Comme ci, comme ça

 The news that the Cyprus government is probably going to open the airports on March 1st, and start to relax restrictions at the beginning of February, hardly fills us with joy. The rate of infection is falling, but is this anything to do with the number of tests being taken? Ask any statistician and you won’t be surprised by the answer.

Vaccinations are few and far between on the island, and this can be linked to the EU’s rather slow start to ordering vaccines - especially when the French vaccine (so touted by their Mighty Mouse president) has proved to be not yet effective. He gives a whole new meaning to “Short Man Syndrome”, and come to think of it Boris is not very tall either.

So we do feel upbeat and downcast in equal measure. Hence the “Comme ci, comme ça” of the title. We are safe and as secure as we can be, but there is irritation in not being able to shop for non-essentials, and having to text for permission to leave the house. In the grand scale of things these are inconsequential when people are having to go to food banks and charity shops in order to survive. It reminds me of a comment made a few months ago about “It’s fine for you two with your fat British pensions.” This comment came from a British expat, who has lived illegally here for a number of years “under the radar” not paying into the Social Fund and not declaring his cash income for tax purposes. No doubt he was still using his EHIC for medical treatment. 

Quo Vadis? I have no sympathy for these cheats (and there are plenty of them) in this area, who willingly defraud the Cypriot economy upon which we all depend. When you fall foul of the inevitable restrictions on illegal residents, we’ll all shout out,”What a shame!”

In the bleak midwinter ...

 After weeks and weeks of glorious weather through November, December and the first part of January, winter came calling this week. And, my goodness, it was cold. The mornings are fine as we have tasks to do. Once we get dressed, it is clearing out the log burner (thanks goodness for our trusty “ash vac”) and cleaning the glass door. We had been buying a special (and expensive) spray to do this from Ambioenergy in Polis, and that certainly did the job. But Ann had a magic, and very cheap, spray for the kitchen - and it works just as well. Result.

Domestic tasks normally involve unloading the dishwasher, and quite often reloading it after breakfast so that the decks are clear. There is wood to bring in from the log pile outside the back door, which is a job we normally share. Then set the fire, and - and this is a must - clean the “ash vac” filter. If you don’t, it will sulk and not work the next day. Quite often there is cooking in the morning. We have been making various soups to freeze, and Ann made some Scotch Eggs which we cooked in the air fryer. No deep fat fryer for us.

The afternoons depend on the weather. Yesterday it was sunny outside and warm enough to relax for a couple of hours. Today looks like it may be warm enough to do the same. Recently the weather has been cold and wet, and so we have lit the log burner and watched a film. It sounds really self-indulgent but it has been fun. Over the last few days we have watched The Dead Zone (brilliant), The Killing Fields (stunning), The Verdict (Paul Newman so believable as the drunken lawyer) and The Irishman (initially fascinating but at nearly three and a half hours in length, too long). Our tv provider from Switzerland has a section of Video on Demand and we have a choice of about six and a half thousand films, and tv box sets. Spoilt for choice, and we have taken to looking at Wikipedia for films nominated for Oscars.

I must admit our subscription is worth every Euro at this time of year. If you decide to follow in our footsteps then a tv service (streamed over the internet) is a useful tool. And it can take your mind off Brexit, the US election, Coronavirus and all the other things that may set you on a downward spiral. And don’t for get a “winter warmer” or two, to put that smile on your face. A friend was writing on Facebook about the changes to her life since the pandemic. She felt she was now an alcohol-dependent, but increasingly competent cook, and needed to lose some weight.

Back to the Future ...

I could possibly have called this blog entry “SMS Heaven” because we are now back in the time when we require permission to leave the house, and this is limited to twice a day. This really is not a big deal as we have hardly ever left the house twice in a day for such a long time. The civil liberties’ supporters are making their voices heard in the Cyprus press, as they are - to a lesser extent - on the expat forums. I’m not sure where I stand on the civil liberties’ issues. I suppose we believe these measures (and possibly others, like shutting the airports) are necessary to protect the people from the virus until they can be vaccinated.

The whole question of vaccination seems to be ignoring the elephant in the room. In both the UK and Cyprus the governments are making efforts to mobilise a veritable army of people to help with what is a national effort. But some interesting questions remain, which no one appears to know the answers to. How long will “immunity” last? Some experts have suggested it may only last a few months. If that is the case, then neither country will have had time to vaccinate everybody before it is time to start again. The cost is enormous and will be so in the future. Little Cyprus is getting a few thousand doses from the EU, but nowhere near enough to stem the flow of infections. In fact various experts (and they come out of the woodwork at the drop of a hat) are posing whether the vaccination will stop the infection or just lessen the symptoms. And no one knows whether vaccinated people are still going to be infectious.

In any event it will be a considerable time before we have to decide whether to be vaccinated or not. Happy days.

Cometh the hour ...

 It’s a crisis of Churchillian proportions and “Cometh the hour, cometh the man”. If only that idiomatic expression was based on what someone had said or written. But it is not. And, in the same vein, it’s just the thought that must pass through the mind of the British Prime Minister. Narcissistic in the extreme, I can imagine him staring into the mirror and perhaps believing that there is the picture of a national saviour. Perhaps he even poses as Nelson, with one arm hidden in his ill-fitting suit, as he prepares to battle the invisible enemy.

I sat up last night to watch the prime ministerial address with a growing sense of déjà vu. Here was the man tasked with saving the nation, who looked as if he combed his hair with a toffee apple (thanks to John Crace in this morning’s Guardian for that turn of phrase), coming out with platitudes and so many statements beginning with “If ...” 

And so, with his band of merry morons at his back, he ploughs on - unthinking and unfeeling. The old Bullingdon Club bravado, and the same disregard for any lesser beings, so out of touch with the emotions of the time. During my time at Oxford my close group of friends considered members of that club to be heartless, thoughtless and beyond the pale. There was never any sense of intellectual rigour in their braying drunkenness. And now, two of their number have been Prime Minister. Ye Gods! What has Britain become?

There used to be an apocryphal joke that made the rounds of the officers’ messes in various regiments. The names of the Public Schools could be adapted to suit the audience. It went something like this:

Two old boys from different schools meet in the lavatory of a gentleman’s club. They observe each other carefully until one notices that the other has not washed his hands. 

“I say, old boy, I hope you don’t mind me mentioning it but at Eton we were taught always to wash our hands after urinating.”

The other replies, “Not at all. At Winchester we were taught not to piss on our hands.”

And so we have Boris Johnson, a man so completely out of his death, that I get the distinct feeling he doesn’t understand the situation he is in. And to make matters worse, I voted Conservative at the last election. I must just go and wash my hands.

Wherefore art thou, Roland?

 We have had an unwelcome visitor in the house for the last week or so. Roland the Rat makes his presence felt in the early morning by scratching at the back of the kitchen cupboards (which is where he is making himself at home). Our cats have shown absolutely no interest - back to kitten school, I say - and Daisy goes quite berserk, but that’s as far as it goes.

Advice is somewhat varied. Poison (takes weeks and we have pets), glue traps (tried and failed to make any difference), humane traps, which will prove possible to source here, and call in Pest Control. Many expats on my forum have advised against this, saying they are ineffective and expensive. So the next step is to contact our friend Savvas and see what he suggests. There may be a weird and wonderful way that Cypriots manage to keep their house pest free.

Christmas was a great success, mainly due to the superhuman efforts made by Ann. In the run-up to Christmas I was rather under the weather, and she stepped up and dispatched me to bed (eighteen hours asleep on Christmas Eve). Fortunately I feel rather better now. The beef en croûte was lovely, and the trifle a veritable triumph. Boxing Day was a smorgasbord of homemade soup (tomato and celery), and cheese and pickles and olives and ... Roses chocolates ... grapes. As my grandmother would have said “FTB ... full to the brim and fit to burst”.

It’s touch and go whether this blog reaches fifty thousand views before or just after New Year. It is gratifying that people visit and read my words of wisdom, rants, complaints and tips if you are moving to Cyprus.

A Tale of Two ...

 It is both interesting and a little confusing to see how my country and my adopted country are reacting to the increased infection rate of this wretched virus. Neither country is managing it well. The UK seems to be in true headless chicken mode, with today’s newspapers suggesting that the lunatic Christmas relaxation for five days may well be cancelled. There have been more changes of direction in government “policy” than you could ever believe. Lockdown, tiers, new tiers, circuit-break and now new movement to stricter tiers overnight. Heaven help people who try to follow the guidance - although, according to a number of online tabloids - so many people are just not bothering.

Here in Cyprus it has been too little, too late. Now, with strict guidelines, the number of infections is growing exponentially. We see people not wearing masks (and they are compulsory outdoors as well), definitely not keeping their distance and behaving as if this virus is a minor inconvenience. The problem here is that the virus is out of control. Cyprus went from about a thousand cases in May (and then the airports were reopened) to over fifteen thousand cases now. “So what” you might say. The problem is that this island has a small population and so cases per 100,000 of the population are proportionally higher.

Ann reminded me this morning we have been self-isolating for nine months now. We have remained sane and positive. Of course for much of this time we have had glorious weather, the swimming pool has been a godsend, and sitting overlooking the bay with a cold glass of something has made life more than bearable. Our local kiosk has been brilliant with Joanna or Marios delivering food and drink to our door with the minimum of fuss, and a smile on their faces. The cost of delivery? Free.

The western world is focussed on Christmas, and the fear of not having a family celebration is seemingly on a par with the apocalypse. I can understand the emotion after such a year, but are we talking about grown-ups? In any event life will go on, whether that is back to normal or the “new normal”. I hope all visitors to my blog stay safe and enjoy as good a Christmas as circumstances allow.

A close shave ...

 The ongoing saga of the Royal Mail refusing to send my new electric wet/dry razor to Cyprus because it is a prohibited item has irritated me no end. After spending a considerable amount of money on a new razor (because my old one died), I am now in no man’s land. After a few days my stubble is not “designer” - it just looks a mess. But, with Ann’s help, a temporary solution was found.

Polis has a number of barbers and so I asked on Facebook whether any of them offered a shaving service. It turned out that many of them did, and one barber was recommended over and over. My chum David emailed me and explained where this barber was situated, whether mask wearing  and cleanliness was good, and the quality of the shave.

Idris is a a Turkish Armenian who has set up a barber’s shop. So off I went this morning and was warmly greeted by Idris and his younger Cypriot assistant, who was to shave me. Ten minutes later I was as closely and cleanly shaved as I can remember, hairs on my nose were removed by threading (painlessly) and the spray of cologne was cooling. The cost was eye-watering - a whole €3,00. This was the closest shave I have had since Ann and I went to Goa in 2003. Until my razor eventually arrives from the UK I can see regular visits. What a success!

We have had a busy week so far. Yesterday we had to drive to Paphos to visit the District Court so that Ann could have an affidavit stamped to prove we were married. This was so we could exchange our UK driving licences for Cypriot ones. That requires another visit to the Department of Transport tomorrow in Paphos. If you plan on following in our footsteps don’t make the mistake of having all utility bills in the husband’s name (this is almost automatic here) and have one in the wife’s name. It makes life much easier. On Thursday we travel to Paphos yet again for Ann to see her consultant at the hospital. Roll on Friday.

That should be the final step in ensuring we are legal in Cyprus. Our MEU3 gives us permanent residence here but this can be changed for UK3 once Cyprus sorts that out. Unlike the MEU3, which required a mountain of paperwork, this change only requires the MEU3 form and a current passport. After that I really don’t want to see the inside of a government office again.