby cat to take up residence in our shared garden by feeding her kitchen scraps. We called her Tabitha. We assume she’ll be handy for keeping rapacious rodents at bay.

By day Tabitha spends the time basking in the warming morning sunshine and only stirs when the sun is at its height to resume her cat nap under the dappled shade of an old olive tree. By night it’s breeding season and the queen wakes from her idle slumber for a bit of the other. We’re serenaded by a cat’s chorus of ear-splitting decibels loud enough to wake the dead as our feline neighbours indulge in orgies of Roman proportions. I assume Tabitha is the local bike being ridden by every Tom, Dick and Harry. No doubt she’ll soon present us with a litter of multi-coloured kittens.

Vipers in Paradise

We heard glad tidings. The Vipers and their dreadful old colonial ways have returned to Blighty. Thankfully, the British Raj is no more and neither are they. Bossy Chrissy intends to return now again to torment the natives. Even better news is that I’ve managed to persuade mother, sister, brother-in-law and their large brood over for my bi-centenary in October. It’s expected to be the best party since the fall of Constantinople.

The Dawn Chorus

The battles between our neighbours are becoming louder, longer and more frequent. They seem completely uninhibited by our close proximity. It is all the more frustrating since we don’t know what the rows are about. Late night fights inevitably end with Vadim sleeping al fresco on their balcony to escape the heat. His cacophonous snoring adds to the dawn chorus of canines, cocks, cars and the call to prayer.

Stop and Search

Fellow jobbing blogger Deborah writes Bitten by Spain, an amusing narrative of living on the Iberian rural edge. Deborah commented on my recent post about the Turkish Government’s attempt to curb suicidal driving. Deborah wrote:

‘We have an absurd situation here at the moment whereby the Spanish police are stopping to fine all extranjeros for driving in sandals without heel straps, or not having the dog belted into the back seat. During this operation a moped can be passing unsanctioned bearing two adults with a child sandwiched between them and a goat in the front basket. And none of them will be wearing helmets.’

It made me think of our own experiences of the local Jandarma. Road blocks are common, particularly at night. Drivers are routinely stopped and their particulars checked. The authorities are looking for drunk drivers and uninsured or un-roadworthy vehicles, all too common offences hereabouts. It’s the Law in Turkey to carry ID at all times. We often forget. Being Brits we’re just not used to it. We’ve been stopped a number of times by a youth in an ill-fitting uniform. On each occasion we smiled sweetly, spoke politely in English and were waved on. We assumed the spotty conscript just didn’t think it was worth the hassle. Or maybe we were just lucky.

Jack the Mascot

I have just reconnected with a long lost Blighty pal. His name is Andy and, nowadays, he’s someone awfully important in local government. We first became acquainted many moons ago at a drunken trivial pursuit work shindig. We were on opposing teams. I was the captain of my team which I called Kings and Queen. His team was called Gail Tisley’s Chin. The chin won by a nose. We got chatting afterwards over a tankard or two and thereafter became pals. Andy is a Barnsley lad with thick accent to match and a call a spade a spade Yorkshire charm.  I was a cynical old pro and he was the new kid on the block at the tender of just 21.

Corrie Gail

Andy is irrepressibly heterosexual and so secure in his sexuality he isn’t fazed by mine in the slightest.  I dragged him around the gay fleshpots of Soho. He didn’t flinch from the lecherous shenanigans. He assumed the role of my bodyguard protecting me from the wanted attentions of the dive bar boys, much to my distress. He used to drink in Earls Court, a gay mecca in those far off days. He isn’t bi-curious. It was the only place to get an after hours drink back then.

Andy decided to get hitched and held his stag do in Blackpool. A bit of a cliché but great fun nonetheless. It was thirty straight lads and me. I was the little gay mascot. I got chatting to one of his unsuspecting northern mates. ‘I hear a poof’s come along for the ride,’ he said. ‘That’ll be me,’ I replied. Despite the macho bravado from the boisterous boys I was the only one who actually got a ride that weekend.

Eventually Andy moved on to a better job and we lost touch. It’s an all too common problem for the transient workers of London. He’s still married to pretty little Jill and a proud father of two boys. They’ll grow up happy and well-balanced. Andy will make sure of it. I’m looking for a trip down memory lane when I’m next back in Blighty.

The Turkish Election Result

The results of the Turkish jury are in and the outcome is as widely predicted. The incumbent AKP government won by a landslide with an overwhelming majority of parliamentary seats (though not votes) that British political parties can only fantasise about. However, the AK Party failed to achieve the two thirds majority in Parliament required to change the Turkish Constitution without the need to hold a referendum. Crucially, they are also about four seats short of the number required to be able to devise amendments without parliamentary consultation. Expect some lively debates. What is also interesting is the polarised distribution of seats across the country with the main opposition CH Party dominating the Aegean coastal provinces and European Turkey outside Istanbul. Apart from the Kurdish regions, the rest of the country is bathed in yellow (the AKP colour). It begs the question is Turkey the crossroads of east and west or the fault line?

It’s a clear victory for the AKP and a mandate for change. The Government is now in a commanding position to do whatever it wants. The failure to win the required threshold of seats will only delay their ambitions. Liam is currently investigating how to build and maintain a still for the distillation of potcheen and scrumpy, and looking up the cost of renting in Spain. Only kidding, obviously.

Alice’s Bucket List

It takes a lot to make this cynical old queen cry. Okay, I confess. It doesn’t. I cry at sentimental films cleverly contrived to elicit an instant emotional response. I cry when Karen (Emma Thompson) realises that her husband Harry (Alan Rickman) is having an affair in Love Actually. I weep when Mary (Joan Plowright) and Arabella (Judi Dench) wave farewell to Luca (Baird Wallace) in Tea with Mussolini. I am inconsolable when Ste (Scott Neal) and Jamie (Glen Berry) run through the forest to the soundtrack of Make Your Own Kind of Music by the Mamas and Papas in Beautiful Thing. It’s an acting thing and it gets me every time.

Alice Pyne is not acting. Alice has cancer and she has a blog. She writes:

‘Hi, I’m 15 years old and live with my parents and sister in Ulverston. I’ve been fighting cancer for almost 4 years and now I know that the cancer is gaining on me and it doesn’t look like I’m going to win this one 😦 I’m hoping to write in here as much as I can and I’m also going to show my bucket list which I’m trying to get done before I have to go. Hopefully, I’ll update as I tick each one off the list :)’ Alice’s Bucket List

I began to read Alice’s wish list out loud to Liam. I had to stop half way through. It was all too much. Her courage astounds and humbles me. It should humble us all. Alice has restored my faith in humanity. Thank you Alice.

Money Talks

Hanife, our formidable landlady and the matriarch of an old, monied Bodrum family dropped by with produce from her prodigious garden. She regularly provides us with various treats such as just-picked fruit, freshly baked pastries and sticky honeyed dough balls. There’s an age old and noble tradition in Turkey that if a neighbour presents a gift of food on a plate you must respond in kind. A plate must never be returned empty. Our habit is to return the dish with the rent money. Canny Hanife doesn’t seem to mind judging by the smile of her face.

Pansies on the Go

Google Blogger has just released a new mobile phone version of the Perking the Pansies Showcase which makes reading the Showcase on the go a breeze.

Perking the Pansies Showcase

Fat Fly Season

The weather has finally turned glorious after an unpromising start but it’s fat fly season. Turkish flies are so much bigger and more annoying than their British relatives. Liam has become a serial bug killer, declaring chemical war on the troublesome pests. Busy bees are buzzing about the buds, all manner of creepy crawlies are creepy crawling, the mozzie net is up and the duvet reduced to a sheet.

I climbed an old rickety ladder to turn on the solar hot water system and we bought a ceiling fan for the bedroom which I proudly installed. I used extra long screws to fix it to the ceiling. I can’t be sure I haven’t punctured the flat roof. We’ll know next time it rains. We feared decapitation when we first turned it on. Liam flicked the switch and we watched the blades slowly rotate like a turbo-prop. Hey presto, I’m now a qualified electrical engineer as well as a bone fide plumber.