Sorry about the massiveness of that image - but I couldn't get the image downsizing doctors to do their work, so massive it will remain. Hope it's suitably cryptic as self-portraits go! Now let's move on. Greece. Ah, yes, Greece.

The final part of my stay in Andros was probably the least eventful and the most fun. Talk about partying. Well, who cares about partying, what people want to know is whether any melons bounded off the back off lorries and hit people on the head. Well, no. But I do remember in the past hitchiking back from the Pell Mell and getting a lift in the back of a lorry full of watermelons. Nothing like that this time round, and no bad thing. We had a little Romanian girl, now a Greek, getting in the way of my camera every time I tried to take a picture of anything, and insisting on having a go herself. Then there were the quasi-bride and quasi-groom who didn't go to their quasi-wedding party after all: they were on Paros. Then there was a mad Greek dance, a party where people threw custard pies into each other's faces, spontaneous nonsense sessions on beaches, midnight skinny-dips, and conferences around tables with copious quantities of wine, beer and whatever else lay handy. Those conferences weren't about anything in particular. There were long conversations that were about absolutely nothing, and short conversations about a great deal. There was even a cryptic meeting with a lawyer in the airport, which was more like a return to the good old days of the Cold War, where documents changed hands like state secrets. But you don't care about any of that, so I won't regale you with stories of greed, lust, and megalomania. Nor will I tell you about how snazzy and smart a place Athens airport is now - and how Rafina has a newly rebuilt hotel, the Chryssi Akti, which is about as posh as you can get and has a roof garden where you can have an expensive drink. Shades of Andriot shipowners.
My journey back from Greece to Poland via Wizzair is in itself a small story, but I'll leave that to the travel stories section, when I get round to it.
So, what do I have left to tell the jaded reader, the crypto-reader, the 'why doesn't this blog have more images' reader, or any other kinds of reader that we can mention? Plenty. But it will come in dribs and drabs, as I recall the urgent breeze, the rampant sea, the bewitched olive tree, and the sorcerers of the groves, the dancing spirit, the sense of history waltzing with the present.