Back in the saddle, and on the whole glad to be there. Greece was wonderful, every hour of it, and all went smoothly – including my husband's London adventure. Life has been a bit sharper-edged since.

Within half-an-hour of my return on Sunday afternoon, the overhead light in the kitchen exploded. The cleaning woman failed to get the metal sleeve out of the socket yesterday, so I'll have to get an electrician jn. A nuisance.

I was ill yesterday morning (hence no blog) – innards readjusting to real life, maybe. It was bad enough for a few hours in the morning to create some anxiety about how we could manage if I were disabled. We couldn't, is the answer. But I'm OK now.

Yesterday evening I went out to get a bag of potatoes I think I left in the car after the last supermarket sweep. I couldn't find it – not the bag of potatoes. The car. So that's today's first job. I might be mistaken about where I left it. The City of Edinburgh might have confiscated it. You never know. It's a very old car. Google has provided the police telephone number to ring – they'll know whether it has been impounded. How did we manage before Google?

Greece

Now, how to tell you about Greece? Where to begin? The weather was unspeakably wonderful -- La Primavera, quando Flora da fiori adorna il mundo. Wrong language, right sentiment.

Here I am with the Kouros of Sounion:

Here, in a cafe studying a brochure:

Here, at the monastery of Osios Loukos:

It was founded more than a millennium ago. It is in the hills near Delphi (where we didn't go). Mount Parnassus, still snow-capped, was clearly visible.

After the visit, we had lunch in Distomo, the nearest town. The cafe and its food were of the simplest – Greek salad, bean soup. Delicious. We were the only customers. Over coffee, the proprietor suddenly began telling us about the Massacre of Distomo, of which I had never previously heard. “Right there” – gesturing to the window – “in front of the National School”. An old man in the corner joined in, looking even more like a retired partisan than the proprietor did. His grandfather had been killed that day, and his mother's two brothers.

Two babies died – unbaptised.

I looked it up when we got home. It's a famous massacre. It was the SS, of course, in reprisal for something the partisans had done. It's one of the events for which Mr Tsipras is still trying to get reparations from Mrs Merkel. Those men must have told the story a thousand times, as they did to us that day. It was still a memorable conversation. Greek Helen translated for us as it went along.

More to follow.