DOUBLE RAINBOW

1447hrs Monday December 27 2010

HAPPY DAY

Happiest day of my life.

That's how I spot and process happiness: en effet, they're all -iest days.

I'm a whiney grizzler of a misery guts so if I can actually say at the time that j'suis content ~ by the viagra of Vergilia! I have to check my pulse in case I've at long last made it to the promised land.

I had a pal who'd close his eyes and take 'mental photographs' of the moment. He was embarrassing to stand next to.

I once asked a girlfriend of his who seemed to be lasting,

"You know when he closes his eyes and is taking a mental snap of the blissful occasion? Does he do that before, during, after sex?"

She wasn't the right kind to ask and seemed not to understand; then she did seem to understand and when Rob came back with the drinks, shifted ever so slightly away from him and eyed him with suspicion.

So whither this happiness, eh?

How dare anyone be happy when the rest of you are tearing yer hair out over bills, Himself in growly bear grouch - and #1 daughter announcing she's renouncing Oxford and will be joining rugged Tomas in upcountry Alvania-more-far where he's a landowner and his mother and 5 sisters will adore her ... jury's still out on dad.

Don't put your daughter in a Balkan's bed, Mrs Worthington. Ach! Too late.

I'm a man of simple tastes where contentment's concerned. Wasn't always this way but I've come to accept my limitations.

Bed early and sober last night ~ huge head-start, that is.

Rose when I woke - no need check the alarm clock to get bearings on the hangover. In fact, deliberately did not look at the clock but fed animaux and took a brisk walk round the property with Sam trotting beside me, his tail wagging the screws off with this unfamiliar treat.

Sarcastic bugger: once upon a time he'd sprint ahead, confident of a decent stroll. Now he trots a few feet, looks back that I'm still there, a few more feet, you still there? A few more, look back, blimey guv' this is a gruelling trek.

We reach the end of the hall and I open the door - whoa, steady on there, chief. Out the door is ... like, outside. Best rest awhile and get our bearings. No, please, after you.

There's a woman who walks her skittish dog and once complained to Kosta that our dog was a 'nuisance' and 'attacked' her Cruft-crafted pedigree hound.

One day I was cutting some bamboo, hidden from the road, and I could hear madame yelling at her pooch to behave. When she came level with the gates, in it dashed and bolted up the drive. Sam, sitting beside me, continued to sit.

So much for territorial.

She stood there shouting at it so I emerged and said she was welcome to go up and leash the creature. She looked at Sam - what about him? Yes, pathetic innit? He should be up there tearing the trespasser's throat out.

Up she went, yelling fruitlessly, down came the dog via the yucca and raced around Sam who looked bored.

Down she came, what about your dog? Sam sat there, looked up at me,

"Am I missing something here?"

This morning madame jerked past, tugged this way and that. Sam barked and I told him to sit which he did.

Extra biccies when we got back.

Brek was divine - 0805 per the cuisine cloche - two expertly scrambleds, sausages, tomatoes, lashings of Diellas bacon, radio on Beeb3, jug of my fave real coffee that I never feel like making with mater making her own yoghurt mix and shattering the hopes of the day with mumbles about the garden.

"Not while I'm eating, mum!"

First hurdle of the day: skirt the computer sans succumbing. Nae prob, I just strode past and took up the Ovation and played a manly C.

"New song! Verse 1, steady beat."

I could feel the instrument shudder - wazzup? A major chord? Jes' like that? Where's the wimpo weeping minor? The sighs as tremulous right hand pluck, 'no use, not in the mood.' What is going on? The laptop coughs discreetly - ahem, are we forgetting someone? Alt-shift-cold turkey?

My dear departed friend Elleston Trevor, aka Adam Hall of the Quiller canon, had a marvelous phrase: whenever his hero was faced with some physical difficulty - clinging to the underside of a car going thru a checkpoint, his grip loosening, he'd refer contemptuously to the 'sniveling organism' waah, can't hang on, I'm going to let go, too hard, this'll ruin my nail polish.

'My hand is a steel claw' Q tells himself, 'it is fixed forever to this axle bar'.

Mewl mewl from the 'puter, 'you know u want me.'

My fretboard fumblings are going nowhere. The strings are whining 'not getting anything, no inspiration, too early, wot u going to sing about anyway?'

I fix the capo on the 5th - ooh! - and drum a crisp rasgueado across the sound-hole.

Too early, no inspiration, not usual time to strum, Muse still abed in the 7 sleapers ... any more excuses?

Good! Now we begin. 0900 minus 5. Gives us 30 minutes good composing time.

Dead silence from the moaning minnies. Yes, massa.

0945: 45 minute workout, punish the calves - skinny wretches - the dark grey Pilates laggie band for shoulders and biceps, back to calves. Sloow stretching - keep me balanced! You 'orrible muscles, pathetic, you are. One more time ... not so fast ... work it, hurt it.

Shower, fresh clothes and pack for the drive - a stack of CDs that I never reach for because KYMA is so good this morning I never want to change the channel.

To town, first stop post office to claim that copy of Begat I ordered. Up to counter, wrong ticket, I must get one for a letter. I tell her it is not a letter.

'Please take ticket'.

I take. Numero #684 and theyre calling 320.

I sit and read my paper.

Finally! She gets the package, a jiffy bag from mum's pal in London. 'But this is not a letter - I have received many themata of this kind.' Next!

I was told there was a general strike but the town buzzes. I return to car and KYMA is still good. I open the package - a silk scarf of no value.

"Marjorie, I didnt want you to be without this over the holidays"

There must be a dedicated mezzanine in Chateau Dante for those who mail useless stuff that makes one wait for nowt.

But I am ahead of the day and my stomach muscles are taut. I drive off to buy a teflon-free pan, of which there are none in any emporium, but i get to chat up my favorite serveuses.

An advert comes on the radio of a rich Santa Clausy 'ho ho ho ... chronia pollAAHH!

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!

I am doing a decent speed down Solari and it sounds as if the knocking is on the car roof. By the pubes of Perianda! For a nano-second I think it is a biker cop hammering on me to pull over. Or some joker clinging to the car - honestly, they should test these sounds before they launch them.

Almost home, I decide to check the DVD store for anything new. On my left is someone who is driving aggressively close as if I have made some driving faux pas. Very close and if we weren't both in control of our vehicles it would be inviting an accident.

They are young and aggressive and the passenger is glaring and gesticulating. We stop at the lights opposite Spiti Prifti and chummy is revving. I rev back and ignore them.

We take off and the other car is very close, as if trying to push me to the far side of the road.

300 metres after the lights, there is a side road to the DVD store and a butcher. The divide is marked by a metal post and raised island. The lorry ahead of me blocks my hassler's view and I make tentative moves as if being bullied to the side of the road. I leave it til the last second to veer right and to my disappointment see only confusion in the mirror instead of the bucking pile-up I'd been trying to lure him into.

There is nothing in the store and I am glad because the couch is not part of the day.

I get home and there is Sam wagging. I walk off to do another tour and am alone for a whole 40 seconds as he waits by the kitchen door and then realises I am not there but actually walking out n about. In fact, the cats are there scampering ahead.

I dive in via my bedroom door and leave the house sealed.

By the time I have reached the sitting room, Louki is there clawing to get in.

Also clawing is the Sniveler -

'Successful morning! God we feel like a drink'

(and we do).

I walk down to the bedroom and retrieve the Pilates band. My fave stretcher is to hold it out in front of me and very slowly do 3 circuits of 15 expansions. Then I hold it 45 degs up and do another 45, feeling the burn.

The Organism is not happy. I still want a drink and I know what I want.

The Devil has taken me up the mountain and showed me the vin blanc and cassis. Stretch burn pull.

The computer is still unopened.

Luverly drink, the sniveler whispers; all afternoon ahead, mum not here, who would know?

Face-off time. I pull up my T-shirt - see this? Not 6-pack yet but siga siga.

Dip down for 10 knee bends. See that? Pathetic, I used to tweak circuits of 30.

Think I'm going to spoil that now?

A Cee-lo moment: Forget you!

I see the cigs and toss them across the room,

"And forget you, too!"

Bastards.

Happy happy day.

HOME. ALONE

Very successful launch of mater to Athens.

["Huston, won't believe this, went sans problem"].

Avoided her usual late check-in thanks to her last-min arranging lunch with pal during her 6-hour stay in Athens.

She decided to take a framed print of one of her daubs as a gift and to carry it with her on the plane to avoid breakage.

Won't happen, I told her, they dont allow but one hand luggage, but I'll be there to bring it back.

Loipon, here's how it might come off - we get there early enough to 'negotiate' and allow them to say yes without a queue behind you.

She fell for it and we only left nerve-rackingly late as opposed to the usual chocks-away check in.

Mum at check-in: I'd to carry this with me on the flight.

Check-in girl: You want to take this and also that bag? [reaches for internal phone to get support that it is not allowed]

Me: Mum! How many times do I have to tell you? It's against regulations. Give it here - I'll take it back with me.

Regulations! Dread word that no daughter of Nausicaa will bend to. She replaces phone and withers me with a look.

"Is OK". Nuther mega ray blast in my direction. LOL.

Reminds me of when she left for Hungary, really really late, like literally chocks-away scenario.

I was in a furious state when we checked in, muttering about how my mother didn't deserve to catch the flight. Go on! Tell her she's late, boot her (which they were about to do.)

Rapid phone calls, up comes a handsome uniform who puts his arm round my mother's shoulder and escorts her away from my sulks.

"Madame, this way."

Backward scowl at me, 'Here in Greece we know how to treat our mothers.'

"This way, madame, siga siga, is not hurry. Your ticket? Give me, I will handle. Spiro - ella!"

Back to me, megalo dismisal:

By the pustules of Peribomius! So this is how you xenoi treat your sacred mothers? Pame, madame, we must make distance from your 'son'. Doxa to theo I was here to arrange.

Brrrng! Nai; But no you do not take off yet - nai! tell them to circle until Aegean is ready to leave.

OK, so they re-route to Bombay: Here in Greece we respect our mothers.

Mission accomplis.

NATIVITY

~ Digital ~

BOSKETTO GARDEN

17 October 2010

Photo update on an unfairly rainy day

I have more recent ones that I want my mother to comment on and describe how why and what has taken place since her hard work.

You can see it here.

I'd meant to keep it upper to date but the disappointment of the ... well, treachery is my naive strong word that comes to mind for the cynical use of mum's skill and love of gardening ... the disappointment killed my zeal to keep the post going.

If you will use the link above you will see my mother's selfless work and, in a way, my own effort as botanophobe lensman not to let her work go unrecorded.

LOUISE du TOIT

Glorious glorious news: the wonderful Louise du Toit and the equally lovely Christos Koulouridis - plus what Louise describes as her Porto Reale Band - will be playing at:

Where ~ that jiveass crazy Poco Loco tex-mex eaterie whose Gouvia branch kept me so happy in the summer.

This gig is at their emporiko disco strip speakeasy on the Au Bar corner.

Quando; ~ this Sunday, Dec 19, as ever is.

Time - 10pm (Not sure what time that is in Greek hourage).

Don't all of you roll up, of course.

S'truth! I don't want to turn up all tuxedo'd and perfum'd and find a load of you scruffs hogging the best booze and benches.

Louise and Christo are a class act.

That snap over there was taken at my mother's 90th birthday bash and that sprightly young thing dancing with the host is maman herself.

Even I had to bribe the butler to let me in.

Loipon, me first and everyone else via the tradesmen's entrance.

The staff will find you some dark corner in which to crouch quietly and know your place.

See you there!

Meanwhile, I'm using this post as an excuse to listen again to Louise's Just Love.

#1 on Daily Beast

FUCK YOU

I'd never heard of the hugely talented and witty Mr CeeLo Green but he certainly puts out a sassy video.

The chicks are all hot hot hot, as only that ebony ass can be.

And I love the bit right at the start where the kid oaths and his mom whups him from behind.

And at 1' 42 secs, the 'Heartbreaker', I trust we all agree that the chick in the glasses is wayy breakier than the flirty thing they point to?

Someone used wit for this bijou boogaloo videophony, and even the naughty word isn't that clear.

Long time since I swayed along to such a mood-lifting professional job that made me want to hear more.

^5, CeeLo, suh

LOVE IT! ~ and look out for that Greek gesture at 2 mins 20 secs.

All the bit-part players are right there and CeeLo is my kinda bulky black singer with that cool Percy Sledge voice.

Further reading:

Doesn't really tell me much more about the making of the video but the pert pouting hostess is worth a gander, so the breasts stay in the post.

Blocked You - this spoof seems to start with a take-off of the lovely MzKaz's Keyboard Wawiors and then adheres superbly to the original, both in voices and backing. How do people do it?

As someone who's been blocked for my acid comments from countless youtube clips - I must find that asinine plunker who completely misunderstands Jeux Interdit by overloading it with tremolo.

To boot, he ignores the basic basic lesson about tremolo ~ it is not easy, so ffs don't take it on if you can't get it bang on right.

Jeezus, children, you shouldn't need me to ram home that geetar 101.

Vendetta Digression ~ This would be the song and singer I'd choose for my Villa Thefti Youtube clip

CL crooning and jabbing away on the piazza.

In the background, plants rot, clever selective wild boar trample prized gardenry

Somewhere we fit in retrieval of my girls' heirloom gew-gaws.

In the movie, you see the Thefti safe oozing ominous poisonous SickVilla fumes: the VT Chubb metallica begins to buckle ... WHOOM!

No more Villa Thefti:

shards and debris

smoke drifting

boar rooting among the wreckage

... somewhere a woman crying.

Guitar chord.

Out of the smoke tread four dainty ankles. They stop and four dainty hands reach down to the mud where the camera focuses on an untouched jewel box, not a spot.

They each remove a cufflink and hand it to the other. In unison:

"Yours, I believe."

"Ours."

Swirl of Morricone rip-off muzak as they walk off into the mist. Porcine rootings, in the distance a siren. Two cats pad l-r as sound-track changes to Iron Maiden.

I'm suddenly reminded of a very public put-down at a posh eaterie, pals either side and next to me a new date whom I've been boring and with whom I've been getting nowhere but I'm too proud to show or give in.

A pause in the scintillating convo, at which she places a hand on mine and says in stage murmur,

"Christopher. Rearrange the following for a well-known phrase or saying:

'Off. Fuck' "

I still feel the burning cheeks.

The Storm of Nov 8

Our big cypress was blown down, away from the house.

Maman keeps talking of writing to all her pals but by the time she gets down to it, everyone will think it's about a tempest of 2012.

Here be very thorough record with ace captions and some artistic snaps.

Now when my mother clutches at your sleeve like the ancient jardinière you can make a hasty exit with a

"I know, Marjorie! I've seen the photos, read the blurbs.

Here's my order for the T-shirt."

How Hard is it to Buy an Image?

Not that hard if you just filch as I've done here under the pose of plugging a pal.

Wonderful fotoLIBRA is a gift and a god-send to all you illustrationists who like to dolly up yer books and blogs.

Click and profit.

Or just click and bask in the wonderful fotos therein.

Lovely Rita ~ Whats so thrilling about a parking meter?

No idea. Never seen one here in Corfu.

I hate to drone on about checking out this site and service but do do yourselves a Christmas favour and take 5 mins off surfing youtube and Asian Babes and savour this gem.

MARTIN GROSS

~ Still Got the Blues ~

This Martin Gross is good and he features good players.

See if you agree - at a nano-second's first glance, the contrabassiste has a touch of the Eminem about him.

FIFA ORF!

Tee hee.

"Boris Johnson has taken revenge on Sepp Blatter and the other FIFA delegates who destroyed England’s bid to host the World Cup by kicking them out of London’s Dorchester hotel for the 2012 Olympic Games."

MINUS ATHENS PLUS

~ Sad Fond Farewell ~

Very sad news - Athens Plus closing.

Extracts from Nick Malkoutzis' measured and moving message:

"The last copy of Athens Plus that we are publishing. Our newspaper sprang to life just two-and-a-half years ago, as our publisher's gesture of hope in our country's development and in the durability of print; it was born of the successful collaboration of Kathimerini and the International Herald Tribune.

Our joint venture began in early 1998, when Greece's most prestigious newspaper teamed up with the global daily to create Kathimerini's English Edition, which started life as an eight-page insert in the IHT in Greece and Cyprus.

Ten years later, Athens Plus was born, the inspiration of our owners, who wanted a newspaper that would be modern and beautiful.

Athens Plus was born at a time that Greece was sliding inexorably toward the current economic crisis. We became a microcosm of our country, part of the story that we were covering.

We got to the point where, if we continued to make the cuts that would help us break even, we would have destroyed what we were making."

The roll of honour:

Nick Malkoutzis*Elis Kiss*Christine Sturmey*Harry van Versendaal*Dimitra Angeli*Niki Kitsantonis*George Georgakopoulos*Stelios Bouras*George Kolyvas*Laura McDowell*Steve Stafford*Soultana Kalligas*Deborah Ellis*Nikol Karali*Evie Kousoula*Julia Panayotou*Phoebe Fronista*Katerina Voussoura*Vivienne Nilan*Evangelia Arvaniti*Yvette Varvaressou*Alexandra Koroxenidis*Theokli Kotsifaki*Haris Argyropoulos*Manos Symeonakis*Maria Kirchantzoglou*Panos Athanasainas*Mark Weinstein*John Leonard*Jens Bastian*Valentina Villegas-Nikas*Nikos Konstandaras

My sadness and regret is true. I loved my Fridays: zoom down to the local newsagent, grab the 2 papers - yes, I don't mind doffing a cap to Athens News.

Mum would grab the News and I'd get stuck into the meatier Plus and their wonderful arts pages (not to put down the others - mum's recipe scrapbook looks like a bulging annexe of AP).

Then I'd speed to Youtube and look up the artistes they mentioned and pass them off to all my Seattle, Hong Kong, Clapham et aleundi pals.

Oh poh poh - Plus's left-hand column of Top 10 tracks on various intriguing themes - being dumped, being blue, saying goodbye - were Run-Don't-Walk posts, again passed off as my own.

Gawd knows what answers I'll now come up with when asked how come my inspiration has dried. Whoops - busted.

Sad sad sad, and a measure of the times in which we slave and those to come.

Bravo, those heros.

SANTA DYLAN

Actually, bloody good and genuinely festive and spirit-lifting.

That's what I call choreography - looking as if not a jot has gone in.

Oh good god!

All my fancy wimmin got together to totally bust me.

Biotches. Their husbands will be furious now they know with whom they've been foolin' around.