31 October 2013

"FOREVER ON THE RUN" - Lupton update

Slow sleuthing: forlorn fils et mum

Latest news on Huzurevi hideaway getaway gangster spouse probe.
4,000-mile round trip in ­grim bid to trace scarpering hubby.

Hell hathing no fury 'n' all that
Wanted by cops for Britain’s biggest cash heist.

suspected hideout
Did runner after being arrested over £53million armed raid on Securitas
Therese and two teenage children penniless – heartbroken family not heard from him since.
At first feared murdered
Seen enjoying wild champagne lifestyle in Northern Cyprus.

Seen this geezer? τρελό μάτι

Under protection? It's ex book man in me that has has me so intrigued. I think the whole thing will peter out, on the hand could be an ace of a movie there if Mr Big will countenance any verité  leaking into the script. 

Damn'd pity for him with that game eye - identifiable from 20 twitches. I reckon he's forking out a bit of dosh to keep the locals quiet, and they in turn will be milking the visiting Fuzz and deep-pocketed journos.   

30 October 2013


Oyez oyez - Hilary Paipeti is back on the block and blogging via excellent Real Corfu

Bloggeth HP: 

"This blog will cover countryside matters over the changing seasons, with additional comments on walks and food (home and taverna, and some recipes). My crossbreed Corfiot mutts Lulu and Bruni will also feature from time to time. I expect to blog every week or ten days, and maybe more frequently if there is something to inform you about. Watch this space!"


 Saudi orthodoxy forbids a number of things and the big kerfuffle right now is the backlash against the driving ban on women. 

Hisham Fageeh has put together a witty response

Read about it. Spot the clever harmonies.

  • Saudi women driving - check out the blog, maybe add a supportive comment.
  • Women's 'rights' in SA
  • Even FoxNews has an opinion - "There’s no actual law against women driving, but they are not allowed to get a driver’s license, and are frequently arrested, fired from jobs and otherwise punished if they do drive."

28 October 2013

GREECE LETTER - Richard Pine

The magisterial and knowledgeable dry-witted Richard Pine treats us to another of his Irish Times articles. 

"As some wit once observed, nothing good ever came of combining a Greek word with a Latin one – which is why “television” and “automobile” have been such abject failures in the marketplace. So I have listed 100-plus words which are in common use not only in the English-speaking world but in many other tongues. I’ve added a few words of explanation where that seems necessary."

27 October 2013

A SUCKER WHEN WE SEE ONE - Pippa's 'quirky' gift

As a devoted Chas Addams/Roald Dahl fan, I'm riveted by Pippa Middleton's crass and creepy £7,000 christening gift to the thuggish Prince George [scroll down and watch video].

Can you imagine Wrightson & Platt's phone ringing off the hook after this publicity.

Those silver 'limbs' are like the body parts regi-knappers send to distressed parents with the ransome note, "£5m in the lav on Tooting Common if you want to see the rest of the kid alive."

Cringe-making coverage - young thing with ghastly accent talks us through but at least we learn from the article that, 

'To create these unusual moulds, the three-month-old future king would have had his limbs placed in a jelly-like organic mould of water and a seaweed-based powder.

The process only takes 30 seconds - but for a wriggling newborn, that's a long time.'

Imagine - or don't - a replica of the dauphin's hands and feet in silver.

Wrightson & Platt on Facebook : Now, none of you is to do anything silly like be-friending or scrawling silly comments. These are serious craftspeople who see people like Pippa coming. 

Images of W&P

Quoth Wrightson & Platt, the guilty party in this whole ghoulish money-making scheme: "baby hands and feet 'life cast in silver' are a perfect keepsake to preserve precious memories in the finest material." Yes, well ... 

Know a sucker when they see one.

But watch the video in this second clip - absolutely riveting, if only for the way the royals greet THE Royale, Her Majesty - distant nervous air kiss, quick bob curtsey. Excruciatingly
correct and impeccably timed choreography. Never seen that before - never seen so many royals around HM, as the piece points out.
 Bruiser - Et le Prince! Quel bruiseur! 

Psst - who's manipulating his hand, why's it bobbing up and down? Or does he just have early onset of Parkinson's? 

But his face! Magnificent! That's how I like my future Liege, cruel, commanding, venal, grabbing. 

Och! I bet there's not many who've gazed with such (literal) lèse-majesté insouciance on our fragrant monarch and escaped hospitality in the Tower.

Is that not the most hideous piece you ever saw? Perfect door-knocker for a loner like me: trespassers come up to Gouvia Heights but are too squeamish to actually touch the grisly thing and depart again. 

Once again, this blog posts where others fear to tread.

26 October 2013


Let's leave for the weekend the pullulating porkies of Messrs MacKail, Hinton and Jones and the barnyard excrement of FilthGate in general, and crease ourselves with cruel cackles at the cack-handed cockups of Mr Mark Armitage.

I thought the first ball funny enough but the second one tops everything, Armitage tumbling over backwards and knocking his own bails off.

It's one thing to 'love the game' and all that crap, quite another to bring such abysmal incompetence to bear. 

The Daily Mail gets it right. 


The story behind that famous shot of kite-surfing Branson with the shapely nekkid Denni clinging to his back. 

I like this and smile every time because of his infectious ebullience and unself-conscious telling ~ and, of course, his endearing 'whoops' at the end about his wife being on the beach.

Such shrewd chutzpah by photographer boyfriend Stephane Gautronneau to spot and seize the day in the first place, then to have Denni strip and then to cream off global sales. 

25 October 2013


I'm meeting My Lord Baddeley for a spot of luncheon on the clocks-back 27th.

Determined that one of us makes a hash of it.

Et voila, the charmingly toff-voxed Rees-Mogg in last year's discussion of the clocks advancing.  


I hardly dare write this up, but i know how many simperers and family members have this blog on speed dial so I must press on. 

It's been on my mind for a while so no use anyone checking back my recent social calendar. Those who were there will know. I lie awake enjoying it like a favourite home video.

Sophistiqué dinner, everyone on best behaviour. I was seated with a grande dame (80s?) on my right and we were posh parlaying away, everyone else relieved to have me taking the heat.

Then she mentioned that she had her daughter out for the duration, caregiving mama as she got over a 'messy' divorce.

Moi: how interesting. how messy?

GD: oh i dont know, she wont talk about it-

Moi: so how do you know? I ask because my mother knew absolutely nothing about my own very amicable split from my wonderful ex but put it all about that it had been 'messy', as if the two words went together.  

Oh poh poh.  I felt the blood of battle surge. But I was strong from my non-capping so I went calm and cold and took her to pieces.

  • When she mentioned that her daughter was out on caregiver duties, i exclaimed 'poor wretch'.
  • When GD lookèd askance i told her it was the most thankless job. 
  • GD said her daughter was lucky to have a place to 'recover' to which i said with relief, "Good! So much are you paying her?" Paying her?
  • This was a battle-axe in the same mould as my own self-referentially obtuse mother.
  • With icy politeness I took her through the hell of caregivery: everyone taking the slavery for granted, siblings conveniently leaving it all to the 'servant', high-handed attitude of the care receiver, ever-presuming.
  • Without asking details, I nailed every point in the lady's own situation.
  •  Hobby - my voice lowered to a dangerous calmness as I described my mother's 'shoving my face into her gardenry hobby' when I had never shown any interest in the pastime and came to loathe it. "What do you mean, 'gardenry'? Is that the same as 'gardening'? I hear you mother had a rather beautiful garden". Nods round the table that had fallen silent at the cabaret. 'What I mean by gardenry is, you have the physical treadmill of futility, that's gardening; then you have the endless yak drone in between that the hapless carer has to put up with and eventually drives them crazy. Do you have a hobby that you press upon your daughter? She did - by now looking a little cornered - but her daughter  didnt mind.
  • "She hates it. If she doesnt fear and loathe it now, she will. It will take a terrible toll. I once asked my mother,
    'Why are you so ready to instil such boredom and loathing for your hobby? I dont go on about my hobbies, in fact name my hobbies."  She couldn't; so self-centred on her own pastime she'd never bothered to consider that *I* might have my own enjoyments and that hers weren't the be-all end-all universal panaceas to boredom.
  • I took her apart, using examples of my treatment to goad her with a mirror of her own. She didnt have to tell me, I spotted another one and I knew exactly how her daughter was suffering.
  • The table agog. In fact, when i was itemising the vileness done in the name of 'gardenry' one of the guests piped up, "I know what you mean ~ I'm not a gardener but I knew your mum was an expert so I humbly asked her how I could take advantage of her expertise and learn. "Easy, you suck up to me."
Me: 'That is absolutely typical of her confident assumption that she was so charming and untouchable that she could get away with that sort of remark.'

"That finished it for me. I never asked her about gardening again, never took any of the garden tours; I thought fuck you, if that's what being a garden expert and a fancy title means, you can keep it."

Me: Funny you should say that. When i saw my jewel box that my mother took behind my back to give to my brother, I had no idea how i'd react. As i climbed the stairs to where the two thieves were sitting I didnt know if i'd take an axe to them, lash out and sweep books from the shelves, CDs from the racks ... or what. But you know what? As I demanded to know what on earth was going on and an explanation, my mother asked me how dare i take that accusing tone as my brother blustered and spluttered - their cake-mouth expressions of busted guilt - all moral stature and authority drained from them, a physical emptying, and i was never interested again in a single thing they were selling.

"When I recounted the theft to friends, they commented astutely that the physical theft symbolised my overall treatment: theft of time, of self-esteem (the humiliating toil in the garden), theft of manners, theft of modicum of respect, theft of any recognition."
  • I knew I was describing her, and so did the table.
  • "You ought to meet my daughter, in that case, since you have so much advice"
  • 'I don't need to meet her! I have no 'advice', poor wretch.'
Then I shut up and went back to my mild-mannered usual. By leaving it there, I left it everywhere. 


 I go from strength to strength with my new régime of not capping others' blathering.

I feel the mental muscle growing and it's such a relief not to be waiting to pounce on the next cue to do my own ego chatter.

Still have to hold my tongue, mind, but i'm getting so much better than i was. ugh and groan what a bore i must have been. yes, i was.

I was swanking to anna about every party being a thrill and a challenge and that i can't wait to meet a rival reformed capper. Duelling Deferrals. I must write a story on the topic. 

"Dad! You must! What would it be like?"
'well, as soon as we spotted each other - our CA (Cappers Anon) badges would give us away and the way our hands shook as the conversation crossed into familiar territory - it would be knives out, no trick too dirty.

"So, Eleni, how's the cycling going? What have you got? Raleigh Roustabout? How many gears?"

'Ah bah! i am so bad at it. That corner in Potmos ...' Furtive look at Simon, who owns the cloth-capped penny-farthing - twitching and kneading his napkin. 'Must. not. talk bicyclette'

He'll get me, of course: "Leo, was that your guitar i saw as we came in? what? a Fender?"

'i wish! no, it's just a Squier copy, from Korea, but it plays OK'
Marcus: speaking of fenders, i played a 2nd-hand one at school, sunburst with tremolo and-

Moi - Squier, you say. What model? Not the RG-One Oh - strangled gasp - ah, gee, wonder if there's any more of this wonderful trifle? [close call]

Simon - Do go on, Chris - youre a bit of a strummer y'self, i hear?

Daggers look at El Cloth-capped derailleur. Lin, in her default sotto voce, 'now now boys, calma'. Retreat hissing.

what a wonderful game. Anna - dad! you must write it. as guests leave you can hand them score cards.

Chattus Interruptus - my technique of keeping track of any pretty lady's original topic. i was at a dinner party l'autre soir and the demure young thang to my right mentioned a book she was enjoying - immediately hi-jacked ~ Booker, film treatments, Amazon, books on tape, plus everything everyone else had read blah boast cap cap. DYT went back to pecking at her food. 

I left it so long it was laughable: some cocky lad held forth and would not let go. I tilted the bottle for a thimble more into La Demura's glass [not a drinker and I wanted to show i'd noticed] , sotto voce out of the Carrie catalogue, "So, what was the title of the book you're enjoying?"

'Sorry, what? Ohh, right  ...'. Seraphic smile, involuntary knee-squeeze sous la table, 'Thank you.' I tell you, this is a highly under-estimated ploy.



21 October 2013


Where has this wonderful mag been all my life? With its hint of korakiana ... bravo!

Henceforth, i shall read nothing else and blog no new nonsense before consulting and plagiarising from the big A. 

Loipon, Anorak is definitely required reading for Maria-gate (see also Romas passim)

Oh I do love the headline, 'Bash Gyps, Feed off Madd'

Oodles of mileage here.

Also here (plug plug)

20 October 2013


Each of these photos tells a story which i wanted to fit into a song, but it's late now and I'm tired and I've lost the impetus. Perfect time to write from the heart.

Tomorrow morning will be better. Let's go out on a simple little teamwork - Illinois Blues.

She asked me why I don't play
my 'big guitar' no more,
Said she missed that 'coustic sound
Nice and tinny, capo'd 4,
First time she heard me,
I was jamming just inside the kitchen door

(i got up singin' and crying')

I told her  'pretty baby, 
I dont get the sound i want to hear,
I've gone 'lectric now, pretty mama,
  22 frets, amped up loud and clear'.
all she said was 'i remember
you singing so simple, not knowing i was there.

crocus at the top drive, crocus half way down
yellow crocus sprouting, left right everywhere around,
mum 'n' me, never agree,
crocuses? crocii? no peace of mind we found.

sittin' on the patio, pickin' a simple tune,
idling on the ibanez, picking a simple tune,
my friends ask how's that simple
with a million dollar view?

(they get up singin' n crying)

had a good time friday night,
home at daylight's delicate dawn
a real good time down at stav's
kicked us out around daylight's dawn,
such a bellyful of whiskeh,
left the car lights full bright on

i telephoned my baby, said youre the one i need
phoned that little lady, told her she's the one for me,
she wasnt fooled an instant, jumped right on her scooter
brought me up her brother's handy jump leads 

(blow big jim, blow)



We've had the long-running Maddie ~ time to meet 'Maria' [see article].

adore the sheer forlorn-ness of this babe. Who can look on those features and not grab hound and blunderbuss and stride into the gloaming in search.

I'm sure MaddieGate will benefit, too, but uh-oh if Maria is sorted promptly while la famille McCann grieves on.

"Unbelievable story" - I scoff at Greek Reporter's overly-dramatic dubbing of MariaGate as 'unbelievable'. 

Wake up, chaps! It's the sheer routine banal be-lieva-bility  of this sad tale that gives it its stinging rebuke.

Let's not make this more of a journalistic Farce out of Farsala than I fear it will become.

But Boy what action!

  •  Even in Oz ~ and well spotted that Prosecutor who, "saw a little blonde head poking out from under the bedclothes. It struck her as odd, and that's how it all started.'' Well done, her, what? Medal for that lady.

Also 'odd', if not downright scandalous, is that the 'parents' had registered 14 children with state authorities in a benefits scam, the mountebanks! 

Fecund mum claiming to have given birth to six rug-rats in less than 10 months. (Dammit, took me and Steph' bloody ages to seed our magnificent 'spitfire' CostCentre2 Annabarana. But I digress)

I have no doubt this has gone viral and spreading, to boot. 

I myself have spammed all my pals of the searcher-vigilante persuasion.

But I'm still amazed at the speed and breadth of this appeal: pray God that the dragnet and public's sharpened vigilance uncover more of these wretches untimely ripped from parental arms. 

There's a good shot, too. 

Exactly how I'd expect a nordic-style kidnappée to look. 

Living in gypsy settlement: 

Or is it Gypsy, cap G?  Do we now CAPITALISE these nomads? I can never keep up with what's 'correct': "Blonde child found living in a Gypsy settlement with a couple."

Falsifying - suspects accused of falsifying identity and family certificates * mother claiming to have given birth to six children in less than 10 months.

DNA - "DNA tests revealed the four-year-old child, who bore no resemblance to the 39-year-old man and 40-year-old woman, showed she was not related to the couple."
More as it happens! 

Eyes peeled!

Great hope - always sad when we enter la-la land.

  • Greek fuzz appeal
  • Gone global
  • Dramatic updates - Greek Reporter hard on the case of the world's "angel", as she's now dubbed. Many more facts and even a video clip. 
  • Don't forget Maddie McCann  ~ I was grinding my teeth over the spotlight on Angel Maria, eclipsing young Maddie, so I looked up some news to balance the blog, but it's mostly Maria. Les McCann's are being jolly decent about pretending all this helps the search for their Madeleine. It doesnt really, does it? All it does is get people scrambling around trying to solve MariaGate and she's been found. 
  • Ooh I bet the lines are burning with requests to adopt this little ange
  • Sky News - evidence of child trafficking. I am very impressed by the speed and breadth of coverage for Angel Mary and if this sheds just a little light on child trafficking and brings just one or two to justice, it will have served its purpose well. Then we may get a glimpse of Maddie McC.
  • By the heck! If Maddie is brought home as a result, what a double-book there'll be. Mad' & Mar' - if they were closer in age they could set up a singing duo. 
Squalid conditions -  It's all coming out, angel Mary put to begging. Even a squalid quote from the 'brother' of the man that Maria was found with: 

"We got this girl in a very nice way. We raised her. We got her. She was given to us and we raised her," he said. 

"She had problems with her eyes. We took her to the doctor, we took her everywhere. "We didn't take her to sell her. We loved her so much, with so much passion." Yeuk.

Needy Needhams - And don't forget little Benny! 

Gipsies don’t steal babies? Huh!  Now we frogging know they fracking do. 

Let's hope mum Kerry loses that worried look soon.

TA NEA - everyone getting in on the act. front page with pic, too boot. (Don't bother with the fact sheet, Ta Nea's technology has always been a bit wonky 

Channel 4 - lovely whingey quote from the 'City of Athens' ~ that "extremely problematic and antiquated" Greek law allows people to register babies as their own on the basis of one person's declaration backed by two witnesses. The statement said that, in practice, parents can delay registering their children until they turn 18. 

  • I tell you, the way things are going, any self-respecting news disher had better get on this case or answer to Vox Populi. I bet the McCanns are cheering by the minute. 
  • 5,000 calls for the 'dancing bear'
  • Curtains for Romas - well, if one thing's certain it's that the Roma community may have a little more difficulty parading blonde 'imports' and they'd better step lively about training up new 'performers'. 
Indeed, talk long and often enough of a backlash and you'll put the idea in enough minds to have all the payback you want. 
"Disturbing picture of exploitation" - pretty disturbing picture of the swarthy 'adopteurs', too. I like the way this is going. We may well end up with a tidy scoop of Maddies and Bennies. Oh what a media frenzy that would be - and the mums are tasty looking, albeit ravaged by worry and worst-case gloom over the years. Not to worry, those TV make-up experts will de-wrinkle and glam them up and book rights will be better than Botox. 

Between 5 and 6 - Ah well, you see: all the hopefuls who tailored their claims to fit a 4-year old are now hoist with their own petards. They can't now go back and re-remember how old their own missee is/was/should be.
And, by the same token, for those who disappointedly had to take a back seat, hope springeth eternal. Pon my soul, what a reality game show this would make, to be sure. 

Child trafficking in Greece - I wondered when we'd get on to the real stuff. The authorities don't want it because it reflects badly and is extra work, but when a family's toting a wad of IDs and birth certs, that when departmental squabbles flourish and splits appear like unzippered icebergs on the Titanic. Give it a few more days and we'll see the real story/ies  emerge.  

Begorrah! and Dublin O'Roma

Age-old libels

Birth Cert Probe

Racism and child-snatching - Bravo! Well spotted, that scribbler. 

This whole maria-gate topic has endless legs - including some over-eager cock-ups.

19 October 2013


Planning permission! A crumbly bungly end to one couple's dream.

I foresee similar for Gouvia Heights.

Apart from working to the constraints of my mother's self-thwarting Will that requires signatures and agreement each step of the way from my Italy-based brother, I am sick and tired of rising each morning to be a purse-pummeled punchbag to yet another bit of newly-discovered law or 'adjusted' border stolen behind my parents' back in 1972 .

My only prized possessions - my personal jewelry and daughters' intended heirlooms - were removed from me in April 2007 and delivered to Italy, so there's nothing I can't walk straight out on and into the next flight to wherever. 

I don't think I need watch the actual destruction of the house, not even the slightly satisfying rip of the bulldozers as they rent asunder the treadmill gardenry, not a moment too soon for me, I may add. 
Gosh the bile and vile memories that rush up .... every inch and rock of my mother's hobby reeks of grim memories.


I can't get this 'in my region' but bless CorfuBlues for at least posting it. 

Interesting memory: a (if not the) Corfu Mister Fixer saw my mother in a supermarket and informed her that Joanna Lumley would be coming to tea to admire maman's fine garden.

I ran a strict No-Film crews policy for the house - quite apart from a fairly rigid insistence on not foisting people on my mother, even one as fragrant as La Lumley.

I contacted the Fixer and asked what it was about and surely it had something to do with this TV documentary coming up? In which case, don't tell me it'll be a cosy Mum and Lum' sitting on the patio with me dancing attendance ... it would be film crews and cables and endless hanging around.

The varlet owned up and I thanked him for his interest but that was not the way to go about enlisting San Luca.

Some time later I bumped into him again and he praised my intuition: Miss Lumley was charm incarnate but the actual production hadn't kept one appointment on time or stuck to a promised schedule. 

Those muggins eager to hog the spotlight were inconvenienced almost to the point of thinking twice about seeking inter-galactic fame the next time it beckons.      

18 October 2013

Άγιος Λουκάς

Today, October 18th, is Saint Luke's Day.

So it's ' Άγιος Λουκάς', my house's Day

Ergo 'Gouvia Heights' day. 

"Yay-y!", as Anna emailed back when I gravely informed her of this most solemn and celebratory occasion. I'm glad we've raised our children in the correct holy responses.

Here's a clip to get us in the mood. Around the 0' 38" mark a stern a patriarchal type cuts in; I wasnt paying attention and it gave me such a fright. Thought the local padre had come calling. 

That's my darling Georgina (r) with bounding bounder Sam.

Lovely gal, the sort a father confides in his wife - looking over at some nightmare tearaway - "Thank gawd we didnt spawn someone like ... her." 

Actually - and don't blab on me - once upon a time the Her would have been, erm, Anna. Now, of course, my 'Spitfire' is the divinest best-behaved sophistiquée in Christendom. 

Maman named the house after a church over yonder where, wonders of wonders, dwelleth also fair Eileen Friel Lincoln (whom God preserve), so it's also her day.

 DRINK - No escaping it, is there? As I took Tasia home I told her it was the house's day on account of the church, which she kneweth not of. As we passed it, I pointed into the tangled shrubbery and she immediately knew it and made drinking gestures and told me I should celebrate. Doh! Just when I was behaving. So course I had to stop off for olives of the kalamata-stiest and vino of the winiest.

Evil Axe: dear Tasia pointed something out I hadn't noticed, that Miss Ibaneza is the same good-omen μπλε as our Evil Eye

Another song! the Dublin City Ramblers.

(Don't blab on me but I've always sensed a wild colleen about Eileen. I have a feeling I should have invited her up to help toast our shared Lukiness. Hush, not a word: along with general hotness comes that famous 'Temper'. I will catch it if she ever rumbles I had corks out within hollering distance.)