Good Dog, Happy Man

Actually, rather a good name for an album.

I was going to head this post, 'Where the weather fits my clothes' or something wimpy.

Actually, "Actually, rather a good name for an album" *is* rather a good name for an album, provided one is young and spikey haired with a spikey voice and collapsible eyes.

Past one's salad days, the label insists on a "mature" title, "Wilted Salad" or ""Dun-greppin'".

In fact, reading that back, it *could* read like 'Dung Repping' which is a joyous subtitle for my cubicle memoirs, 'Living Death in the Queues'.

Ricardo will be on that in a flash, and I can hear rvaux' Yorkshire chuckle from here.

Damn I miss those goodies.
To muted Kondokoli where the last batch of tourists wander disconsolate and finger cheap belts and vulgar t-shirts.

I pass 'Mythos' where they call me in for a cognac. No, I'm heading home for lunch.

Lunch here!

At your prices?

For you free. But sit by window so people can see we have customer.

"Endaxi. Kick off with megalo ouzo to whet the appetite for the T-bone and feta salad and carafe of house red, after that Eurydice's pie and lashings of coffee and leave the brandy bottle on the table. Ta muchly.

Driving with my bro in Italy, who hurls his Merc at breakneck speed and lightning reflexes, I was impressed by his identification of each region's number plate, goading them accordingly.

I printed out the Greek regs (KY for Kerkira) so me and the girls could play games spotting the damn'd furriners.

Like the Beach Boys croon, "Don't back down" and the Greeks *don't*, insisting in macho fashion that the *other* driver reverse.

DIGRESSION: Dad and brother goading feisty daughter/sister: Guv'nor wants to be a grandpa and daughter ain't delivering.

Hilarious exchange on the question of hubby lacking the needfuls

Verdict: Below, dad pronounces: Nah, the boy lacks the cojones.

Won't translate dutiful daughter's filial reply but it was along the lines that *his* weenie didn't even hit the loo pan.

Family power.

Anyway, back to the action:

Pulling out to pass a delivery wagon, I found myself facing a vulgar SUV with Salonika plates which, to my surprise, refused to budge, the driver leaning out to shout something rude.

I got out the car - very provocative - and advanced on the bully, but throwing up my hands in mock shock at his reg plate ID.

"Honoured sir - well-padded lady - many apologies.

I took you for local. I am reversing immediately. (Crowd emerging from the tavernas) I see your Salonika plates, I know your motors tactfully lack the difficult maneuver of reverse gear. I am reversing in an instant.

Please, enjoy your visit to our garden isle."

Eruption of laughter and much cuffing of forearms in dismissive mirth.

The bit that gets the biggest laff is that "well padded" is a compliment to a woman's plush wardrobe and her man's wealth in keeping her in the latest fashion, BUT it has a double meaning of well bosomed. Also, I suppose, a compliment to the woman *and* her bloke for landing a hottie with a good pair to grab onto in the saddle.

Anyway, face saved and the other driver waved, the woman blushed prettily and the bystanders guffawed and made rude gestures.

"Hey, English, where you learn you good Grik? Come for ouzo, bring padded kopella. Oopah!"

Living la vida loca.