"Teetotallers"

Higher levels of depression than drinkers

Don't you hate reading stuff like that, just when you've readied a new persuasive power list of reasons to cut back on the grog?

Idiot survey. Loada bollocks, if you ask me.

Abstainers from alcohol more likely to lack social skills ... higher levels of anxiety

Non-drinkers more mental health issues than those considered heavy drinkers

Happiest people: drinkers who averaged two glasses of wine, a bottle of beer, or a shot of spirits a week.

Journal of Addiction: “In the case of depression, the odds of depression (in people who labelled themselves abstainers) were higher than even the heaviest alcohol consumers."

"In a society where use of alcohol is the norm, abstinence might be associated with being socially marginalised and at increased risk for mental disorders.”

Many vowing to cut back after bingeing on holiday: Drinkers in England drank an average of eight alcoholic drinks every day during their summer holiday this year. Y'see, exactly the stats that spook me, like the Know Your Limits nonsense whose cautionary consumption for a week is what I usually warm up on before lunch.

As for restricting oneself to eight drinks a day - dudes, holidays are for relaxing and enjoying yourself, letting yourselves go. Plenty of time to knuckle under to an 8-drink strait jacket when you get back to Blighty and the chain gang.

Timesonline Mental Health probs: I love the flexibility of the Times's "If you answer yes to a few or more [my itals] of the questions". I have no quibble with such vagueness - I answer yes to most of most of the quizzes.

Infernal Yammering

Bravo Mike Perham for his youngest solo sail around the world.

As Cassell's press officer I promoted the Ken Parker-edited Robin Knox-Johnston bestseller of his momentous mucking about on some wide water.

Growing up in Hong Kong after the war, I crewed for a few hard cases who'd never settle for terra firma again.

In those days, the HK-Philippines jaunt was relatively pirate-free and a crate of decent San Mig awaitethed at t'other end.

One of my favourites was a gentle-tongued Scot (rare among sailors) who I later read must have endured appalling tortures under the Japanese in order to withhold names and supply routes. His excuse was that they couldn't understand his Pitlochry accent.

I remember one doldrum when he opened up:

Back when he was 17 he answered an advert as crew for a 2-man voyage.

After two days of silence en voyage, he made to make nervous chat - where was the guv'nor from? How did he catch the sailing bug, any family? Etc. Nil response.

Third day, silence.

Fourth day, another effort to start conversation.

Fifth and sixth days, he'd got the message so he left it to the skipper to feel guilty and break the silence.

A whole week into the sail, he tried again ... what had been his worst experience at sea? How close had he come to Davy Jones' Locker?

The way he told it, without even looking round, the skipper had rasped,

"Look, if you're going to keep up this infernal yammering ..."

shitmydadsays

I don't think it's all rancid grape pips that keep me from joining the massed ranks of admirers for this bogus twittering.

I was going to include links to the all-too-explicable raves online for this amuse-gueule but, know what? can't be bothered.

28-yr-old lives with 73-yr-young grouchy pater and twitters the choleric geezer's whinges.

Apart from the question of what any 28 yr old amanuensis is doing laboriously recording such predictable petulances, I smell several rats.

I thought at first that the twitterer was transmitting from the UK - certainement, the Telegraph gives that impression and the comments appear to support this - but I'm shouted down by my blue-collar Facebookista pals.

The vocabulary is suspect: if this Boswell is doing his job, pater's spoutings should match a 73 yr old. They do not, but the writer is skilled enough to slip only seldom

Absolutely no doubt that the author is having fun and I envy him hitting on this wheeze.

I hope the vein doesnt run dry too soon but I suspect he will be hunted down before that happens

Having doffed my cap, what worries me most is the astonishing reception given these jeux de mots.

OK, so I'm a curmudgeon from birth and hear this sort of thing spouting by the hour from my own gob or plonking in pale form on the page.

My guess is that the "son" is a wordsmith of 40+ who's stumbled on virgin territory and must be having a whale of a time.

There'll be a book and script(s) in it when he's traced and the usual post-sleuth PR which will be a whole new knees-up.

Update: It's American and, it seems, is for real.

Just fancy this pic.

Loud Bikes

Snapping folks sans permission

When I returned to Hong Kong to the honour of working with its tourism board, I could judge within their first few mewling lines which letters to the editor of the South China Morning Post (SCMP) had been submitted by newly-arriveds from Blighty.

Moan bitch about the attitude to strays

Whinge splutter about how no-one queues.

My dear, the price of Pimms in Park'n'Shop and as for any chance of parking ....

When I walked the plank off S/W Galleon Bezopoulou to be washed ashore on Prosperonia, same for the wailing and gnashing from Blighty white trash in Athens News.

But now something catches my sambuca'd bleary eye:

Starry-eyed ex-American, Mr Terry Stone of Galaxidi, writes how he:

" ... recently went to the traffic police in hopes of enlisting their help in stopping the loud motorcycles that race up and down our streets.

I live in a smallish town and the local ‘kids’ have gone crazy with their modified bikes and are completely out of control.

The ‘urban terrorists’ listen to no one, put everybody at risk of heart attacks and carry on day and night.

Granted, this is nothing new, it is a worldwide problem.

But being a starry-eyed ex-American, I decided to do something and thought the best way to handle it was to go to the police and get them to do their job - law enforcement. (Okay, you can quit laughing now.) [No-one's laughing, Mr Stone - Ed]

So I went to meet with an official of the traffic police, told him of the problem, showed him photographs taken of the worst offenders and even told him where and when the police might want to patrol.

Of course, the police were well aware of the problem, but he confided that if they were to enforce the letter of the law, the odds were that he would be transferred to the farthest part of the country and never see his loved ones again. And this is not unique to our area.

Those with power pull the strings and they don’t want their little darlings messed with. Never mind that little Johnny is a sociopath.

Illegal, ill-schmiegel. The police can do nothing.

Fair enough. Different culture. I should get used to the way things are done in my adopted country.

But as I was picking up my photographs from the desk to take back home, the official stopped me and said that what I was doing was a far more serious offence.

What? What was I doing?

"Taking pictures. It is illegal to take pictures of people in Greece without their express permission. (Tourists, please take note!) And I could be in deep trouble if I continue to use my Canon Sure Shot in such a criminal manner.

Huh? This was totally unexpected! Can the Athens News please check on this and let us know if we should wear masks when taking pictures. Is it true that no one is allowed to take pictures of people, even of a criminal in the process of a crime? I would appreciate knowing the true skinny on this matter.

Always expect the unexpected."

This is an excellent journal and I've noticed the alertness with which the Editor responds to those letters that press certain buttons:

We contacted a lawyer on your behalf. She said the problem you have encountered - loud motorbikes and a police reluctance to deal with them - is well-known in Greece. As she explained, you have a number of options:

1. The first thing you need to do is to check when the 'hours of common silence' apply in your town. During these afternoon and night hours, people are prohibited from making loud noises (builders must stop any noisy work, for example).
2. If you hear the motorbikers during these hours, then you should return to the police station, make a formal complaint and insist that the police record this in the duty book (vivlio symvanton).
3. In the event that the police fail to take action, the lawyer advised that you should then contact your local prosecutor’s office, which is open 24 hours a day. The prosecutor may be able to force the police to take action.
4. On the question of the legality of taking photographs, she said that there may be some data protection issues at play here, so it’s best not to bring photos to the police. In any case, she said that photos cannot be used as evidence.

   Indeed, as the traffic police confirmed to the Athens News, under Article 114 of the new traffic code (KOK), the police must catch violators red-handed."

What amused me is the contrast between the official line and the wonderfully relaxed attitude here in Kerkyra to snapping the flower of local maidenhood at each saintly parade, canny lensmen clicking with a perfect eye for any nubile koritsa, their work promptly on display for sale in countless revolving racks outside local photo shops.

Where I've lived in San Antone, Boston and Seattle-sur-Sound, that'd get you a law suit by the next registered bike messenger. (More of which anon)

Dai the Folly, Mr Gwyn Headley of no fixed abode but the run-don't-walk fotoLIBRA marvel, comments cannily:

"Most UK police believe that it's illegal for us to take photographs of people without their permission, but not for them.

However, they are wrong, and the Met has recently had to issue new guidelines to its officers to tell them they cannot prevent a photographer doing his stuff.

I'm surprised that the laws of one EU country clash so comprehensively with another."

Thanks, Gwyn.

Digression Anon: In the early 1990s, I had some involvement with the Seattle Northwest Book Fair, having persuaded the under-rated Peter Moss (and here) to moderate a panel in his inimitably gentle but disciplined way.

I'd noticed this bully cove shambling around - a wannabe Dennis Farina (see pic) - and was delighted when he burst into the Green Room and nailed some innocent freelancer with a

"You just took my photo! If that appears anywhere, I'm fucking suing."

My dears, red rag to Yours Truly.

I used to troll around with copies of trade mags, including the doit-lire Bookseller.

I dunno, a month or so later? I saw this git waiting for the #8 bus to Rainier Beach and sidled up (as is my wont, or in this case my very much will).

"I know you!" I chirped in my best David Whitaker cut-glass tones, "Your photo was in The Bookseller, lead pic in the Diary page."

"Got the wrong guy, fellah."

"No, I haven't. You threatened to fucking sue if your photo appeared anywhere ... look, here ... oh, sorry, wrong issue."

"Can I see that? Jesus fuckin' Christ!"

"You can have it.

Got the address there - splendid photo. Yes, indeed -

'If my photo appears anywhere, I'm blankety blank suing.'? You sounded quite perturbed.

"Fuck blankety-blank perturbed ... yeah, I'm taking that.Thanks fellah."

φωτιά

Here comes Hephaestus

Suburbs ablaze: Not looking good.

10,000 on the run

Anger mounts

Κοκκινο λεμονι

Musique Apache

Out this evening to catch a bit of live-alive KL down by the Plateia kiosk bandstand.

Well done them threading their way thru the Greek red-tape to get the permit.

I'm terribly jealous of their official 'Bitches of KL' fanclub.

When I was in a band in London and Haywards Heath, all we had was pretty juniors from Red Cross house and, in the hols, the shopgirls from Boots and Woolworths.

Chord-off is meant to be 8pm so make that closer to 10pm.

Ack ptui make it nearer to midnight - all the sound checks and chatting up each others girlfriends.

Pink Panther Theme: No lemons, these Kokkini; not just pretty faces.

Pedant Watch

We interrupt this broadcast to bring you a uncool service message in the form of edi-tweaks to this page.

"KOKKINO LEMONI was formed in October 2005 by Panayiotis Socratous and Alexandros Theodotos [who with the] and with the manager of the band Tasos Gkouvas they came up with the name “KOKKINO LEMONI” which stands for “Red Lemon”.

By December 2006 Panos and Alex had written 2 songs, and [it was then that] then it was when Chris Peratikos joined the band as the drummer.

Rehearsals where [delete the 'h'] in the drummers [drummer's avec apostrophe] garage, Panos on the Guitar, Chris on the Drums and Alex Vocals/Harmonica.

By May 2006 Jimmi Gardiakiotis [had] joined the band as the new singer. It was a big turnaround as Jimmi was really into metal and reggae and took Kokkino lemoni [capitalise the L?] to another level.

Summer of 2006 was full of rehearsals [insert 'which'] were held in Deans [insert apostrophe Dean's. And who is Dean? I can't see mention of him yet] workshop (thanks Dean).

The big day was the 6th of June 2006 when Kokkino Lemoni performed live for the first time a couple of their songs.
By the end of the summer they did a couple more gigs. (all in Corfu/Kerkyra) On the 16th of December Kokkino Lemoni organizes [organized 'd', not present tense 's'] the “RockAway Festival” in which they performed live the 4 songs (Mr. E, Swords Lords Chords, The Story of the Broken Promise and wrigwelter) [on which they had been working they had be [been] working on throughout the year 2006.

Summer of 2007, Mario Siapalinis joins [join-ed, past tense] the band as the bassist, Kokkino Lemoni writes [wrote, past tense] 3 more songs (M.O.B., Nargiles and Stone Doctor) and does [did many] lots of gigs.

From the [Between] 9th of September 2007 [comma] which was the last time Kokkino Lemoni performed live, until the 10th of June 2008 [saw] was a big gap of no work because all members where [were] away for studies. Then comes [came] the big return of KL, on the 14th of June KL [when they jammed] plays for the first time in 2008."

On reading the above pompous 'corrections' back next day, I can't for the life of me recollect why I thought it such a good idea to post these suggestions. Must be the proofreader/editor in me.

Good Youtube capture of Nargile

Mr. Deity and the 'Really Unique Gift'

~ Science/Medicine vs How to kill a goat ~

One of my favourite series.

This one has the eminently fanciable Lucy given some lovely lines.

Trivia Point: she's married to Mr Deity in soi-disant real life.

Speaking of whom - Mr D milks the script in fine form.

Great balls of fire!

Yes, indeed, they grow them tough on Crete.

I'm told that the great fear of Corfiots called up for service militaire is to be posted to hard-ass Crete.

If Master Feltham *did* come on at Ms Fanouraki, he's very silly and must have been very very drunk.

No-one but a card-carrying twat makes a move on a local lass.

[I believe those to be Twat Père et Mère over there, not looking best pleased over their offspring's fiery cock-up.]

I'm surprised she got to his gonads first and not one of the local lads or her brothers or her dad or her uncles ... or all of 'em at once.

Either way, no jury will convict:

Ms Fanouraki will be the island's pin-up

Her money will be useless in any taverna or bar she graces

The balls-burning Electra will be jam-packed with sightseers and souvenir gatherers ...

Next time I'm over in Crete, I must pop in and ask the barman for a Sambucus niger ... I'm sure he'll know what I mean when I ask him to 'Felthamise' it.

From my favourite Blues Wailer, a stirring "Enough is Enough" piece spotted in The Indie that deserves to be translated for some of the Greek press. [Thanks, Jim.]

Wrong place, wrong time. How stories change: from thrusting his nekkid genitals against the fragrant Farounaki (hence the 2nd deg burns), it's now some bird "just came up to him and threw some party trick fuel over him. Then set him alight. He said it came from behind the bar, but it was not a drink."

Cracking good throw, in that case.

This story has 'legs' and I'll be including all decent updates together, of course, with any glams snaps of La Pyroteknia's own legs.

As you can see, the lady is easy on the eye.

Fiery Feltham-fondled Fanouraki: Nix set-up, swears Sambuca sousing sweetie.

Thought he would die: "Excruciating pain" as he went up in a fireball ~ six inch flames leaping from his chest.

Marina Farounaki: presses harassment charges ~ "needs her honour restored in society" ~ Feltham père "furious"; forensic team to check clothing for flammable liquid type (Interesting if it turns out to be other than hooch: Dahn the spout for Sambuca's "di Amore" autumn ad campaign)

British teenagers: "like animals ... they fight, they smash windows, urinate in the street, expose themselves and have unprotected sex on the beach and even in the cemetery."

Dogs and British Tourists - pame! And no less than the Swindon Advertiser has spoken.

Braised Bollocks trial - adjourned. I have a sinking feeling this whole drama will fizzle out like a damp squib (or young Feltham's wedding tackle).

I mean, when the Beeb can't even be bothered to get the heroine's name right - Fanouraki over Fanoudaki? - what hope is there for gloaters like me to stay au courant?

Loipon, "forensic experts examined the clothing Mr Feltham was wearing at the time of the incident", did they?

I assume from their silence that they found Sambuca brulé, as per the fragrant Maria's original defence.

All this is perfect timing for Aug 15 and the Assumption of the BVM when Ms Fanouradaki will be kneeling before her Name Saint to give thanks for deliverance from a plumbing worse than death.

The rest of us will be dormitioning off for the calendar's finest panegyri. I know which beanfeast *I* am choosing, and St Spirrers better get the promised rain over with before then or hold it until next week.

Burning Ring of Fire ~ Dept of Ill Wind (or whatever is the equivalent of a well-tossed cocktail burning Master Feltham real good.)

Look at this literate Wonderland blog. Admire its well- turned phrases such as,

"Logic told me from the start her story was the correct one.

The logic one gains from even a few club trips, and a little knowledge about British youth and Crete, a scene akin to Spring Break, Mexico, with the volume turned up to nightmare levels.

Now that he has left the country, if he has left the country, I don’t even need logic to know what really happened."

The author appears to be the cheery "Cooper" - bravo, ma'am, or whatever is the current accepted nez-brun form of address.

"Body" found in Crete. Dude! You just don't mess with that isle.

First off, I'm sure Maria's indignant buddies had nowt to do with it; next off, no truth that young Young's funeral pyre will be fuelled by Sambuca. OK, that's as tastelessly far into the Abyss as I'm prepared to peer.

"Raging in the streets": I warned you this story would have legs: the father of the flammable flasher has now upped his story to include crowds raging in the streets. I wish I knew what news channel that'd been on, I'd've loved to have seen a Cretan mob baying for the blood of young Stu'. Honestly, such a farce.

Trial postponed : don't bother to put it on the calendar (tho' I have, to make sure I keep pace with this farce). That's it, filed in the wagga to collect dust and then light the winter fire. Finito.

Some dude's dick - wish I could come up with a headline like that (You will, Oscar)

String up Strong: Cumbrian yoof "deported and banned from re-entering Turkey for five years, but locals who do not feel honour has yet been satisfied have set up a Facebook group titled “String Up Strong” and are calling for him to be hanged."

By the Plectrum of Plexaure, you have to laugh.

Oh tempura, oh maitake: the idiot pulls down his Y-fronts and cusses the statue of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk.

I'll type that again - Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, yep, he who led the Turkish national movement and established the Republic ... and the bloodthirstiest they can get is ... er ... set up a Facebook group??

We're talking the land of the Midnight Express, right?

I agree with the quote, namely that,

"To be honest, he’s lucky it was the police that took him – Ataturk is the father of the Turkish Republic and a national hero – the local boys wanted to kill him for being so insulting.”

Understatement, I'd say.

Panegyris

Temploni * Poulathes * Plateia

To save the usual après-event bitchin' mails about my having been seen cavorting at these local kneez-ups and why didn't I let my fellow white trashopoulou know, blah blah ~ here are two coming up at which I will definitely be working the tables to sponge food and booze off pals and making a fool of myself come the συρτάκι.

TEMPLONI - Aug 22

POULATHES - Aug 29.

STOP PRESS ~ Friday Aug 21: Crimson Lemon set the Plateia alight.

Debrett 'Quette for the Movie Set

Of course, try any of these on today's hog-snorting snogging, paper cracklin', seat thwacking thuggos 'n' they'll be over the seat and punchin' yer face in before you can say,

"Do I feel lucky, punk? Well do I?"

Trust me, you do not.

Cool Commentaria: I knew one day that the Doge of Democracy would deliver a comment weightier than the post abaht which he was chirping:

"Noisy youths on crowded intercity the other day. Not vicious, hardly drinking. I'm not stupid. Just noising up the whole carriage.

I 'hobble' over (fake limp, like the mother duck's dropped wing) and lean over the table -(carefully judged distance, so not 'in your face').

"Sorry about this but I have a problem. (pause...smile edging on 'He-e-re's Johnny' rictus; checking for the leader)

... I absolutely detest young people.

(I even surprised myself with that.)

Batemanesque freeze frame - not just the lads.

Kids gape then break into grins.

"We too loud?" says leader. "Well, yes". Gesture to ears - smiling, always smiling (the ancient primate threat/conciliate facial).

"OK mate. OK."

Hands shaken all round, thumbs up. I even like them.

It didn't make them silent - faces to be saved - but the carriage became bearable and an ironic friendly handshake from the leader when they left at Preston.

It's always different. No formula where civil society's evaporated. The one thing is never to think mano-e-mano, which is why girls make good bouncers and there are occasions when 'il faut reculer...' especially if you're in company.

Etiquette's no good. Only works on ROM. For this world, you need scholarship level politeness. Lots of RAM. Time in prison helps but I make do with public school boarding."

Yon Sinbad speaks for England.

ENNIS

I keep calling this cute 23-yr-old heptathlete *Glenys* Ennis - it's the rhymer in me - but her correct moniker is Jessica.

Apparently, there's some 'Sports Personality of the Year' argy-bargy over which everyone - bookies, in particular - gets hells lathered and opinionated.

I don't know nuffink about that but I *do* know that if the chiseled Ms Ennis doesn't absolutely cream the field, a lot of discerning Looksists will want to know why.

I mean, just look at the quasimodo competition:

Andys Flintoff (cricket) and Murray (Up for tennis, Miss Ennis? Now there's a Joan Hunter Dunn for the new century)

Fangio wannabe, Jenson Button (Who he?).

Not a pretty boy among 'em.

Whatever ... JE is my new best sexpot pin-up and I shall add to this page under the guise of being a hairy-chested sports fan.

Tadpole to Tiger

Bad Taste Comment ~ You have to feel a tinge of envy over boyfriend Andy: to be allowed even a respectful brush of those abs and wotsits must be worth any amount of ribbing dahn the boozer.

Bloke or Bird? At least there'll never be any doubt about my deliciosa Jess being a babelicious woman ~ unlike this beefy bloke who's being very cheeky trying to pull the femme card. Still, no accounting for tastes, I always say.

Complex process to check sex. Semen, ya? C'mon, how complex can it really be? But poor chap all the same, having to go thru all dis 'gender-verification' hullabaloo. (The names they come up with). And the quizzical looks over the G&Ts in the bar later ... the scowls from the other chicks when Semen sashays her way into the ladies loo?

Surface Clues: Listen before pre-judging.

Yes, A Secret Man (anag) - You have to laff at some of the clever stuff people get up to. And cry, as well, for the gauche handling of YASM's dilemma.

Events

Can't remember how I stumbled acrorss this one but it's my kind of reading.

I'd like the comma in there - EVENTS*,* DEAR BOY, EVENTS - but pourquoi peiner ones smalls, hein?

Its look is un peu sinbadien but the trail seems to lead back to one Howard D'Enton.

Whoever, he's crisp, seems to deal in facts, and the whole thing has the enjoyable feel of Badass's bolshy younger brother taking up quill just to annoy donnish frère aîné.

Preen Scene: Mais dis-donc, just as I'm doffing my pointy cap to Dear Boy, enter the Doge of Democracy with the sort of Cute Commentaire I roll over like Sam and wag t'wedding tackle.

Do click thereon and read: it makes my scribblings sound as if there's a smidgeon of thought buried 'neath the bile.

TV Show that took over the world

Guitar of the Gods

BBK

Killer Shot

~ 1.15 miles snipering ~

2,026 yards

I've always enjoyed shooting and was the nasty secretive one on the school team, never joining in with the raucous victory tomfoolery afterwards.

I used to get up to some extroadinary - and extroardinarily dangerous - japes during school holidays.

Mostly I depended on being so far away that my 'victims' never suspected they were being fired on - rather like Corporal Reynolds here with his 1,853-metre bullsye.

I love it that Reynolds' first round landed next to the target but had come from so far away that he didn’t even realise he was being shot at.

I used to get up in the attic of my grandma's north London surburb home - one of many little boxes that made up Kenton's Donnington Road - and ease the circular skylight just wide enough for the barrel of my powerful BSA air-gun to protrude. (I'd have it muffled with some crude wrapping arrangement that didn't interfere with the telescopic sights).

Then I'd scan the gardens one by one for anything going on that I could have some fun with:

Tea sets on a table as the owner went inside to replenish the pot.

All manner of toys hangin around that could be shot up - often with the owners staying near but looking the other way; very dangerous, that.

Garden 'furniture' - gnomes, storks, etc. Boy, did that alabaster explode when hit right - many were tastefully lit at night which was a grand time to perform because you often had the family at table looking out at their mysteriously exploding masterpieces.

Very silly. I'd give myself 20 minutes and then come down to a pre-set scenario of holiday homework or improving tracts. I didn't want the Fuzz to be called and tap on the door and Granny be calling upstairs that was I up there? and some gentlemen wanting to ask me some questions.

I don't think Granny ever knew I had the gun, or would have recognised it for what it was.

And I never saw a single police car go by or heard any gossip from the neighbours - and my reign of potshots went on for years, throughout my schooldays.

One of my favourite tricks was over the roofs and the slug dropping out of sight to hit some clangy object. I never worked out what it was that went boingg, despite going up and down the street next day. I'd aim at a certain chimney that would fill the cross-hair, squeeze the trigger and - clanngg!! On would go a few lights. Weird.

Anyway, props to 'dead-eye' Cpl Reynolds.

Yettaw

First off, what the frig sort of name is "Yettaw"?

Next, what the deuce was he doing jeopardising Aung San's chances?

Fiddlesticks, I say, to his wife's blathering about his midnight dip being a good thing.

And it's not called 'Burma' any more, ma'am - do clue up before spouting your nonsense.

CNN Video: House arrest continues; what the guilty verdict for Aung San Suu Kyi means for the Myanmar opposition; idiot Yettaw gets 7 years.

Idiot Yettaw "just trying to help" ~ and boy do we know that sort of 'Samaritan'.

Outcry: sham trial

Join the call

The General's Dilemma

The Harvard Report

Yettaw deported - lucky swine. I bet he's learnt nuthin'

Les Paul RIP

26 tracks

Coors ad

His were the shoulders upon we stood

Listen to the master wizardry of Whispering

Les and Mary

You thought you knew fretting?

Corfu Chamber Opera

An adored and clued-up friend mails me:

The Corfu Chamber Opera is in its early stages

International Director Richard Woods asks everyone to join up, mail their buddies, don't be a wimp on the sidelines.

I loved the March recital of Greek songs of the 30s and 40s - to which, incidentally, I was invited by none other than Ms Miranda Caldi

Loipon, you see I am connected up the kazoo, friends in high places kai tou alla ~ so don't mess with me. Just do Mr Woods' bidding and no-one'll get hurt.

I shall certainly be signing up as a member

And yo! Look again at the website, guys, and inform yourselves.

Any further info' you need, it's right here

Richard Woods writes:

"This is just to remind you that our Opera Gala is next week on Wednesday 19 August at 9pm in the Ionian Academy. Please note the following extract from the website:

.....the Handel Gala has been postponed due to a last-minute cancellation by mezzo-soprano Marita Paparizou. An Opera Gala will be held at the same place, date and time (Ionian Academy, Wednesday 19th August, 21.00), with the other cast members. Soprano Elpiniki Zervou, soprano Rosa Poulimenou and baritone Pantelis Kontos will perform arias by W.A.Mozart, G. Rossini, G. Bizet, G.Puccini and G.Verdi. The artists will be joined by renowned Greek-Peruvian pianist Alexandros Kapelis, who will also perform selections for piano solo from his recent acclaimed American tour "The Greek Myth."

Tickets: 15 euros and 12 euros for members and students and can be purchased at the door.

Last time we had an informal gathering for drinks and mezes which was very popular and I am proposing we do this again.

Cost: 10 euros per head and I should be happy to organise it. This will be at 7.30pm at Dimarcheio Restaurant at the top of Dimarcheio Square (bottom of Guilford Street) and it would be helpful if you could email me if you intend to come.

This concert is a seminal moment for us in the development of the company and we really would appreciate your support on the day. Also, please do send this email on to any friends who you think would be interested (one reason for having the concert at this time is that many people are over from the UK and elsewhere in August who will not be on this mailing list but who might like to attend).

Finally, if you are not yet a member or a sponsor and would like to be one or both of these, please let me know and I can send you further details."

Loo Lass Lapse

~ Match coverage clipped by WAG closet cutie ~

Looks rather an interesting movie. Some good play on the field, too, as I could see.

Babe for Babe

"Olive, Eucalyptus and Cypress Trees"

Hilarious Craig Brown-style Pseuds Corner-meets-breathless William Boot piss-take of the Mandelson bunk up chez  Rothschild-sur-Mer.

I knew Nicolina Haslamopoulou was a little Miss Blabette but hadn't taken in her mischievous talent for camping it up for the gullible press.

For one who affects vagueness about Westminster, ChitterChatter Haslamobad is impressively precise (and indiscreet) about La Mandella's 'work' agenda:

“Something about trade unions, motor companies ending, politics.

I don’t know, I don’t follow politics.”

Well, something had those pixie ear lobes glued to the salon door.

I guffawed at the thought that Kassiopi is "known to wealthy British visitors as 'Kensington-on-Sea'."

Not the toffs, you Big Girls Blouse - it's us sour-grape chanking plebs wot call it that.

Blimey, Follers, better not let mauve-fingered Mary Keen hear you get it wrong ....

Confided 'interior designer' Nicola H,

“We’ve got no plans to go out. No reason to move — it’s paradise here.”

He and that other Nat - 'Fawlty' Pascoe - should have got together and pooled a μεζέ of tantalising snippets for the slavering hacks rocking off shore with their long lenses and 'Alice' sick bags.

Dept of Why Don't they Leave us Alone? ~ If the scribbling Ιωαννης Follain is to be believed,

"David Cameron is expected to pay for a rented villa just over a mile to the south in Kalamaki, where he is expected to arrive in a week’s time."

You'd think that the fire-breathing Ms Farounaki had delivered fair warning on how we deal with tourist rough trade out here.

We'll have the Sambuca simmering.

"Her Corfu": Follain's frippery in The Thunderer clearly touched a nerve wi' Daily Mail who quickly slipped the leash on their own Glenda Gorgon Julia Langdon (no less) to get Poetic and Possessive about "her" Corfu.

Hard to know which to cackle loudest at:

Word for the Day: Cerulean. (First person to use it down Dirty Nellies gets a free Sambuca.)

"Running Britain from the island, using his Black-Berry [sic]"
Gotta love those Mail subs, but you know what? That's how I write it, too.

OK, cave. Here comes the Quaint Qwerty ... count the me me mes:

"As a Corfu regular for many years, I was the first to hear last summer that he had been dining with the Shadow Chancellor, George Osborne, over the delicious marinated anchovies in the Taverna Agni, my local taverna."

And just to make sure:

"And now, he has become besotted with Corfu - my Corfu, where I've been holidaying for 25 years."

Follow that, Follain!

Sodom and Gomorrah-on-Sea: Trust the Spectator's (and elsewhere) incomparable Taki to set the record straight. I bet La Haslam wishes he'd coined that one; rather appropriate.

Bulger to Baby P

First the killers of James Bulger walk. Passim.

Now these specimens.

What in God's name is the point of yammering on about how wunnerful the Internet is if - years on - Venables and Thompson are still at large?

I thought we were meant to be sleuths of the night, skilled communicators sharing clues and tips, rough justice ours, the clumsy law outfooted.

Photos and Twittered sightings ... pointing fingers ....

In truth, on our track record to date, we're Knackers of the Yard no better than PC Plod.

And Baby P? Surely to God *this* time we'll get it right ... a few good vigilantes doing their Chato's Land tracking thing ~ and then getting medieval with blow torch and tongs.

One more feeble performance over this "new identities" rubbish and I'll seriously think of calling in the Mountain Man and ending this anonymity protection crap farce once and for all.

Wall of Shame: Baby P "carers" on the scrounge - and what a pinch-faced gallery of shrews they look up there.

(Still some juice in the blow-torch? When you've done with it)

Sex-obsessed slob used TV to drown screams ~ not often you get to gag over a line like that.

I think the lads should keep the house blisterer for the Connelly con et al and I'll customize my own for the "carers".

Anonymity Unlikely: Kudos for the 'Net, court orders toothless to prevent new IDs being broadcast across websites based abroad. Killers' notoriety increases likelihood of discovery. So it's not all doom and gloom :-)

Guilt cannot be nameless - the FT's Christopher Caldwell is too brainy and writes at too exhausting a length for Corfucian Irregulars, but that doesn't mean I won't include pieces like this in case some hardy soul wanders in.

Travelin' Light

Or here, for 'live' Memory Lane

If ever there was a song in my repertoire - apart from my own compositions - that made me friends, la voici.

Thus said, listen to this absolute disgrace of a desecration: Just wish I had my treatment to post so you could compare it with this appalling joke gauche effort.

Not for the first time, I wish to God there was some legal or divine retribution that would strike people penurious or deaf for oaf arrogance in covering songs out of their league.

The Bob Dylan canon in particular qualifies, alongside the likes of this Hermit blunder.

And, because I indulge you, that other TL, the inimitable JJ Cale.

We rollin', Bob?

MP Expenses

~ By Numbers ~

Love that bad hair look on Gordie

Don't forget those also questionable Cons

McBron says sorry on behalf of all pols

Poems about Sorry

Sorry

Brown's How-to on Slap and Perma-tan

Worse than Cash-4-Questions

Deliberate exploitation of poorly-policed system

Grandees' grabby grandeur Con con

A-Z filch

Roll over Darling: It's all coming out.

Tax payers paid for Lib Dem's daughter's "bolthole"

Surprise surprise, the whole effing lot were in it.

If I were our - your - pols, *I'd* be the one bolting now from the flak from the Teleg's investigations. Rather good sleuthing on the part of the paper.

Judge not that ye be not judged, etc etc: Casting out the Mote

Blears the Brazen

Heckle and Jekyll - oh boy, the mea culpae going around.

Loge seat, please, packet of crisps and a massage. By goom, this home entertainment lark is fun.

Telegraph Videos - for those of strong stomach.

Speaker Martin on the run: Almost too embarrassing to watch. Michael Martin floundering, faffing, flailing.

Bizarre expense claims

Of course, what further fouls the chance of the bufone Martin McCrook being taken seriously is his alarming resemblance to the late and loved Roy Kinnear.

Duck off, Sir Peter!

Whistle-blower - why he did it (apart from the obvious)

A British Revolution

Usshered out

Official site: MP expenses online and here.

Green: That rule book

Expenses: How the official online version compares

Video Reaction

What MPs were allowed to leave out

Criminal Enquiries

The cover-up

Phantom council tax claims

What have you spotted?

Readers' reactions

Fuzz launch expenses probe. I love that word, ever since a competition ran to summarise *that* Hamlet Act in the manner of a tabloid headline, and came up with ~ Spook King Demands Death Probe

Mole: Why MPs were secretive

10 worst MP moments - the videos

Coulda been a contender: that useless crock of a Speaker, Michael McMartin, fantasising that, "If I had fought, I would have won."

Speaker Skulduggery

Judge for yourselves

Brown climb-down - no idea if it's about expenses. Who cares? His humiliation is complete; the history books could sum up for the defence and still the Brown brood will live with shame, yea unto the umpteenth generation.

What they make on 2nd jobs

Teleg ed defends MP-busting coverage

Lowest Point: Scarcely credible, but Speaker 'Gorbals' Martin will actually become a Lord with £28,000 expenses and a £1.4m pension. Pass the sickbag, Alice.

Djangology: Yes, yes - lovely fresh-faced lad. Millionaire, to boot, you say? Amazing. But it's not his pretty-boy mug we want to see - show us the money shot of the Polish bird he's spending all our loot on.

Stealth expenses wheeze

12:50pm Comment Quote: Links don't work in comments. Sinbad reckons he means these people

£20,000 allowance, broom cupboard; couldn't even remember address.

Speaker Berk-ow: £20,000 bill for apartment. [Always thought he looked a shifty cove]

Alan Duncan:MP's lot is not an 'appy one, but he still says sorry for jest.