Desperately seeking Aris

~ The Corfu Olive Oil Blog ~

Driving me crazy - oil magnates Aris and Katie are proving as slippery as the fine oil they're out to sell.

Not a clue in their blog as to how to make contact and I want to screw their plans by creating publicity and interest beyond the dreams of avarice..

Prolly a case of a blog too soon ... rather like the many half-started buildings one sees around.

If anyone knoweth where this couple are holed out, drop me a comment. Still a few days 'til deadline ....

The Lost Art of School Report Writing

My kind of article. I would have been super at report writing, except today's parents are too thick to cotton on and would, anyway, be round to thump me.

Faithful readers who'll read this right thru can be counted on the head of one pin:

Prof Badders

Mountain Man [Lawks, what I would have given for a report by My Lord of the Nitekrü. Dude! Frame it for the jakes]

Lord Moss of Ma Wan

Hans Fletcher

Barry Greensted

David Li

Nevin Prakash

'Magpie' Mason

'Gary' Alban

Mary Visick

The only one I remember, that my father read out to me, went along the lines,

"Christopher keeps the table in an uproar. He likes to think of himself as a clever swine."

Dad said,

"Be careful. It's OK to be thought an ass or one who acts the clown, but when it's a case of 'You think you're a clever swine, don't you, Holmes?' Cave."

Which Dad of course pronounced cah-vay, bless him.

Holy Trinity Anglican Church
Corfu Greece

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Welcome to Holy Trinity

21L Mavili Street,
Kerkyra 49 100, Corfu, Greece.
Tel (+30) 26610 31467
htccorfu@gmail.com

If you are resident in Corfu or are a visitor to this beautiful Greek island and would like to worship in an English speaking church you will find a warm welcome at Holy Trinity Anglican Church.

We have a vibrant resident congregation originating from a variety of different parts of the English speaking world.

During the summer months we enjoy welcoming the many visitors who join us for worship on Sunday and who may also appreciate the week-day events we host in the Church Room.

Amongst our many varied activities, the weekly programme includes times of Bible Study, Prayer & Intercession, Wednesday Lunch-Box, and Art courses, of which examples of Mary's exquisite creations can be seen here.

We are an Anglican Chaplaincy within the Church of England Diocese in Europe, but we welcome Christians of all denominations and those who would like to find out more about the Christian faith.

Find out more about us and how to find Holy Trinity by browsing our website.

Post-script ~ This post was meant to be no more than an easier-on-the-eye contribution to the improved official church site, but I kept being asked to include a link to my earlier post on the subject of a new vicar.

Personally, I regard it as childishly disrespectful on the subject but readers rule, so here it is.

Silk Hangings: Those wonderful Easter silk hangings are by Mary Gulland and I am delighted to see my submitted snaps in the HTC gallery.

'Howler' hoot

I've been playing 'Travelin' Light' since my teens and it's a big scorer with the girls ... that beginning on the bass, the cool strum, the A7 to D chorus and then the E ~ F井 ~ G# back to A . ... don't get me going.

But now and then the geetar is NOT the passepartout we expected and ... thwonk into a brick wall.

Do wait 'til 1:06 when Cliff nails it ... a hoot and a howler.

I mean, how more succinctly put?

The hoot of victory rises in your throat. Succès d'estime. She capitulated, yours all yours.

She caved in. You make to consolidate your triumph.

Suddenly ... Blam splat karoumph .... yer not in Kansas any more ...

Wheels

If you get a puncture in the Tzavros/Diellas area, which we devoutly hope you do, of course, with your crowding our supermarkets with obscenely loaded trolleys and oaken thighs, here is the place to come for instant satisfaction and relief.

I sound as if I'm plugging Meryem's new emporium. Perhaps I am, but in the meantime let's stick to rubber goods. Oh you know what I mean.

Yes, indeed, we long to see you limping along in need of a good wheelspin.

Me personally, I'd prefer it to happen wayy up north, where you'd only have goat innards to solve your inner tube issues.

But if I can't have the satisfaction of seeing your tourist ass sending cinders high as you scrape along, well this is the place to get 100% satisfaction.

They are fast and pro' and they speak English and mean and do business.

No sooner have you pulled in than the guv'nor has sussed the prob, a flunkey has started work on your car and the delightful missus has come out to ask if you'd like some coffee.

Actually, you have Sweet & Savory just down the road so they can take as long as they like.

Loipon, you pass Tzavros heading south. Past the BP garage on the right.

Look for the graffiti on your side of the road, look for the pottery on the left - ack ptui, if you were so dumb to get the flat in the first place, you won't need these dynamite directions.

Beckoning Beckett

Marvelous story in the latest Oldie

Phoebe Winch telling of lunch with Sam Beckett in 1955 as he waited for 'Godot'. Literally.

It had received good reviews from Tynan and Hobson and SB was over to see the play's transfer to the Criterion.

" ... thin, even gaunt ... ate very sparingly and drank little.

He spoke of Paris in the 1930s when, as well as being close friends with James Joyce, he was also his assistant.

Joyce used to dictate to Beckett.

"We were working on what became Finnegan's Wake, and there was a knock on the door. I didn't hear it, so when Joyce said 'Come in' I wrote down "Come in".

I never took it out. It made as much sense as anything else.

I like to imagine earnest literary students writing theses on the meaning and implications of that "Come in" in the book."

I tell you - I just burst out laughing. Such a relief to know I've not lost all sense of humour.

"It made as much sense as anything else."

That deserves to be in every dictionary of quotations, along with Mandy Rice-Davies and "Well he would, wouldn't he?"

Pupil: "Well, sir, it made as much sense as anything else."

Master: "Whaat, boy? I'll have none of your infernal cheek!"

"Just quoting Beckett, sir."

Actually, even mentioning Beckett would have got your hide tanned in my day and école.

I suppose that, too, made as much sense as anything else in those days.

AMAZON ORDERS

When they won't deliver

OK, chaps - let me end once and for all these questions about "mewl moan waah your Amazon won't send me my stuff ... waah."

Listen - there's Amazon and there's 'Marketplace' where freelancers can place their items alongside Amazon items.

Imagine maman has a weekly yard sale right here in the grounds of Pagoda Corfuchsia and it's so popular and everyone knows where it is - whereas your hovel in downtown Nimfes is impossible to find - that you ask to set up your own little stall.

We say yes, have that corner in the shadows so you don't spoil the view and people don't think we're having a Homeless Day ... and it's 10% of anything you make from trying to flog that useless tat.

So along come the punters and they buy from us and they buy from you and they offer credit cards and cheques as well as cash.

Still with me?

Later that week the bank tells you that the cards were stolen and blocked and the checks worthless, too.

You come wailing to us and we say, none of our business and you say so why doesn't the same thing happen to you?

Like, the same guys who bought from us bought from you - so how come you dont have the same hassle?

"Oh we do.

As soon as it happens, we send Kutsi and Sam and a coupla da boys from the Telesilla out on the trail.

Rip their fucking arms off [see foto].

Rarely happens twice."

So you go,

"Duhh - I get it. Roight, lads! No more cheques or cards from anyone toting a korakiana address.

Dem bums allus cheatin' me and getting in first on the parking and queue barging in Marinopoulos and ... "

That's what the MarketPlace squatters have to do because they can't follow up on a dud card from a low life place like Corfu or wherever.

Listen up:

"Countries Covered

So far, Marketplace items can only be purchased by buyers in these countries:

UK: England, Northern Ireland, Scotland, Wales

Europe: Belgium, Denmark, Finland, France, Germany, Ireland, Italy, Luxembourg, Netherlands, Portugal, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland

US: including US protectorates

Rest of World: Australia, Brazil, Canada, Hong Kong, Iceland, Japan, Norway, Republic of Korea, Mexico, New Zealand, South Africa

If your country is not yet covered, you cannot make a Marketplace purchase.

However, you may be able to purchase the item directly from Amazon.co.uk.

Sellers may also choose to not deliver internationally.

See International Delivery on Marketplace Orders."

Glad we cleared that up.

HOORAY FOR TOUGH TOM

I can sit thru all the Clint Eastwoods I can handle, but something like this just puts a smile on mu face.

I saw it first when it came out and that idiot black man .. you could from the shape Tom was in that he didn't fuck around, but that black dude just kept asking to be owned.

Boy, when that black mf got up to mess with Tom, I could not believe it, and old beardie gave him what he came for.

Whoo! Great video.

DRUNK DISCOUNT SALE

I used to think of Link-wallah Wells as a decent chap - reliable cove, readable blog ... no longer sure.

The villeyne sends me this hilarious Jones' Big Ass Truck Rental Clip.

Watch the hell out at the 1-minute mark when Bubba owns up to being a li'l flamboyant and emotional in holding a 'drunk discount sale'.

I had been savouring a little sippin' VSOP at which point a large amount of it went on irrigating the Axminster.

Baad boy, Ricardo.

The Lysistrata Ploy

~ Lady 2-Jags versus Sofa John ~

How I laughed.

What? Pudding-face Prescott pretending he doesn't want a gong?

Fatso Two-Jags?

Croquet-pokay and hoist a secretray

The People's Partying Lard Lad?

I laugh. I laugh.

Actually, she wasn't just a secretary, was she?

Blubber and the Blonde "began working together when Ms Tracey Temple was appointed as Mr Prescott's assistant private secretary, responsible for organising his diary."

That's when the world first heard about the sensitive post of 'Diary organiser' and fancy woman fluffer.

Got it.

I can do no better a razor job than the public press.

Camera. Lights. Action.

"The curmudgeonly former deputy prime minister is being coaxed by Pauline Prescott to join the ermine-clad peers when he quits the Commons next month, despite his long-standing antipathy to what he calls “flunkery and titles.

According to a senior Commons insider, his wife

'loves the idea of being called Lady P'.

Yesterday the glamorous former hairdresser made little attempt to deny she has her sights set on a title, saying coyly:

'We’ll just wait and see what happens.'

FFS. It's also a reflection on the ignorant boys and girls who run today's press but you cannot imagine how crassly non-U such utterances sound.

We're talking about honours conferred for a life well lived and deeds well done, and all these plebeian creeps can come up with is that they

'Love the idea of being called Lady P'

Little attempt to deny she has her sights set on a title

Saying coyly, 'We’ll just wait and see what happens.'

You stupid common slag - how dare you talk about honours like that?

Prescott’s arrival in the upper house would cap his rise from a ship’s steward on Cunard liners to some of the highest offices of state.

According to Commons insiders, he will top the list of a relatively small number of peers that Gordon Brown will create if he leaves office this spring.

Well, that's pretty depressing for starters but that's not what I'm here to discuss.

Miss Pauline wants El Lardo to be ennobled so that she can be ladiefied in reflection.

Fatso is putting up token protest.

Unbelievable, I know, but Prescott has been reported as getting his leg over certain femmes other than his wife (ouch yaroo, crush smush blush).

I reckon he's on a shorter leash since the reptiles busted his rutting with the diary biatch so the very fanciable Pauline has him by his diminutive balls.

All she has to play is the Lysistrata Λυσιστράτη ploy - no ermine, no squirmin' (and that woman looks like she knows her squirm from her Volvo) - and Jag Fag will fall into line.

Wossa problem?

SMOKING AND SINGING

Why I love living in Greece.

The singer's pretty smokin' too

But what I love is the louche living, then the musicians, then the singer

.... and when that Mitropanos comes in ... oh, man ...

Ohh ohh ~ this whole clip makes me want to run to the guitar and just sing and compose, compose and sing ...

PAKI PULCHRITUDE

Glam clip from youtube of that hot hot Laila Rue-Ass I drooled over yonks ago (I think 'paki' will find it in the search panel).

Also included in the clip is the glam straight-jawed chap who started the fuss and publicity by drawing incorrect attention to sizzling looks and sexeh tan.

Much too good looking for his own good - reminds me of Jim Dale with those gnashers and kleen look.

Bet he has his white ass kept warm at night.

Chicks like those looks and they can take the blighters home to mummy - a bit of spray-on tan and they're away.

Speaking of which, here comes the weather so it'll be me out nu around the pool on the paki peau trail.

[Yes, loadsa posts at the search stop for paki]

"Horrible Heather Mills"

I know the ex-Mrs McCartney behaves like a wild-eyed lunatic and is a loose cannon at every media opportunity, but why do the press have to choose those exact photos that conjure up reminders that we are dealing with a wild-eyed loose-lipped harridan-come-careening loose cannon.

Who can forget Mills's shrill performance on breakfast television when she sent Macca's chances of a good settlement soaring.

Just look at the fragrant Sara Trumble (a delicate 26) against the flared nostrils of Mills. You can *feel* her inner anger and imbalance.

Worse for Mills - no one likes her. She managed to alienate everyone by managing, thru fame by marriage, to intrude on our precious TV and tabloid trolling time and shove her peg-legged midnight hag daftness in our faces.

We all hate her. Whatever the verdict, the press will pay attention only if they can doll it up to show Heather at her screechiest and cast her as the villainess as per usual. Not hard.

Camp and Ridiculous

Scientology movie

I always delight in any thwarting of that vicious cult that calls itself scientology.

Of course, we in Corfu share the isle with a true hero in the fight against these scoundrels, Major John Forte, whose praises I cannot over-sing.

In my publishing days, I had several clashes with these people and learned how to negotiate the streets around Soho and Tottenham Road without excess drama or needing outside help.

My good friend, multi nom-de-plumed Elleston Trevor, best known for his Adam Hall/Quiller canon, once mentioned some good news: the office of none other than John Travolta had expressed interest in one or other of the Quiller novels.

I told Elleston that I had no love for Travolta's game because of his connection with scientology. Elleston was shocked he had not been warned of this and there and then picked up the phone and instructed his agent to cancel all dealings with that bunch.

Dept of Ego trip in a million: my publishing days were as a street-wise PR hack. I like reading but I missed out on the years 10-18 through being locked away in a spirit-killing prison.

I met a few dandies in the book business and even invited some of them to our Sunday parties.

One such - famous for patronising with faint praise - plucked a Hall from the bookcase and expressed sulky pleasure that I was a fellow reader, ramming the point home that he had come across ET as far back as 'Quiller Memorandum'.

"And when did you discover Mr Trevor?" he inquired silkily, his expression freezing as he flipped thru 'Scorpion Signal' and came across the dedication.