Daragh says we're going to Crete in September. I was reminded of the novel lent by a friend, which entwined two stories set in Crete and England: a woman of my vintage and time discovers familial secrets in the mountain village where her mother was born; her grandmother remembers the Nazi occupation and its consequences for her family. The narrative grapples with the violence of the past, but its power peters out as it descends into farce, ending in a pretty wedding precipitated by a comic car chase. The focus veers from intimacy toward colour. I'm not surprised when I read that the author is British with no Greek roots except a holiday home.

Anyways, I want to wander Minoan palaces and see the cave where Zeus was born. Eat salads under a blue sky and read novels by the sea. Stare at the moon until I'm luminous. Feel time slow down again.

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