The benign spring weather allowed us to take tea and tittle tattle on our balcony with a few Bodrum Belles. It’s a sunny spot, though we often have to yell above the din of the harried street. This is more than compensated by the opportunity to observe busy Bodrum life passing by below. I was being mother and, as I poured the coffee, I gazed momentary across to the flat roof of our single storey kitchen at the other end of the courtyard. It glistened in the bright sunlight. Tiny waves rippled to the gentle breeze. Had we installed a roof top plunge pool? No such luck. A few weeks before, a beefy covered lady with Popeye biceps had collected the olive crop from the over-hanging tree. She beat the bush with Amazonian gusto and left a shag-pile of twiggy debris in her wake. Come the next deluge, the leaf litter plugged the drainage hole and created the shallow lake.
After the Belles departed, I climbed onto the roof, waded through the water and unblocked the hole with handle of a wooden spatula. The undammed waters spewed like a mini Viagara onto the turned dirt of our neighbour’s bald vegetable patch. Their chained up dog, so used to barking at the slightest flutter by the tiniest sparrow, was taken totally by surprise. Rover didn’t know how to react so decided not to react at all.
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