18 May, 2008
Jonola14 Productions

visitors



"Make happy those who are near, and those who are far will come"

Halkidiki 2003 - Week One

DAY 1 - Monday 15th September

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP SLAM went the alarm clock as it woke me from my deep sleep at an ungodly 4am. Three hours kip was never going to be enough, but I resisted the temptation to turn over, and instead looked forward to sunning myself for two weeks in Halkidiki, Greece.

Mark was already up and lift-giver Alex was soon in the car, engine running. Before long, Luton airport loomed and Mark and I were officially off. After devouring a bacon roll and noting the abundance of blazers in the vicinity, we went to our gate.

Scything our way through the plethora of grey hair and glasses littering the departure lounge, we located some seats and sat down to monitor precisely who we would be sharing our flight with. Sadly, there were no stunning women to drool over, but we comforted ourselves with the observatiojn that there were only a couple of gold-chained, tattoed, skin-headed, white-trainered oiks that so often marr otherwise pleasurable experiences.

The flight passed without event and we both took the chance to grab a power-nap. We did get the chance to stare at the snow-covered Alps and remind ourselves of Andorra's snowboarding trip back in February, and we did turn round to see the fat man in the next row once again staring at the chocolates page of the in-flight magazine, but otherwise it was free from event.

Baggage re-claim was a different story. Having laughed at the man who, as some sort of twitch, raised his eyebrows every three seconds, we were distracted by frantic movements just along the conveyor belt.

The suitcases were slowly passing us by and most people were waiting patiently, as British people traditionally do. Not the masculine, short-haired lesbianic monstrosity stood by the flaps. She insisted upon rushing about, grabbing case after case and letting her frustration be known to all nearby. What's the rush? Why the mad panic? You'll only have to sit on the transfer coach and wait for everybody else.....

Anyway, it wasn't boiling, but the sun was out and doing its very best to evaporate the 'torrential downpours' of early morning. Once again a power-nap beckoned and the two hour trip to Hanioti passed without amusement. We were pleased to see only one solitary passenger in a football shirt, amidst the sea of pensioners.....

Our hotel was really clean and our room had a balcony that looked out over the Aegean sea, with the central peninsula of Sithonia clearly visible over the crystal blue waters. Apart from the occasional delivery lorry, the hotel was extremely quiet, with only the background noise of the distant main road to be heard. We had a look around town and a wander along the beach before deciding that some sun-worshipping was in order.

It was quite clear now that the hotel we were staying in was aimed at a more mature market, particularly at this time of year when the pensioners come out to warm themselves under the sun like lizards. This was fine with us as we wanted to be as far away as possible from loutish behaviour by simple-minded yobs - even if this meant sacrificing the eye candy that so often allures them to such resorts as Kavos, Faliraki and Ayia Napa in the first place.

Alas, it seems such an ideal cannot be obtained, but it is not just Mark and I that seek it. "I was in the supermarket earlier" (syoopermarket) a woman said to her husband while sitting by the pool, "and these two English people with HORRIBLE ACCENTS pushed in front of me". Wanting to see for ourselves, we showered, changed and made our way to the hotel bar for an early evening aperatif. Mark sipped his gin and tonic and listened in on other people's conversations, while I sat pensively on my bar stool, giggling at my pint glass for having VERGINA LAGER BEER printed on it.

We wandered Hanioti's streets and looked at the many pottery shops, also noting any bars or restaurants that might be good for some entertainment a bit later on. Mark was on the look out for any 'eligible females' and we eventually chose a restaurant and sat at a table next to three girls. Once we realised the girls were far younger than we thought, we concentrated on the local cuisine and watched the world go by.

A few post-Goulash/post-steak beers were in order, with Mark hot on the scent of any women that looked remotely available. After visiting several bars, we were both knackered and far from chatty. "And it's only ten to ten" Mark added as we yawned and wondered whether to retire early or move on for "one more".

We chose the latter and ended up in what seemed to be the resort's liveliest bar - the Blue Cafe. We were quite surprised, from looking like a quiet-ish bar from the outside, we found lots of people drinking away and some live music. The music was so good, in fact, that I had assumed it to be a cd when I walked in, and was shocked when I found out. And that was it, we stayed.

Tired of Amstel, we went for draught Stella and it soon took effect. Mark introduced himself to a pair of girls and immediately began chatting up the better looking one. Taking Simon H's advice of 'don't go for anything heavier than you', I retreated and somehow got talking to two middle-aged women who were thoroughly enjoying the impressive guitar playing.

"My daughter would like you" one said about an hour later. "Oh?" I replied, hoping for an introduction. "Yes, she's got long blonde hair and she's a dancer". My eyes must have lit up, or I must have begun to salivate because then she added "but she's not here". My disappointment was clearly visible.

The band finished and it was time to leave. Mark wandered off towards the beach with his prey, I said my goodbyes, fended off the fat girl once more and staggered back to the hotel.



DAY 2 - Tuesday 16th September

Sniff. Sniff. HACK. My worst fears were confirmed. Despite vitamin C tablets, vitamin drinks, lots of water, rest and several other pills and potions, I awoke with a cold. Just as happened on day one in Andorra, the holiday fairies have decided that I should be stricken with runny nose, sore throat and blocked sinuses. Brilliant. To add to that, I have at least half a dozen mosquito bites and only one revengeful killing to account for them.

"We've got that welcome meeting in ten minutes" Mark announced as the clock bore down on eleven, signalling that he was firstly back (it turns out that due to his inebriation, they never found the beach, got trapped in a hotel complex, and then the fat girl turned up), and secondly that he was on the ball. Ten minutes later we were downstairs in the front row of the rep's audience, listening to the various wonderful activities available to us and marvelling at the shape of her legs.

The weather, however, was not good. A very cloudy sky obscured the sun and ray-catching was out of the question, particularly when an Aegean storm appeared, bucketing down a torrential downpour and jabbing a few rumbles of thunder at us. The rain eventually let up, but the sun never poked its yellow head through the resistant clouds, so we spent the majority of the afternoon either reading or asleep.

"Shall we think about dinner?" Mark enquired, waking me from a deep sleep and bringing me back to life at 7pm. We took the courtesy bus into town and ate at a pizzeria where Mark announced he was on 'totty watch'. With barely anything to keep an eye on, we concentrated on food, then wandered about the main square before settling in the bar we had been in the previous night, to watch three simultaneous games of football.

Forty minutes was all we could manage before sidling back off to the hotel for a glass of port. We then both read until midnight and turned in, praying for sunnier weather.



DAY 3 - Wednesday 17th September

Splendid! We woke up to glorious sunshine and hastened downstairs for our first experiences of a Greek breakfast. After a fried egg on something-or-other and another indistinguishable dish, plus several of the driest biscuits ever imaginable, we grabbed a couple of sunbeds and basked in the mid morning rays.

We were glad that the sun was finally out. Although never mentioned, there had been niggling thoughts in our minds that we'd left the holiday too late in the year and missed all the good weather. However, the sun was shining, it was getting hot and we were making the most of it.

"AAAARGGGH!" came a cry from across the way. "There's a frog in the swimming pool!" as two women frantically navigated their way around the little amphibian and hastily made for the stairs out. We looked up from our books, laughed, and continued to sizzle in the heat. "Bloody French" Mark added, as the women dripped by.....

Thunderflies were beginning to become a problem. Tiny little millimetre-long flying things that don't bother you until they land on you, and then they touch a hair which triggers a nerve and the area must be scratched. Mark had a lot more patience with them than I did, for I didn't appreciate the interruptions, particularly when my book was getting good, and soon enough I was back on our hotel room balcony, grabbing the last of the day's sun, with my head firmly in Tolkien's 'The Hobbit'.

BZZZZzzz.

BZZZZzzzzzzzzzz.

Wasps.

Although irritating, I could tolerate their buzzing by as a brief wave of the hand was usually enough to ward them off.

BZZZZZZZZzzzzzzummmmmmm. A proper buzz-by and right past my ear, close enough to make me get up in a split-second, lose my page and pursue the little blighter to teach it a lesson. Not panicking, I watched it buzz around on the ground and slowly hovered my foot over one of the balcony tiles, waiting. It had to be right, as poor timing would anger the wasp and perhaps result in a sting.

STAMP! Crunch! WOO HOO! Serves the wretched thing right for ruining my read.

Satisfied that revenge had been justly exacted, I grabbed the chair, found my page, dusted off a couple of thunderflies and settled down once more.

BZZZZZZummmmmmmm. For goodness sake.

BZZZZZZ at one ear, BZZZZZZ at another and despite my wayward flailings, the pesky little thing wouldn't buzz off. Determined not to lose my page once more, I grabbed my bookmark, only to find myself face to face with the stinging insect. In an instant reaction, I snapped the bookmark at the wasp, like a wrung up tea towel at bare flesh, and, I'm proud to say, sent the bastard flying into the patio window and down onto the balcony tiles, its arms, legs, wings, antennae, everything flapping wildly in a stunned, concussed state. I was up, the foot was down and the second wasp of that evening lost its life to a rather pleased me.

Once more I picked up my book, found the page, brushed off some thunderflies and carried on reading. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that the carcass of the first wasp was being devoured by a group of ants. This was fine, but it was attracting more wasps. I was wary, but the remains were almost gone and the entertainment soon disappeared.

'The Hobbit' was really getting good. An enchanting story about a small being called, strangely, a hobbit, and a group of dwarves who set out on a long, dangerous quest for treasure. Written by Tolkien, it is a prelude to Lord Of The Rings and, by this stage, the hobbit and the dwarves were in an inescapable position stuck up in burning trees with the Wargs (packs of wolves) hungrily growling below, ready for their prey to fall.

BZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzz. BZZZZZZZZZ. BZZZZZZZzzzzzummmmmm. THREE of the bastards.

I got up like a shot but was being attacked at both sides, with the other wasp buzzing past my ears. I closed my book, and as I was topless, I felt exposed, under threat and vulnerable.

BZZZZZZZZZ - one came at me again. I swung the book in its direction, but missed, angering the flying sting machines and further endangering myself. Another buzz-by happened and I randomly wielded my book but made no hits. I waved my hand and caught one side on. This was my cue to dash for the door, push it and close it in one motion, do a somersault on my bed and land standing up, facing the window with legs poised and fists clenched. A wasp looked through the window but knew the game was up.

I took the opportunity to jump in the shower and made damned sure that I was wearing insect repellant before going out that evening. After all, just as had happened during the USA tour of 2001, it appeared that we were at war with the insects. It seemed that all was about even at this stage - six mosquito bites in return for three wasp and two mozzie deaths, but the insects are resourceful, and you never know where the next bite will come from.....

Dinner was interesting - we had decided to try the hotel restaurant because it was a mere 6 Euros (£4) for a five course meal. The only questionable part was the dessert, a pale, gelatinous concoction with some sort of powdered topping. There was no taste. Mark pinched his nose and took large mouthfuls, stopping halfway and throwing in the spoon "only cos I've paid for it" he added, while I coated mine in sugar and thought of England.

In the evening we went to the Video Bar which was as empty as it usually is, but not long later two eligible females swanned in, which alerted our senses but made the barman's labedo go haywire. We then overheard a conversation between the girls and the barman, during which he was informed that one girl had just got back with her boyfriend before arriving here, and that she was 19 with an eight month old baby.

So we left and watched Arsenal get trounced. Snigger.



DAY 4 - Thursday 18th September

For some reason, both Mark and I woke up at 6am, then again at 9am just in time for breakfast. Another bland, indistinguishable meal later, interspersed with a few incredibly dry biscuits, and we made our way out to the sunbeds.

There we sat for an hour or so, deeply engrossed in our novels and basking in the morning sun, hoping to balance our reddened chests with an equally beetroot-coloured back.

"AAAARGGH!" shrieked the woman who talked about the "awful accents" a few days before. She flapped her arms and cursed repeatedly before finally settling back down on her sunbed.

It appeared we were not the only ones at war with the insects.

"OooooOOOH OH OH!" she exclaimed, her arms slapping out in front of her like she was fighting another woman, in the way that only women do. "Wasps EVERYWHERE" she added, as if we didn't know already.

Amusingly her husband was sat right next to her, perched in a chair, reading a large book. Unfortunately it seems that he had a spinal condition that arched his back over. Consequently he would have been no use when fighting the wasps and chose instead to completely ignore them, in stark contrast to his wife.

"There's one on your foot" he said matter-of-factly, barley lifting his eyes off the page and sending his wife into a mad, flapping, frenzied panic. She kicked her feet, waved her arms and shrieked some more. "I'm going to complain" she said, and stomped off inside to the reception area where she was told it was under control. It clearly wasn't under control, but the receptionist was obviously enjoying the entertainment as much as we were.

This couple had, by now, been nicknamed 'Yoda and the Mouth' because he, rather cruelly, resembled Star Wars' Yoda when he walked (aided by a stick) and she just wouldn't shut up. She also knew everybody, except us, and had one of those penetrating, hear-it-from-anywhere voices.

The wasps kept attacking, she kept shrieking and we kept laughing. Her husband glanced up "there are three of them around you now" he said, before carrying on with his book whilst she panicked and flapped some more. You couldn't help but think he was enjoying it.

"Brian...!" (flap, wave)

"BRIAN...!" (flail, swipe)

"BRIAN.....!" (stand up, shriek, rapid exit)

This went on for some time before eventually settling down.

Then it was the turn of the birds. Swallows in fact.

With a tremendous cawing coming from the trees beyond, gradually more and more swallows flocked together before dive-bombing the swimming pool. Honestly, it was like somethin out of a Hitchcock film. One by one they gathered up speed and aimed themselves at the pool, presumably picking off surface insects or cooling in surface spray, but nonetheless scaring the shit out of the swimmers.

I looked up, tutted, rubbed off some thunderflies and wished to God the wasps would return and shut the Mouth up, who had gone into hiding by the pool bar but could still be heard across the other side of the pool.

Randomly, the gardener then appeared, pushing a squeaky wheelbarrow. He wheeled it all the way to the low fence, whistling, stopped and tipped it all into next door's garden. He started up whistling his merry tune again and disappeared around the side of the hotel.

I had chosen the Pork Chop Special for dinner, which I later came to regret and washing that down with an Amstel or two, we once more headed to the main square of Hanioti. Having wandered around looking for anywhere with even the remotest signs of nocturnal activity, we returned disappointed to the Blue Cafe where the live music of our first night had been. We sat quietly at the bar, hoping that some eligible females might turn up or even walk past, but there were none. Clearly Hanioti is a paradise for couples intent on spending some quality time together, it is not a place for singles, which left Mark and I a tad disheartened.

Something to look at would be nice, if nothing else, but endless streams of couples, broken up by the odd cluster of pensioners is no good for our evening entertainment. Dear Lord, hear our prayer.....



DAY 5 - Friday 19th September

I am not a fish, I am not built like a fish (for I have neither fins nor gills), nor do I want to be a fish.

Today we went scuba diving. It was something Mark really wanted to do, as he loves swimming and the sea, and I was happy to go along, knowing that I'm not the strongest swimmer, but willing to give it a go and wanting to be able to say I've done it.

If I had been meant to glide along the bottom of the Aegean, I would have scales for skin. If I had been meant to breathe underwater, I would have gills rather than asthmatic lungs. If I had meant to survive the pressure of water 6 metres deep, I would not be in the pain I am when writing this.

Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

We grabbed our packed breakfast after rising early (the pork chop the previous night had given me nightmares so I was all too pleased to get up) and headed for the coach stop.

Upon arrival, we had a brief lesson about how to 'equalize' the air in your head (hold nose and blow hard) and the various forms of sealife that we may or may not see. Also, if we were to spot a seahorse, we would win a t-shirt. Woo hoo! It appeared that we were to go last.

Barely five minutes into the first pair's dive and a seahorse had been spotted (which we later found out was because one of the divers sat on it) and a t-shirt had been won. Oh the lucky devil. There was all sorts of commotion on the shore. "That's only the fourth one this SUMMER" shrieked the ginger bird with the unplaceable accent. Ecstatic we were, no really.

"OCTOPUS" came the cry from the water and this had them jumping up and down. "FIVE OF THEM" he added, before disappearing below the surface once more. The kit girl whinged about not being able to go and have a look and the guy in charge of the air cylinders who was kneeling in the shallows KEPT ON saying "what a day, what a day".

Eventually everybody else had done their dive and it was our turn. Putting on the equipment was easy enough and we turned to put our masks on. "Spit in it" the instructor said, so upon instruction we duly spat in them and rubbed the saliva around, to de-mist apparently. Only I had a cold and what I had coughed up was a semi-solid, marble-sized putrid green ball of illness and germs. With a shrug of the shoulders I pasted it around and let what remained (the majority) float off on the Aegean... "the greener, the cleaner" the instructor said, laughing.

The consent to dive form enquired, amongst numerous other things, as to whether or not you are currently suffering from a cold/congestion or sinusitis. I had lied and put no, such was my intent to participate. Now I wish I'd put yes. The form also asked if you had any history of asthma. Again I had lied and thought of the almost empty inhaler lying on my bedside cabinet.

We knelt down, submerged ourselves and kicked off into the realms of, for me, was 'the unknown'. We 'equalised' a few times (once per metre of depth) and, under the guidance and direction of our instructor who was keeping us together and playing with our equipment, we ventured further out and further under.

Now I know why not having a cold is important. As the ears, nose and throat are all closely connected, when one is partially blocked, it will affect the efficiency of the others. If you combine the difficulty I was having inhaling the air from my oxygen tank, with the increased pressure of the water and my deeper-depth inability to equalize, you will know why I now have ear ache.

Still deeper we went, occassionally being jerked sideways or upwards by our instructor. A finger would appear from above, from time to time, and I would pretend to know what to look at. To me it all seemed like a load of rocks and seaplants, with the odd fish here and there. We headed back, our twenty minutes was apparently up.

"Bloody hell" exclaimed the instructor as we broke the surface and removed our masks. "I've never had so much trouble as I did with you two". We laughed. "One wanted to go left, the other right, I was trying to point things out to you but you wouldn't look the right way. I wanted to show you the octopus and the seahorse, but you were so quick with your fins".

'You would be too if you couldn't breathe properly and just wanted to get the hell out of there' I thought, innocently smiling at him, in a knowing jest.

And so ended our scuba dive. Mark, of course, enjoyed it and is interested in the further courses that were offered. I, on the other hand, am concerned that my ears will never recover and am of the opinion that what's in the sea can stay in the sea.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent lying next to the pool, although I'd seen enough water for one day and chose not to swim. Things are looking up - two eligible females have been spotted and, although Liverpudlians, they want to "go dancing - on tables, on bars, on balconies, we don't care". Watch this space.

After the evening meal, we caught the courtesy bus to town with the Liverpudlians. When the bus came to a stop, they bolted for it and trotted off at a hell of a pace. Our only conclusion was that they, without a shadow of doubt, absolutely 100% HAD to be lesbians.

We had a few beers in the usual places and ended up in the Blue Cafe once more, discussing our jobs. Mark then somehow struck up conversation with two girls at the bar. Serbians - Svetlana and something else completely incomprehensible. With the noise of the music in the bar, combined with the post-diving inability to hear, I caught very little of the conversation, but the gist of it seemed to be that Mark was asking question after question and the responses he got were less than detailed. "Spies" Mark whispered, as the Serbians admitted they had been refused a VISA for the UK. "Pies?" I said.



DAY 6 - Saturday 20th September

"I've got your cold, hayfever and a hangover" Mark said in between sniffs when we finally got up this morning. It had been a far heavier night than we had anticipated, not so much through the quantity drunk, more through the strength of the lager we were throwing down our necks - Amstel, Mythos and Stella all at 5%, the only let-up being Fosters at 4% alcohol, but only served in one bar.....

Eventually we headed for the pool. It was quite cloudy, but the sun was peering through and another day poolside beckoned. "You look like you just got up" joked the attendant at the pool bar where we ordered lunch.

In the late afternoon, I showered and made my way down to the lounge area to watch the football scores coming in. I had to take the initiative and ask everyone if they minded me changing the channel, and no sooner had I done so, the pundits switched to their reporter watching the Spurs game who then announced that Southampton had gone one up, inside three minutes.

"Brilliant" I said, and threatened to change the channel back when others suddenly came to life and exclaimed "NO NO NO, we'll watch this now" and I endured a long afternoon. Before long a 63 year-old Geordie man had sat next to me and whittled on about football for a long while, then saying something I couldn't understand and tottering off.

We went to a Chinese restaurant for dinner, which was ok but expensive. We then sat in a bar and tried to sniff out some eligible females, but to no avail. This front was proving unproductive but hey, at least we're getting tanned.



DAY 7 - Sunday 20th September

Having got used to our daily routine by now, we were on the sunbeds by 10am. I, however, was suffering from stomach troubles that I attributed to the dubiousness of the Chinese chicken of the previous evening.

The majority of the day was spent lying in the sun. It was perhaps the best day so far in terms of clear blue sky and heat. So good, in fact, that we stayed with the die-hards until just after 6pm. Dinner was later that night, as we had booked ourselves in for the fortnightly Greek night.

It would appear that our perceived war with The Insects was nothing more than a one-off battle, but with a few minor skirmishes continuing. Thunderflies, wasps, flying ants and mosquitoes were still bugging (!) us, but their presence was nothing more than an irritation. The Flying Ants and The Mosquitoes were barley noticeable, first evening aside, and we always had the use of Plug-In Bug Zapper Battalion, if the need be. However, Thunderflies and The Wasps were still launching counter-attacks and often needed fending off with sharp swipes of the hands. Losses were relatively low, with Bites & Stings at 6 and Insect Deaths (Thunderflies excluded) at 7. But the war was far from over.

Greek Night was an experience to say the least. We positioned ourselves between a Welsh couple and another couple and sat down to 'enjoy' the Greek music and dancing.

After half an hour of what seemd like the same tune over and over again, the starter was served - pasts dishes of various content. An hour or so passed, the Amstel was sinking nicely, the 'band' were still on repeat and the main course was served - four indistinguishable slabs of meat, one on a skewer (wooo....) and half a ton of rice.

Conversation with the Welsh couple started, and they told us of their trip to Meteora (a monastery on the top of a huge rock) the previous day. "It was bloody AWful, butt" he started, "we left at six am, it took us five and a half hours to get there, we had an hour and a half AT Meteora and then five and a half hours back again. And the WORst thing was that it was with forty-five bloody GERMANS!" We couldn't help but laugh.

We looked up - not far away from us were four Russians, or Serbs, or something equally Eastern European and it took around ten minutes to decide which were the female ones. However, one of the husbands was sporting some most resplendant golfer trousers and I decided my mission for the evening was to photograph his wife's moustache. Which I did, to the amusement of everybody in the vicinity.

Having taken the picture, I zoomed in using the camera's display and said "who is this?" to neighbouring couples. All they could see was an ageing face with glasses, half a smile and a thin moustache. I slowly zoomed out frame by frame until her entirity was revelaed and the couples were shocked, yet distinctly amused to discover she was female.

Yoda was there and Darryl (one of the couple) remarked that if Yoda did have a spinal condition and was hunched over, then surely his face would be in his dinner. We debated this for a while, also discussing The Mouth and The Sour-Faced Mullet who had turned up, her face miserably drooping downwards like some sort of wrinkly fish. We told our newly-found friends about these nicknames and the history behind them, and then pointed out the lesbians that we had spotted a day or two before (the ones we had shared the minibus with). "Well? Are they or aren't they?" I enquired, questioning their sexuality. The general consensus was that they were lesbians, yes, the evidence being the way they rubbed suncream into each other, the tom-boy look of the slimmer one and the fact that they had clearly not been interested in Mark and me when we all met on the minibus. "They've also got matching friendship bracelets on their ankles" I added, settling the whole affair once and for all. There was some whispering between two girls two our left which then erupted into laughter and suggestive looks in our direction.

"What? What is it?" I asked. "Have I got dinner round my face?" They giggled some more, before taking a breath and asking "have you two got matching friendship bracelets too?", then bursting into laughter once more.

I was quite shocked. They thought we were gay. I set them straight, but before long there was a lot of nodding and laughing all the way up the table. Everybody else then admitted that they thought we were gay and asked why we had 'come to a place like this'. We explained about the oiks and the lads holiday culture and evntually they all began to accept that we were not, in fact, a couple like everybody else there. Right there and then our determination was fuelled to find some eligible females and put the debate, amongst other things, to bed...

The Greek dancing (hopping around in circles kicking legs whilst in an arm-in-arm circular chain) was pretty dire, although I did get an excellent picture of The Sour-Faced Mullet and the disco came and went. Before long it was midnight and there were only a few of us left.

Darryl wanted a kebab, so did Ian, and we could have managed one too. "I wonder if Spiros over there will drive down and get some, if we give him the money" Darryl said, but we were sidetracked by the hotel staff turning off all the lights. We discussed the hotel and a few holiday things, and the Mancunian couple we seemed to have befriended, who must have been younger than us and had a three year old kid - Liberty - asleep in the push chair, joined in. "There's lots to do here, but not so much when you're 'with child'" the girlfriend said, motioning towards Liberty, but backing it up with a gesticulatory circular loop from her stomach and puffing out her cheeks. "What? Are you pregnant AGAIN?" Darryl blurted, as silence descended like a huge lead blanket. 'Oh no' we all thought, and cringed through our smiles, knowing that although a really nice looking girl, she could do with shedding a pound or ten.

And that seemed like a good point at which to end Greek Night, and also our first week.