My dear mum had passed away the year before. She knew that I had always, always wanted to go to Greece. A painting of Santorini she did for me hangs on my wall – not her best work (as she aged her Parkinson’s got the better of her magical artistic talent), but filled with love, just for me.
We all wake much later than expected following our evening at Craggy Range. I blame the exhausting bike-ride. The others blame the three bottles of wine we had at dinner.