Dungeon Zero

Greek Easter signals the descent of the hordes.

Suddenly the supermarkets ring with foreign accents and ignorant jostling and time-consuming offerings of credit cards sans adequate ID.

The Germans aren't the worst, but the residue's there: 20 years ago when I started coming, my Viking-featured Yorkshire father kept being asked if he was German.

Greece and Corfu were not handled delicately by the sons of the Reich.

Even today I tremble un peu whenever I hear the guttural accents of Germaniki countrymen of the woman I can't un-adore.

Just this morning I was shopping at Alpha Beta and a hefty bullyboy came in waving a large € note that he expected to be changed.

Jowelly giant, mega Beemer badly parked outside, and I'm talking giant - the sort I'd've been disembowelled by whilst not saving Private Ryan.

Stood there waving the note and bulldozing the queues til Dimitra must've decided what the fuck and gave him the 50s and 20s he was after.

But this Josef Fritzl 24-year incestuosity is playing big out here and there were hellenic mutterings of 'Get back to yer dungeon' and when he got out there his van was scatched up good with crude memos that Cavafy never coined.

You read it first here and I'll continue to report ....