However despite the weather, the boys from the Dimos are splashing their way around out in the street. The little dust cart reverses up our narrow street, wheels slipping on the wet cobbles. You can hear the fan from the overheating radiator, from the bottom of the street as it arrives.
They only have a couple of bags to collect, but the noise they make going about their work is unbelievable. Chatting shouting and once the bags are loaded a call of PAME, which roughly translated means - Lets Go.
In summer time when there is lots of waste from the tavernas, thats the words you want to hear most of all ...
I opened the shutters and its a grey very wet misty morning, the cloud is very low on the hills. It looks set for a grim day.
My young Albanian neighbour is waving off her equally young husband, who roars off up the alley on the noisiest motorbike in town.
If you were not awake after the Dimos, then you will be now.
Still jobs to be done. I may go for a paddle to the paint shop ...