Mosquito Madness

Saturday, 19th July

I have always been a mosquito magnet, but in recent years Troy has proved more appealing. Until this holiday. For some reason my left shoulder has proved a popular fly through fast bite joint. In fact I have attracted a particularly virulent bunch, leaving me, or at least my shoulder, as a pustulent, suppurating mass. I have Aspivenin’ed, Zanza-Click’ed, applied ammonia, and Raki, but today I can hardly lift my arm. This is not good in the swimming pool, so I caved in and started on the antibiotics. I went out to take some photos of the Olive Grove this morning, and the new camera started talking to me. It was only saying that I needed to charge the battery, in a sat-navvy tone, but think of the possibilities…

‘Just because you have a new camera, doesn’t make you David Bailey.’
‘If you put that on Facebook, there will be trouble.’
‘How many times do I have to remind you to take off the lens cap?’

On a mission to find cotton buds, as I have forgotten to pack any. Discover a brand specially designed to go in the ear - hooray, that’s a coup. But what is the point of a cotton bud, if you can’t put them in your ears. That’s like having your cake and not eating it. Pointless bloody cake. We go for a swim in the sea, for the first time this holiday. It’s warmer than the pool.
Apparently the reason the restaurants are so empty, is because all the hotels have gone over to all inclusive packages. This is good news, as all the restaurants have to keep their prices down. The knock-on effect is that food prices aren’t rocketing as much as everywhere else. In fact, when we unearthed Troy’s stash, a 2005 six-pack of Amstel was €4.10, now it is €3.95.

Troy has brought his special French double Café Crème tins along, to decant his smokes into. Tonight he reads the French health warning. It says, ‘Fumer peut diminiuer l’afflux sanguine et provoque l’impuissance.’ ‘Too right,’ I say, ‘common cause of impotence, smoking furs up the arteries to the penis.’ ‘If only I could get the ruddy thing lit,’ he said, thumbing the wheel of his zippo.

Sunday, 20th July

‘Rampant Inactivity’

We had a great meal last night up at Plaka, but took a slightly over-circuitous route home. At least it was all downhill, until we got to the beach and headed back up. Woke up this morning to more glorious sunshine. Almost at the ‘just another fucking day in paradise’ stage. I only know that it’s Sunday because my pill box tells me so. Found a flyer for a boat trip that seems a bit less traumatic than the usual – burn because there’s no cover for eight hours and eat a shit lunch - trip. Achieved precisely nothing today, which I suppose is the point of: (a) it being Sunday, and (b), being on holiday. Still doesn’t seem right though.