An irregular, irreverent, post-modern account of the surreal, the ordinary, and the bizarre happenings on and around the Felia lavender farm in Crete

Friday, December 01, 2006


Turns out it was a 44 although why it turned left I have no idea - probably that dozy driver. He's stuck in heavy traffic and I flick him a V as I walk past and give him the tosser sign for good measure. The two old ladies wave - mad old cow disease I guess. Endless swathes of charity shops, boarded up windows and scabby clothes shops until I get my right - Totterdown - how apt for the old biddies and then on up and 3rd right into the top end of Undine -steady now - all on edge - watching and listening to and for everything. It's a long victorian terrace although half or more of the slate roofs have been buggered up with red concrete tiles - you can see where they didn't reinforce the trusses - cheapskates, still it'll be their funeral when all that concrete drops in on them. Is her place on the left or the right though? No way to know from the report. Green door - that might help. Luckily the original brick walls that separate the tine fronts gardens from the pavement are mostly still in place and that only because the gardens are too small for a car port. Thigh high it'll provide good enough cover. I stop by a house that has, for reasons defying taste and sense, had crazy paving applied vertically to the front wall --- and grouted in grey - is there really no end to this barbarism - who the hell allowed that? Their trusses are bowing - serve them bloody well right. OK - I've got the green door 3 in and it's on the other side - lucky - over the wall and through the gardens. I settle in two doors up - good job I've got that bacon sandwich - this could be long job. I'll warm it up in my armpit later. Three hours, 1 bacon sandwich and a sly piss in the bushes and I've picked up not one but 2 sets of curtain twitchers that aren't bored housewives or old ladies. The lovely Sonia isn't back yet but I'm deffo not hanging around - I've got what I need and now I need a crap.

Back out on Totterdown I hail a black cab and head on home. I shall be needing a bath and a rest to warm up and unwind my aching bones. And I'd best check on George's nag. Luckily the cabbie doesn't want to chat - a real one in a million - thank you. I am shagged and cold and aching all over. I am getting too old for this shit.



  1. Now it's more John Gardner than Deighton.

    Definitely a touch of Boysie Oakes there!

  2. Just to let you know that the author takes no offence at authorial comparisons but he does have to own up to having to Wiki (a verb not dissimilar to the verb to google) John Gradner as the only John Garner that he was aware of was this one:

    Too sodding literary for his own bloody good - says Charlie.

  3. Wrong one. Try this

    Failing that, just wiki "Boysie Oakes".

    And Gardner's own home page is here.