I love living in Greece more than you #4

Morning spent fiddling with pool, backwashing and filtering and hoovering 'n' that.

Rush to garden party lunch date in posh Acharavi where the law of the land is two air kisses either side. Mwah! Mwah!

"Darling," breathes K, "I *love* the smell of chlorine in the morning. Means a man has a pool."

"How do you know it doesn't mean a man is a pool *cleaner*?"

K swivels me to face our hostess's pool.

"Sweetie, you look half your age, have a divine bum and only the teensiest of middle-age spread ... but *that* is a pool cleaner."

I follow her be-ringed finger: a tanned youth netting leaves. Frayed shorts, unbuttoned shirt revealing corrugated abs. Puissant thighs and legs as perfect as a tennis player's.

"Isn't he divine? Albanian."

I scoop a drink off a passing tray.

"Bloody immigration laws. Slack as hell since the colonels left. Bring back the cat, I say. And while you're about it, whatever happened to jolly old 'Droit de Seigneur'?"