DOWN TO A T-

I have come to the conclusion that I am as a naive lamb to the slaughter when it comes to thievery.

I should be the alertest on the block but I seem to be Exhibit A in Kyria Tussaudorakaki's 'Thefted and Berefted' section.

I needn't go into the details - too boring - and they can be found in my extended letter to my daughters and future sons-in-law ~ just type in Villa Thefti or 'Piece of Work' or God's Gunsight.

Klepsimo, even, except that it's wayy OTT and best left to last when one of my daughters can translate.

Anyway, having had all my girls' heirloom nicked, I sort of thought I was due a breather.

The other day, my mother was doing a clear-out: winter clothes into storage, summer clothes out into the sunlight. She'd set aside some stuff for Tassia as well as 'a raggedy paint-stained shirt she can give to Kosta for his rough work.'

I happened to be passing the pile and noticed the Western Washington University T-shirt that Georgina had given me on the day she passed into WeWa (Wee-wah, not to be confused with WahMu, Washington Mutual Bank).

Gimme a break - there's nothing left for my girls to remember me by, my 40-year collection of rather smart bling rots in chill childless Tuscania. The least one might expect is to hang on to a grungy old T-shirt to remember my big girl by.

Villa Thefti

I must walk around in a cloud with a big sign, 'Steal from me while stocks last'.

When my mother went to London to collect her Maundy Moolah, I found out that my brother was joining her there to motor her up to Scotland and Easter.

With now-skilled eye, I cruised round the house snapping the items that fitted the thievery pattern.

Among obvious candidates for the Thefti shelves, a gorgeous decanter and two glasses.

Actually, there's only one glass on show - I removed the other from sight and have it hidden away.I'm taking no risk of that one gracing Il Filcheria.

Next, an even more valuable sentimen-talisman, a lovely orange cardigan, given to me by my wife and last worn to perfection by a dear dear friend.

Theftable Threads ~ Also in the clear-out, some pullovers that mama thought (for some reason) could go to my brother.

One of them, a smart Marks 'n' Sparks pullover, a Christmas present from someone I ... well, never mind. Suffice that it has special meaning.

Cardi scarpered - Dramatic moment when I went to check the orange cardi and it was - gone! Mum had no recollection of it ... drama!

Of course a moment's riffling thru the chests and there it was. Good move to hive it off so early:

By the time my mother's July 28 birthday comes round - for which my bro is joining us - I'll have forgotten the cardigan and it'll be a simple sleight of hand to snaffle the cardi into the car the same as the jewels were slithered from Corfu bedside to Plaza Filchioso.

CARDIES TO CUTIES I have a plan to thwart this theft at least, and ensure it a good home: I shall give it to Mlle Sam Hugger when she arrives to stay on Monday.

I can't keep checking every possession every 20 minutes and I'm outnumbered 2-1. A huge relief to know it's gone to a good home.

Neat tie-in: when I traveled with my mother to Italy that April of the theft, I carried with me a DVD lent to me by la Kardi Carissima. The video machine was in my brother's bedroom and no sooner had I sat down to enjoy the show than I saw my distinctive red jewel box perched on his dressing table. Filch Fail!

Otherwise the robbery would have passed undetected, Mum would have left for London, I back to Corfu where I would have discovered the theft and called the police.

Obvious suspects would have been jardinier Kosta and Tassia who cleans the rooms (and is as honest as the long day).

Once K and T had had their grilling I'd have phoned my mother to report the loss and checked with her which of her jewels had been lifted.

Would the truth have come out? Who knows in such a stinking matter where no rules seem to have been in place to actually be off.

That lot on the left? That's maman's jewelry drawer, mere feet from the shelf where I kept the girls' gewgaws. Someone gasped when I showed her the photo:

"OMG! If I'd done that thievery to you, I wouldn't leave even a thimble out for you to grab in righteous payback revenge."

As it was, Miss Cute in Cardigan saved me a ton of faffing by inadvertently placing me where my jewel box had ended up, staring me in the face.

Doh! I was able to march straight upstairs and beard and blast where they sat.

Their faces ... I mean talk about red-handed gob-smacked guilt disgrace.

When I later recounted the incident to a pal she laughed and laffed and then said

"Oh my god, can you imagine how far down the moral sewer you would have to swill to find a double act like that? What a piece of work!"

Which is how the vileness got its name and is referred to ever since.

Actually, there is as much mirth as indignation over this whole thing.

The fact that my jewel box was just sitting there for all to see ~ another pal guffaws every time he thinks of it.

"Good God, Chris - talk about incompetence.

"Your mum removes your jewels when youre not watching

Into her case, sneaked off the boat and into your brother' car

Out of the car at Villa Thefti and into a hidey place for handing over when again I wasn't around

... And then the buffoon goes and leaves it out in broad daylight. Talk about a Keystone Clouseau Klepto balls-up."

I suppose I do see some of the point but the loss of the girls' treasures hangs heavier.

All this reminds me of the famous Holmes family mantra, that Italians steal; Corfiots lie.

Then there's Villa Thefti itself, even more famous as the butt of every family joke about laughing stock security - reduced to locking doors and windows before venturing out to the outside jakes.

Duhh ...

More spirited friends have asked my permission to press maman further on this but I have settled for the quiet life, somewhat to their disappointment at my feebless.

But July 28 will see a merry birthday gathering including some who know my brother and will not be so gentle in raising certain points, purely out of interest to set the record straight and compare my blatherings with his.

Out of fairness, I am preparing possible questions and dates and other facts such as verbatim transcripts of confrontations over the four years since my loss.

When my younger gal Anna came over I tentatively suggested that we start with an easy favour - out of my 40-year collection, one pair of cufflinks and/or matching tie pin to be returned to her for taking back to Seattle to remember me by.

Tipota.

Eva Gabrielsson ~ she of Stieg Larsson, his companion who's been ripped off by his brother and father who've nicked the money because, as a companion and not actually married to the writer with the dragon tattoo, nothing comes to her:

She talked forthrightly about the oddest passage in her book, a description of an elaborate Viking curse she delivered on New Year’s Eve 2004 against all her and Larsson’s enemies: the false friends, the cowards “who let Stieg fight your battles while you raked in the salaries of your cushy jobs,” the wearers of “suits, ties and wingtips,” the evil ones “who plotted, spied and stirred up prejudice.”

Traditionally, such curses were accompanied by the sacrifice of a live horse, but instead Ms. Gabrielsson broke a ceramic horse sculpture in two and tossed it into Lake Malaren in Stockholm. Nevertheless, it worked, she insisted.

I use curses on Villa Thefti; I choose a jewel each morning and live with that jewel thru the day, envisioning it in different 'sick building' scenarios, or gardenry disasters, or ... whatever fits.

ADDENDA - suddenly remembered two hilarious incidents from when Anna was here at the same time as my brother.

Useful? My mother was dashing in and out with ever-banaler household or garden items, demanding of my bro "Does this seem useful? Might you find a use for this?" ... etc, meanwhile I'm sitting in a corner reading and growling now and then 'Yes it's useful to me, is why I bought it in the first place' or 'It's already handy in this house' ... yadda yadda, keeping Anna in giggle fits.

It was a sight to see and made me wonder if this wasnt the behaviour of one who could equally easily siphon off a box of heirloom jewelry in the hope of currying more favour.

Sudden appearance of a beautiful inlaid lacquered box that my mother offered Anna with no sense of irony.

For her jewels.

First remove the entire heirloom collection; then offer a box to keep them in.

Truly by my light-fingered troth, I understand not the ways of filcherie and falsehood.

TOBY YOUNG BLOG

If I have to explain the excellent and energetic Toby Young to you, you're in the wrong place being on my blog.

This is for them others who've put up with me reading from his books or Speccie articles and fumed like me over his brave adventures setting up the school.

JON VENIAL

~ filmed in shadow ~

Pray God some misguided twerp lets the panoramic Venables interview go ahead. As much shadow as he likes, voice coder, wah wah distortion ... anything to lure him into the studio and a false sense of security and injustice.

The ratings!

All it needs then is that they place the CCTV cameras absolutely everywhere. Can you imagine the bounty on that murderers head? Neasden Ninjas betting the Swiss Cottage Samurai they'll get to him and out again ... oh poh poh, such fun.

The flash of an arrow (as per that James Bond where the chick takes out her dad's killer just as he dives into the pool, thus perserving the perfect dive), the whisper of a kris, the distant thwock of a snipers rifle.

The Youtube clip would be a sell-out.

STOP PRESS - the Bulgerator denied parole. Drat foiled, curses, twiddle Terry Thomas 'tache.

Cute li'l thang, yon Bumables. No doubt, now a nasty pimply shaggard has-been, but back when his pert ass was first chucked inna clanger, fo' sho them bulls made sure he dropped the Camay in the shower. One likes to think so.

OK, so no parole; back to the drawing board. Softlee softlee thwackee monkey (to use prison parlance).

Huge Trophy ~ don't you love that butch prison polari? 'Trophy', indeed. Ooh, I can just imagine those lags straining thru the bars for a squint and a squeeze. But how wonderful he lives under those conditions and that them in the In are as keen to tear him to pieces as we outside. One day ... just one slip.

FRANK EDWARDS

I just like the camera angle on this one and his thumbpick hand and just the whole composition how they captured this song.

CAROLINE

'Caroline, Yes', the Beachboys should be singing.

Just the nicest person has set up shop in Kontokali, opposite the savvy Navigators, so that's double incentive to pop over and spend spend spend til Daddy takes the T-bird away.

[Likes of you shouldnt be driving flash wheels like that anyway - get yerself a bike and spend the money where it should be ~ chez Carolina.]

KYMA: Look for Caroline Philp's bijou wave of knickery knackery for the discerning.

I was going to say, even if you don't buy, but of course you will:

Look into my eyes, all self-control deserts you ... you are kymatose with desire to spend.

See Caroline's till? Empty your purse therein. Yes, madam, that includes you.

YOU. WILL. BUY.

But even if you don't buy, you can often find Caroline across the road at the Navigators and she is well worth chatting up for her fund of local info' and just honest nix BS friendliness.

That's Caroline on the right, looking as if she's signing another mega cheque but is in fact posing for me as 'Artist at Work'.

Next to Caroline is Sue Peacock of the Navigators; she's lighting a Cohiba with a €100 note from last night's takings.

If I had my guitar studio and sulking room ready, I'd buy a load of Carolinia and especially that mobile.

That's all, except to say that even if you don't buy and don't chat up La C, try one of the Navvy's excellent burgers.

Right, that's all the freebie plugs everyone gets for one day.

DRIFTERS WIND

FREE JON VENABLES

"Father of murdered toddler James Bulger last night begged authorities not to release killer Jon Venables - warning he will once again target children if he is freed."

Oh boo hiss, 'Grieving' Ralph, where's your sense of adventure? Your spirit for the kill?

For years I've been railing at the so-called sleuthy webhounds and their soi-disant nose for a fugitive. Fat lot of success they/we have had running Venal Balls and accomplice to ground.

Can't you see, Ralph? This is the chance to set the rabbit running and unleash the Lurchers in slavering pursuit. Oh ... baby! This is one hunt you could charge tickets for.

At my school there was a 'game' that was sort of banned except many of the teachers were Old Boys and had played or been played so it was unofficially encouraged.

After Sports Day and the last parental limo had chugged thru the gates, dinner over, there was a gap of around 30 mins when everyone moseyed around and coveted each other's gifts from Mummy and - had we used the word that way - chilled.

It was wasn't written how the victim was chosen - or indeed if there was to *be* a 'victim' that year - but suddenly a hollerin' would go up and the tribal tom-toming on tuck boxes and we were on our way.

Some poor wretch was running for his life - Mater looked too tarty? Nay, too scrumptious? Yummy Mummy, what? Also, had that been around. Family Rolls too posh? Or just guilty of eyeballing the Captain of Cricket or making a snide remark about the assistant matron ... who knew? But the hapless prey soon knew and off he ran, through changing room and dorm, across playing field and thru classroom (against rules to enter classroom outside school hours; bags of zeal flushing them from under the desks).

Tradition required the most sadistic masters to stand at strategic points and bawl out "Cease this game NOW! Any boy caught participating will see in me in my study after ... there he goes! Faster, Beresford! He's getting away."

Poh poh - I never knew why I never got landed for the part; I was ideal weepy wimpo material. Indeed, one year, Mr Webb actually thought I was the 'rabbit' and yelled out the direction in which I was loping when it was actually Wilkinson II who was leading the mob in a completely opposite direction.

What I'm saying is that, let Venables loose on the mean streets and I'm sure the guys will twitter and snicker and pick up the scent ere long. Shove on a super injunct for good measure ... once we're on the trail it'll be one big happy family chase with great photos while we run him down and a splendid front page bonanza of the 'kill' (dunno why I have that in 'quotes') and the thug that got to him first holding up the severed head with some sober dedication, "This is for Jamie".

Patrick Leigh Fermor

I hear people referring to the late great Patrick Leigh Fermor as 'Paddy'. "Oh," I brighten, "did you know him, too?"

They have not. My family did - from many years ago. I remember at a party chez nous on The Peak, Paddy was coming and then he was coming and then he was coming and every taxi that pulled up in the monsoon rain was peered at. Who was this boring old fart, I wondered, that had everyone in thrall?

Finally, his cab arrived and he burst in, flinging his drenched cape to our cookboy and embracing mama and every other woman in the room - Greek, French, a smattering of Cantonese, more fluent Shanghainese ...

A game of Chinese billiards was in progress, he seized a cue and burst into some ancient folk song that had various obscure consuls running in to see what was going on. Energy energy!

Charles Moore's 'Spectator's Notes' for 18 June. Paddy's poem, Message to Skopje.

Your claim to the name "Macedonia"
Could scarcely be flimsier or phonier
If you want an old name
For your state, what a shame
Not to bring back the real one, Paeonia.

Olympics schmolympics

To hell with no tickets, slow tickets for these stoopid Olympics whenever they are.

No way am I trading my olive grove for a soggy street in ... wherever it's being held.

I'm only interested in any chance to run luverly big pics of that Jessica Ennis.

"PRIVATE TAXI SERVICE"

~ heads up ~

KV, all you chaps who weekly entertain the cricket team and their trophy wives and send Jarvis to meet them in the jalopy.

Good pal who does just that, and when the banger isn't full of toffs it's driving down thru France crammed with bubbly: last week he was meeting some pals and was hauled over by the local fuzz and grilled to an inch over running a private taxi service.

I know what happened ~ local cabbies saw all these rich punters staggering out and getting into Chummy's van and thought,

"Fuck that, we could be creaming those xenoi within an inch of their pensions.

Oy, Spiro, mate - book 'im wiv some 2nd degree."

By the nymphetium of Nausicaa! Could've been me, begorrah.

In season, the Spitfire imports half of Benenden with whom to sashay the mean streets of Mandouki.

I can just see it: I'm piling in the nubility, outta the bushes leap the Filthopouloi.

"Hold it right there, buster. Book him, sarge. White slaver, red-handed."

Spitfire: "Daad! How he dare he? Not fair! Tell him it cost us $100 each down the Tacoma Tans-R-Us to get this brown. The only thing red on us is our Padua Rouge nail polish. Cheek!

Officer? No, not you, the cute younger guy in that totally hot uniform ... this is my dad and these are my buddies and where do you guys hang out? We've only got 2 weeks and ... omigahd, is that gun real? It's so BIG!"

Fuzz - "Sir, please, drive on. No parking here.

You can go, and no, Sergeant Manesi, you cannot block-book arrest all 12 young ladies and require a full body search."

(Chorus of: 'Me first me first!')

JOHN FORTE ~ A PRIVILEGED MEMORY

John Knox Forte, MBE

To Palaiokastritsa-sous-Monastère-sur-Mer to visit my hero and Corfu's National Treasure, the doughty John Forte.

A little too deaf even for my bellowing to get through, John had no problem chatting to my soft-voiced mother.

But I did have an animated chat with his wife, Nadia (née Kourkoumeli), both of us ranting and raging at the vulgar 'Yellow Submarine' tourist underwater outing, complete with the wretched song itself, endlessly repeating at volume 12.

I've a good mind to have Paul McC out for the weekend and have him sit through an afternoon of this torture. That'd have him setting his lawyers on the copyright/royalties smallprint.

Back to Nadia, she is a great-granddaughter of Sir Dimitrios Kourkoumelis, who was regent of Corfu in the closing days of British rule.

True to form, John was at work on a firebrand letter to top clerics in the Diocese in Europe along with our ambassador in Athens, copies to our fragrant vice-consuline in Corfu, Sarah Ticherou, who must rank among the top 10 Diplo Dolls anywhere in the world.

Church in Peril - John had come up with some ideas on how we might save our local church, Holy Trinity, from biting the dust as a result of rumoured slashing of funds from pittance to tipota.

Then we discussed the state of the world, put it to rights and then moved onto the beer.

Cult Killer: John has achieved so much in his 97 years but I rank highest his seeing off that vicious cult of Scientology.

His wonderful “Corfu. Venus of the Isle”, published in 1964. (And many others)

He revived cricket on the island

In 1960, he resurrected Holy Trinity Anglican Church which had been closed for over 20 years.

On his retirement from the army in 1958, Forte was appointed British vice-consul on Corfu, a post he kept until 1971.

A true Corfu figure and it was an honour to sit with him and jaw off about the old days, of which many of his reminiscences include my own father with whom he put the golf club back on its feet.

History in the living.

RIP ~ John Forte died on Thursday, 9th August, 2012

HARWOOD'S HIKE

At last! Oh boy, oh boy ... can you imagine how bully-boy Simon must be feeling?

Enfin! I'm amused the paper lists his suffering family so we know who's been going thru the hell with him.

Orf to school for the little ones where their playground mates will be re-enacting their new best favourite game - "You be that Tomlinson bloke and I'll whack and knock you down."

I do hope the Court has time to re-run some of the highlight moments of Harwood's Folly.

Time now for the Filth to tumble.

I trust the redtops will have pics of smiling Tomlinsons at the end of the day.

Cécilia

I have always always fancied ex-Madame Sarkozy, Cécilia Attias, over that Bruni usurper.

Don't tell me - I would be a lamb to the guillotine.

J'sais! That's part of the attraction, mon dieu!

And now news has it that Mlle Attias will be publishing an autobiographical novel in 2012.

Cat fight! And the French do these things with such aplomb.

There's something about her non-eyes and shrew-sharp nose that should send me scampering but tempts me.

I mean, what a deal Le Gnome did with her:

"Stick with me thru the election and say nowt about me and Carla, and then you can hike off."

Tick tick must've gone her feline cellules grises.

"Soddez cela pour une alouette, mais OK.

One day. Par tes goolies. I'll have you, you squit."

SPENCER: THIRD MARRIAGE

By the viagra of Verrius Flaccus! Truly The Lord moves in strange ways.

What on earth is a beauty like Karen Gordon doing hitching up to a choleric monster like Spencer. Her intelligence shines from her eyes so ... whazzup, people?

Do you remember Spencer's pathetic OTT performance at sister Diana's funeral? Talk about Alice's sick bag.

And now this triumph of optimism over grim experience. But at least I get to shove in a pic of a babe under the pretense of 'current affairs' and general Health Warning.

GOOD GOLLY, MISS GOROS!

Friday Frolics and to the nouveau Navigators eaterie and chummery [which needs its own new website to do it justice], there to be blasted by Roy Kendal's new band, starring the fantabulosa Maria Goros.

Perfect end to a week of lawyers and builders and online bankery wankery ... in other words, the usual.

All the Players there, hobbing and nobbing and ordering the costliest drinks (with babe) or, like me, modest Mythoi. (Except when Bunny is serving in which case I break the wallet and affect a taste for Jim Beam wiv a dash of the Dom)

AXE TO GRIND ~ I love Roy but the bastard has a cellar of dream guitars for which I can't quite forgive him. He usually plays his PRS [sub-editor, shove a link in here ~ bravo!].

Perfect placement - the Navigators is a perfect venue, thanks to inside for dancing and prancing and outside where we can smoke and check out pals and new talent.

Food - did i mention sustenance? Read my lips - their burgers.

That's the attentive courteous Baz over there. Super guy. Always cheerful and ready to leap to serve. A gem.

BOP TIL DROP ~ What a tight sound and what a front lady is Maria. I'd not heard her and distrusted the posters themselves describing her as 'sensational'.

Ahem, chaps, *I* will decide if a chanteuse is sensationale. But they were right.

Volume ~ no, not how much i drank that crazed evening but the sheer bully sound the guys put out. Oh poh poh, i couldnt help wondering about the neighbours trying to put diddums to sleep.

The fuzz went by now and then with lights flashing but we kept bopping til after midnight, so connections remain all. (Doncha love liviing in Greece where everything can be 'arranged'? I'll drink to that ~ "Bunny, a top up of bubbly, if you'd be so kind)

MARIA - phwoah! A looker and a belter. Great great handler of a song.

ACE OF BASS - I don't usually notice the bass - rather like movie music - but Jon was really in there, driving the tunes along, counter-temping now n then to flavour a change of heart beat.

Ambiance - what an atmosphere!

Everyone looked happy and eager to make the most of the evening.

Old friends boisterously glad to meet up; new friends met with open hearts; strangers made welcome; what it's all abaht, really

Everyone got in the spirit and you could see that we were up on a plane above the daily grind.

A band to follow; a venue to add to your favorites. Bravo that Susan!

Necessary Protection Systems

"Mike in Corfu" mails me (and one or two others) from itrivoli@tellas.gr with the reassurance that

"I shall not provide such information to your website, nothing personal, but you are very unlikely to have the necessary protection systems in place."

He then proceeds to ignore the very basic 'protection system' of the bcc button and consequently shares with me a veritable spammer/stalker's treasure trove of distinguished names and addresses, many of which do not appear in my own contacts list, and for very good reasons of elusive inaccessibility of the owners who want nothing to do with the uriah heep likes of yours truly.

I have of course added these outed gentry forthwith and will be e-pestering and irking them sans delay.

agathosj@otenet.gr; koumkuat@otenet.gr; layla_grubb@msn.com; alvitaanamaterou@inlife.gr; alvitaamaterou@hotmail.com; andrews.corfu@hotmail.co.uk; aanemogiannis@aquisresorts.com; angelis@otenet.gr; metafrasi.corfu@gmail.com; alexina@otenet.gr; countryclub@hol.gr; moreson@otenet.gr; kakkasf@hcaa.gr; a.backolis@gmail.com; sballenweg@web.de; mikeincorfu@hotmail.com; d.blom@hotmail.com; kathy_boyland@yahoo.co.uk; sallyloveslaughing@hotmail.com; viv4daz@yahoo.com; paulinebuchan29@yahoo.co.uk; maranda.caldy [shurely shome mishtake? Miranda Caldi, non?] @yahoo.co.uk; kerrkyravet@yahoo.gr; brianc@otenet.gr; clashco@otenet.gr; office@cpacorfu.com; briandavidcogan@googlemail.com; sheriineurope@live.com; info@thecorfuclub.com; jdryden2004@yahoo.co.uk; jjdarbey@hotmail.com; info@corfurealestate.net; spiros_des@yahoo.gr; misfut@otenet.gr; info@corfudominoes.com; dunford.tony@gmail.com; sarahedrury@hotmail.com; durrels@otenet.gr; mwedward44@hotmail.com; corfuvet@yahoo.gr; amcfu@cosmos.co.uk; kalandi@otenet.gr; info@hoteltelesilla.com; julieforshaw@hotmail.com; sourayya@tellas.gr; lukimar@otenet.gr; marjogianaki@gmail.com; vidos@otenet.gr; drgiourgas@gmail.com; corfucius [cheeky bugger! filching the name of a scurrilous blog]@gmail.com; hartmann@otenet.gr; chrissymhill@hotmail.com; busker@gmail.com; huizing@otenet.gr; hunstone@ath.forthnet.gr; hutch60@hotmail.com; info@segwaycorfu.com; lismonia@otenet.gr; kem_nkavadiias@germanos.gr; trishy61@yahoo.com; koriem1kat@yahoo.gr; gouvia@medmarinas.com; spyros-min@acn.gr; marino21@marinopoulos.gr; kyklosp@otenet.gr; laskaris@chandris.gr; laskaris@yahoo.com; christopher.lawson@rocketmail.com; ronnstel@otenet.gr; lincoln@otenet.gr; eileenlincoln@gmail.com; nefeliht@otenet.gr; sophie.mallard@gmail.com; mcgovern@otenet.gr; susiemaneta@hotmail.com; jkinafra@hotmail.com; victoriamartini@vm-events.com; jonny_helen@hotmail.com; argopool@hotmail.com; moransabroad@hotmail.co.uk; 2roger@forthnet.gr; roger@ker.forthnet.gr; hilary.paipeti@gmail.com; mpascoe@otenet.gr; sales@agni-travel.com; corfu@alyachting.com; info@corfuyachtingsupplies.com; evenos61@otenet.gr; sales@iris-computers.gr; aaphilipp@profi-gr.com; gpicoula@yahoo.co.uk; jimipotts@hotmail.com; mariapotts [omg! omg! I've been trying to get her contact details for yonks! Every signing session, bowing and scraping in the street ~ grovel grovel - but it's "Back you, dog! Yer the last sort of literary groupie I want smarming around me!" so cruel, but I digress] @hotmail.com; mariastrani_potts@yahoo.co.uk; info@ebenos.gr; info@corfuhomefinders.com; saskia@otenet.gr; katp66@hotmail.com; judyquin@otenet.gr; janttt5@yahoo.co.uk; bfckeith@yahoo.co.uk; spsalv@otenet.gr; rsanders@otenet.gr; schembri@otenet.gr; scotties.louloudi@inbox.com; sharpedigital@gmail.com; siegten@otenet.gr; jolexgab@yahoo.co.uk; psimpson@otenet.gr; pavla@otenet.gr; spatou@otenet.gr; wspeet@otenet.gr; chez_lui@otenet.gr; sissi@otenet.gr; shereet@hotmail.com; sticherou@yahoo.com; g-trikal@otenet.gr; tsakaso@otenet.gr; ntsatsa@meander.gr; valance@otenet.gr; serenerj@yahoo.co.uk; jwebster@otenet.gr; steve@corfugre.com; enquiries@thecorfuclub.com; penny.z@hotmail.co.uk; jasmin-m@gmx.at; slemis@otenet.gr; wcameron@otenet.gr

The subject of this mega-spam is "Membership Information" and the information referred to is that,

"In order to comply with Greek legislation we are now obliged to obtain a little more information on our Membership Forms, and in order to keep our books in the best and most efficient order, we would be very grateful if you could supply The ARK with the following details:

FULL NAME ~ FATHER'S NAME ~ ADDRESS ..."

Oh, and oodles of other data (such as Permit/Passport Number) that I have no intention of letting slip to some of the oicks listed above.

But wait! What is this? 'Mike in Corfu' sends me the mail but one 'Ileana TRIVOLI' actual signeth it ~ Treasurer of the ARK Animal Welfare Charity.

I must lose no time strengthening my necessary protection systems by removing my details forthwith from such loose-lipped ARKives.

Conspicuous by absence ~ Observe, Watson, how certain names have gone all too conspicuously AWOL. What means this? That they are too good to be listed with us riff-raff likes of us? That they don't like animals? ['Holmes! You go too far!']

A three-martini mystery ... meanwhile, I have set the bloodhound algorithms spinning and will be posting a rival list of 'The Missing'.

I was going to conclude, 'They know who they are' but since they aren't on the original mailing list, how can they?