04 May 2011



Oddly enough, when I went to link to this core page in the history of the loss of my girls' jewels, the derivation of the name 'Villa Thefti' had been deleted.

Alors, on with the story:

Up there, my favourite image of the Cross on the altar of Holy Trinity Corfu.

I write elsewhere about the mis-removement of my personal jewelry but I am often asked whence the nickname for my brother's Tuscan palace where my personal items and daughters' heirlooms now rest safe albeit misplaced from the threat of theft by Corfiot.

  • Loipon, the tale of the 'Gunsight of God'.
  • Back in time, I not only drove my mother to church but sat in on the services
  • Sitting in a cramped pew one day, I noticed how perfect a sniper's rifle sight was formed by the altar Cross.
  • Each day on waking, I'd take for inspiration one of my missing jewels on which to focus prayers for the return of my treasures
  • I looked at the Cross and addressed Le Bon Dieu:
    "If it please your Holiest B'wanaship, any chance of some teeth into my prayers for the return of my girls' most treasured mementos of their careless dad who left the jewel box next to his bed head, asking to be mistaken for baubles of his dead dad of 20 years' previous?"

    I was trying to find a name for the Tuscan spa where my girls' treasures now languish.

    Perhaps it was the hangover, perhaps it was my left-ear deafness, but at that moment the Reverend Clifford Owen turned and faced the congregation.

    I wasnt wearing my glasses but his normally kindly features seemed wondrously twisted into a conspiratorial evil smile as I swear I heard him complete my fumblings with, "Villa Thefti."

    And that, children, is how where the last known address of my most belovèdest possessions got its name.

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