10 July 2009


With my unerring magnetism for the foot/mouth interface gaffe supreme, I'm in no doubt that Daphne or Piers or even Sinbad are bosom buddies with this cove.

Loadsa citified chatter about stocks and props and parties and hearties, all delivered at volume 11 lest we be not impressed.

Cell phones rampant, both to the boatman and the chap's broker and trainer.

Anna and I exchanging winks and giggles.

Disputes over the Greekness of the mezes and the hima-ness of the krasi.

I asked the staff who was this kamala but dismissive shrugs.

The yoof sons ogled Miss Anna, of course, which rather took the wind out of stern pater's sails.

During the nosh he got a bit Brideshead with the hired hands and I gently offered an alternative attitude.

Mistake, of course, but the wine had got to me.

He even offered advice on The Spitfire's smoking.


Sibadd said...

Bosom buddy? You mean as in 'Stockholm Syndrome"?

Busker said...

No flies on Sinbad. That gunslinger is *faast*.
I make to tease him with a petit aiguillon and he just shoots the cheroot right outta my mouth.
Back to the drawing board.

Sibadd said...

Longlong ago eating in Athens my Greek stepmother and the family were having supper round 11.00 (e.g. early). She had my 6 month old bro with her. Lovely time, talking laughing etc etc. English 'lady' watching from next table finally snaps, leans over and says to Maria and everyone else "That child should be in bed". Mini-second of astounded silence, Maria goes po po po excuding compassion for this bizarre mad woman and the meal continues as happily as before. but I still remember it - the long withdrawing sigh of imperial arrogance.

Busker said...

Nice one. Excuding, exuding, who's counting?
Keep 'em coming, you pirate. You make me look good and read erudite.