My father always started his day early, but on Sundays he slept in and read all three Sunday papers: The Sunday Times, The Sunday Tribune and Die Rapport. Other days he would get up to exercise. First he would wake my mother with tea, then work out on the treadmill or bicycle in the spare…

I remember having to wear a white pleated skirt with 300 pleats to honour the years under occupation by the Ottomans. I remember having to recite poems in high Greek on the stage. I remember they sounded good, but I do not remember any of the poems. We recited the poems to feel patriotic and…

Life with my father always had expectations but was not based on achieving awards. Yet, when we received awards he was visibly proud of us. I remember him saying on those occasions: “You have set your own standards now.” He was implying that we had to strive to be better than ourselves. He received many…

My father preferred to drink wine out of traditional Greek wine glasses: simple small glasses without a stem and about twice the size of a shot glass. Even when he had parties at home in South Africa he eventually had enough of these to go around so he did not have to put out stemmed…

My father’s favourite chair was no doubt the plastic garden chair on his veranda at the house in Greece. He would sit there in the evenings and watch the light change over the village. People would come and go, visit and talk. I have a really good picture of him in a green and white…

My father wanted Sunday lunch with the extended family, unless we were invited out to even more extended family. I remember a few things about these Sunday lunches over the years from when I can remember until I left home and started having Sunday lunches with the Italians. In some ways not much has changed.…

I remember the thrill of standing on the fresh prow of a ferry boat crossing the Ionian Sea to Ithaca watching dolphins play in the wake of the boat. I think we only went to Ithaca twice, once to see Uncle Steve and Aunty Helene, and the second time when Uncle Lambros married Aunty Kiki.…

The platea (square) in Tripoli is edged by chestnut trees. In early winter the fruits fall to the ground and are roasted by vendors over charcoal fires. The aroma takes the change out of your pocket to nibble on these delights. Simple flavours burst open hinting at the lazy summer that has just passed in…