FOUR SONGS

[that make me cry]

Includes links

Dreadful soppy words

But who am i to talk? Driving Caroline to airport this morning to spend 2-3 weeks in the arms of her chap. Feeling un peu soppy m'self

Actually came across this page researching strikes in case there was no point driving C anywhere. Seems to be a strike tomorrow but less certain about today being disrupted.

Now i've got this on my mind.

Now i read this blog more closely, I see how useful it would have been - still will be - to my life in Corfu

print-out guitare

AXE

Dude! I've heard of pimp my axe but how about PRINT my axe?

VICTORIA DREW

~ bookbinder supreme ~

Props to the marvelous Victoria Drew for such an expert job on our late Consul of Cricket, the late and great John Forte's, history of willow-on-leather history of Corfu cricket.Here's a measure of Victoria's conscientious insistence on only the best: the book was falling apart, re-glue no use, so she stitched it together.

PLEB DOUSER ~ I'm being fanciful in this foto to the left.
Ive rested the book against a dragon-fish my mother brought from China.
Mandarin houses had them at each corner of the rooves: the open tails would catch the monsoon rain and it would gush out of the mouth on the pedestrian plebs below.
$1,000s and thousands, they're worth now. Mum brought some back and this one is on the patio and another at a corner of the pool where dogs and daughters can drink if they're thirsty.
PIMP MY DAD'S DICTIONARY: there's another example of Victoria's work, my saintèd dad's dictionary that he used in his studentia at Bradford Grammar and then at Sidney Sussex, Cambridge.
Look at the wonderful restoration. The lush block leather is a joy to handle.
I took it to Oxford and later insisted my literate daughters use.

"But, daad! It doesn't give the word!"

'Fie, child, in that case it must be one of your 'modern' words. A plague on it! Choose another!'

It was printed in the early 1930s. No excuse.
It has some marvelous creaky definitions which I would read out to my techie colleagues at Amazon.

"Dude! That is like a must in the FAQ."

Project Maria

KALO HIMONA!

"So farewell, Jimmy 'Slow-spade' Potts!
Back to Blighty, are we? I'll miss your
Friendly smile and genial comments.
The anons aren't always that obvious
But Keith's mum says yes, they're definitely you.

ALL ALONG THE WATCHTOWER ~ I have the perfect vantage for repelling boarders - mum's old desk. I can see anyone arriving and duck before they've turned the corner and focused ahead on my window.One of the smarmy gang of mater's gardenry grovelers turned up just before nine - prolly hoping i was still in the seven sleapers or doing business in town.
With a friend, was her excuse, but my face showed the displeasure: she is one of the 'banished' simperers in the court of Marge who was happy to be waited on hand and foot and make no effort to contribute.
So many did help and speak out to make my life a little less servile - not to mention save my mother looking too much the high-handed self-referential gardenry gabbler - that I treat myself to closing the gate to the more egregious uriahs.
This lot wanted to look round the garden and so i took the opportunity to catch up on Fany de Bono's latest last-ditch effort to make his property saleable. He broke ground on this ill-fated condo three years ago and has endlessly modified it to no avail.
It was from Fany's father that my parents bought the land for San Luca and we've been vague friends ever since.

When the project was new, Fany came up to beg some plants and advice for the greening of his project. Mum was friendly and practical and said he could take what he wanted but Greeks didnt garden. Fany and scoffed and said 'maybe they dont garden like you' but maman was right and four months into construction there was a volte face and the spaces in the front for flowers were 'dozed up for more practical carports and whatever.The friend of the 'untouchable' was visiting from England and didn't know the background to my grim expression. The Corfu host made the mistake of referring to my servitude as a joke and the garden-loathery drummed into me as a passing phase.

"We all felt a bit sorry for poor Chris-"
"Actually, no you didn't," I butted in, turning to the visitor and explaining, "it was rather like the Jimmy Savile story - plenty of people knew but didnt bloody say anything. Now of course with my mother gone, out they come from the woodwork (meaningful look at the wankerene) but it's too late. The worm has turned."

The funny thing was that the local lady hadnt kept up with the news - they don't in the ghetto [in the ghettoo; good song cue. Notice how El pronounces the Ts. English imitators dont get it right, they try their pathetic American accent on 'ghe-e-ddo'] - and got increasingly worried as I brought her up to speed with Sir Jim's filly fondling low-down ways.(Not for long, they said, but hold! Death has a sting)

OK, back to plain *Mister* Savile. That means Dad is plain Mr Holmes (which he wont mind, he never used or abused it) BUT ... mum back to Mrs Holmes? Erm ...

St Peter: sir ... that new gardener? ... you dont have to keep calling her 'lady' ....

Le Bon Dieu: i *know* that, ffs, but you try dropping her title ... that withering 'pleb' look? Just LEAVE it, for My son's sake! Im already in the dog house letting Capability Brown transplant the Burning Bush away from the unicorn corral.
"Ooh, i dont think your mother would like to be talked about like that ..."
I gave her my gimlet Paddington 'look': "Really? Petunias ... paedos ... don't see much difference, m'self"
The guest looked suitably at sea.
JIM WILL FUCK IT ~ I have a Savile story: when i was handling PR for Fred. Muller in the late 1960s, i promoted 'Rufus - story of a fox', adorable creature that his keeper brought down from Pitlochry to take around the TV shows. Absolutely tame and i used to hold him as we walked along - I tell you, quite an ego trip sauntering down Oxford Street with a fox in ones arms. Never budged as dogs either side would totally freak. Don said it was his reynardine scent.
Anyway, we went to a hospital where we took R round the wards and let the children stroke him. Savile happened to be there and came round to see who was stealing his thunder and asked me to take Rufus into an empty room because he wanted to show him to a 'friend' - a pretty young blonde - and asked to be left alone with her. I said no way was i letting Rufus off his lead and Savile said he looked tame enough and made to stroke him. Rufus let out a growl and suddenly looked like a wild thing.
"It's the cigar smoke," quipped Savile but i had never seen him like that and when Don came back i mentioned this and he didnt believe me.
I never liked Savile, something distinctly not right about him - OK, something sinister and disgusting.
Loipon, the intruder asked "Shall i make us a cuppa?" to which i apologised, "Best not. Tasia is making me a briam today and i dont like to disturb her." Talk about rude.
So off they pissed and i did my favourite slight of waving once and immediately walking back inside.
I rolled my eyes at Tasia as walked thru the kitchen and she giggled. Mireille was here one day, speaks fluentish greek from the usual abusive marriage and being banished to the mountains. I'd seen off another ghetto grottie and was sniffing appreciatively the mousaká she'd prepared for our lunch. 'Not staying?' asked T as the car graunched down the drive.
"Tell her they stayed too long as it was" but Tasia caught my drift and giggled. Mireille said sternly something about me being soo rude; laughter all round.

Guitar - i've found the perfect acoustics, in the hall on the stairs where the sound echoes up. T very amused by my strumming and yet another axe. Her elder son plays but not well and she asked if he could come round and just hear, to which i said fisiká. He stood nervously so i handed him the Ovation and told him to stick on A. He looked nervously out to where his mum was sweeping. His english is good and i caid 'Cmahn! My house now.' He was not good so i handed him the Encore and told him to fool with it as i went off and pootled around. Tas' looked nervous so i got Nikos to translate that i smashed my axes every night, like all true bluesmen do.
Masses of mails so i'll end here.

LES PATTERSON DOES HONG KONG

Dame Edna's cultural attaché other half gets right to the hub nub of glorious old Hong Kong.

CLASSIC BRIT AWARDS

- sickening sham -

Ha ha! A palpable hit. Bravo, that man.

Morley's blog.

CARDIE SMARTIE

My mother would snaffle away my good gear to bundle up for my bro' when he visited. I got wise.I saw where she hid the wonderful multi-colored pullie I'm wearing and simply produced it a few days before my bro was arriving and asked what the deuce it was doing in the 'theft chest'.
'Well, it looked a little small on you the last time you were it, and anyway i can't remember when i bought it. it must have been at least three years ago in London. in fact, i think i originally bought it for Pete'
She owned unrattle-ability when busted.

Moi: OK, i bought it last month at the church Nearly-New. This is the first time I've worn it. It fits perfectly. It was donated by Anthony Stevens and we laughed at the time at its 'flamboyance'. Perfect for me.We need to sort out the thefts from the dementia absent-mindedness.
The price of camp cardies is eternal vigilance.

STAIRCASE BLUES - i was waiting for a fone call and plunking on the 'strat' (lower case coz it aint) and the acoustics were amazing: brittle echo all the way up the staircase.also, ace shadows ...

"Nnggh ... Sittin' here in cool shadows, pretending i got a mean mean rider, asprawl upstairs in bed,
Gotta love that Shads-style shadow, brittle acoustics, staircase curving past my head
Canceled Sun studios, gonna lay them tracks down
Right here in Corfu instead"

Lord have merceh, but i won't tell lanky Jimbo, pretend i was down in Tupelo, nngghh.

MISSION MARIA ~ attended the Kirk, just to say farewell to the Gullands. Knew it would be a good day. Mary warned me, 'the Pottses are here, but Jim is sitting next to her.' Didnt faze me, went right over and snogged her just the same.
I love Maria. She said she woke each dawn and rushed to the puter to read my latest blog scurrility.
As she left, she trilled out for all to hear, "Remember, Chreess, think of me last thing at night."
I preened. Now to think up some blogois worthy of her scrambling to the puter.

Speaking of the blues man, got a lovely one of him - legs astretched, talking to his bassist about getting more oomph into the third bar.

BLUES CONNECTION

Getting stunning clarity from Tune In radio channel.

Browse by genre

Alight on something like RadioIO

HOTEL CALIFORNIA

... and a damn'd good version

Death not a full stop

... merely a hyphen.

Wasn't actually looking for a heading; I'd thought I'd call it 'theft alley' or some such, then my eye was caught by this good line so I thought I'd punch it in.

These photos are taken from what would have been the viewpoint of my mother as she stood by her chest-of-drawers in what I came to call Thief Alley.It is in fact the connecting walk-in wardrobe that separates what is my bedroom (from which I'm peering) from what used to be my mother's bedroom.

Before the theft of my daughters' heirloom jewels on or around early morning of April 6th, 2007, I didnt bother that much with the wardrobe: I stored clothes there and, on one of the shelves, a box of my entire 40-year collection of cufflinks, tie pins and general knickknacks.It was the safest place I could think of.
After my mother had filched my jewels when i wasnt looking - i estimate around 2am of the day of departure to Venice - to take them over to my brother's place ('Villa Thefti'), I became lynx-eared for movements in Alley Thefti, especially around the thieving hours of early morn - and would time my entrance for maximum drama and effort.

I would take interested (or incredulous) parties from all sections of the island to show them the corridor and mimed so well my part in catching her 'red-handed' that people would laff and ask me to recreate the hilarious scene with camera and pose.

My younger daughter in particular never tired of my recreating the scene.

I'd be woken by my mother's scufflings, usually the sound of her rearranging her jewel box.

I would burst in the room when I judged maman to be at a key moment and explain my wakefulness and stealth on being keen to avoid another mishap such as the snaffling of the girls' treasures.

The air of guilt was hilarious and of course the place reeked of memories of the April 2007 thieving. [to be continued, but i'm glad to have at least started on this post, perhaps the first in a reconstruction of some of the key moments over the years ]

Good Grik Songs

Strolling thru Corfu Bluesman, came across this list of best-of-breed songs. Have made a start but must next go in and see if there's a way of bypassing some of the raucous ads that precede some songs, and also check that I've successfully tagged the right songs according to the Bluesman.

Dromoi Palloi (Zorbala)

Mera Magiou (Kayaloglou)

Kleista Parathira (Kayaloglou)

Asma Asmaton (Farantouri)

Marina (Farantouri)

To traino fevgi stis okto (Dimitriadi)

Sotiria Bellou, O Naftis

Sotiria Bellou, San Pethano sto Karavi

Bellou and Tsitsanis

Stelios Kazantzidis

Ena to Helidoni , G.Vithikotsis

Crippled my generation

A mother sighs

STAND BY ME

give this a chance to pick up pace.

Presidential Debate

~ songified ~

Tasìa was in the bedroom making my bed etc (spoiled boy that i am) and had to listen to me hooting with laughter.

These auto-tune wizards are geniuses.

Muffins in Congress

Corfu

~ A Tale of Two Islands ~

Episode: 1 of 8

When: Thursday, 11 October 2012

UK Time: 10:35PM - 11:05PM

I can't believe I haven't burbled about this before ...

'A Tale Of Two Islands’ [no one understands the title, we all disagree] follows expats and holidaymakers from all walks of life; rich and poor, young and old, English and Greek, in a country that relies on tourism to survive, but is in the throes of economic meltdown.

Corfu is a microcosm of Britain on a Mediterranean island.

The programme tells the story of an island caught on the cusp of two cultures, whilst trying to cope with economic uncertainty.

From my hovering around Facebook/Corfu Grapevine, I picked up this report from a subscriber:

"A taster for the first episode of Corfu:A Tale Of Two Islands.(Looks like it will be quite interesting instead of the normal Kavos stuff!!)

A fascinating new eight-part documentary series which takes a look at this popular getaway through the eyes of the people who holiday there, and the many who make their living through tourism on the island. [Now i read it, seems like just blurb lifted from a hand-out]

Corfu can accommodate a broad cross-section of people as a holiday destination attracting everyone from the super rich to the budget holidaymakers who both share the island in the peak season.

In the first programme, we are introduced to Sally who came to work in Corfu as a holiday rep, and now plans weddings for visitors.

We also meet a real-life Shirley Valentine. Mary travelled to Corfu in the 1980s and is now celebrating 25 years of marriage with her Greek husband."

The crew were here for some time in July and very nice and friendly they were, too.

They filmed all over the island, including Kovtokoli's Navigators bar and of course me. I wasn't too shame-makingly drunk but nor was I reticent and they found my accent dinosaur-posh Queen's regulation received English ... and understandable.

Not the best hour to watch it at many of the bars and hotels who are showing it (specially the bits they are in), but i am plugging my laptop into my mega-inch screen and watching and guffawing from home over some good bottles of wine.

THIRD BOOK IN GREEK

~ Maria Strani-Potts ~

Information on Maria's new book is being eked out sentence by sentence, but Jim lets slip a sliver in discussing his projects in progress for the latest.Quoth Maria cryptically,

"My third book in Greek will be published shortly. Keep your eyes open for orders and information."