FEAST FROM FAMINE

Five years eight months, bored ignored, refused and misused, dismayed and waylaid, stitched up and filched up; supplanted and taken for granted.

Sluiced truced n abused.

Slaved, slithed and scythed.

Robot in the corner, Little Jack Horner, toving the line.

Filched and filthed. Elginisiamos'd, crossed and bossed ~ no-one gives a toss.

For the first time, I'm living in Greece. Living in me and for me.

Sing it John Lee. Lawd have mercy, git up singin' and crying.

For the first time the pool has echoed to happy laughter.

Dulling demoralising duplicitous dementia, where's your fucking sting now?

Easy chatter, 21st century chatter, said once and moved on. No repetitious regurgitation.

68 months of simpering guests who couldn't identify a fridge and needed me summoned to point it out, pluck a tsitsibirra and show them how to take the cap off. (OK, so it frothes mightily but, like, they can't stain their party frocks.)

My bunch, if they wanted something they'd find the 'kitchen' and deduce where the fridge n where the fuck and how to read a label between beer and Bacardi.

Strum Pert ~ no big deal. I strewed the strings around and those who could did and those who couldn't still did.

We twanged of youth and self-respect and even-handed dignity.

Not a single mention of vile gardenry

We cosseted, cuddled, huggled and muggled.

Cajoled and jumped parole.

Teased and said 'please' and 'thank-you' and listened and glistened and swam under water and fondled where we didn't perhaps oughta.

Everything was new and possible.

The house lived and we lived in it and for it.

Everything was glorious: the weather was glorious, we were glorious and we glorified in clean pool pumping, and our blood thumping ... and I felt as if i was in Greece.

The kids all cool in Gouvia,
No matter bling bereft,
They got luluthia choking
On its own stench of theft.

More photos. No excuse not to churn out more text.