After a lovely meal this evening (I am amazed at how I can finish a plate of greek salad, wiping the last of the oil, vinegar and tomato juices from the bowl with the last chunk of crusty bread, thinking ‘that was fantastic!’ – even after eating them almost daily for over a month) I walked down to the beach to look at the sky.

There wasn’t a moon, so I saw vast numbers of stars and I think the white cloudy bits that might be the milky way (Kieron, Maria, someone please help!)  the air just seemed so clear and sharp.  I resisted the urge to lie on the sand staring heavenwards for fear of finding myself there in the morning or waking to find my elbow in the grip of a member of the local constabulary on charges of vagrancy.

Back on my own balcony I took one last glance upwards before heading inside for the evening – and at that exact moment I had the thrill of seeing a spectacular shooting star.  I saw one rather meagre one (don’t get me wrong, it was still was a delight) the other evening. I’d posted that night on Facebook about my dilemma of whether to look out at the perfect sea with the reflected light of the almost full moon or to look north for shooting stars.  The suggestion that I go and find the nearest rotating restaurant did give me a good chuckle.