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

Saturday, December 02, 2006


The cabbie didn't kill us both despite spending most of his time on the phone - talking to his bit on the side from what I could make out - so that's why he didn't want to talk my hind leg off but it sure wasn't her hind leg he was interested in. I tipped a load of junk mail in the bin as I came past the mail slots in the entrance lobby - mine and some other people's - the only mail I want I get delivered elsewhere - sometimes I look at the amount of crap that comes through the letterboxes here and wonder whether the poor old postie doesn't have some sort of rupture - he's a rum old geezer though and still wears shorts in October - nutter.

So now I'm laying back in a deep hot bath and going over the "facts". The creases are easing out slowly and I'm warming up a treat. Trying not to run the list that always comes to mind in the bath: Seneca the Younger, Marat, Tod Browning, Lenny Bruce, Montgomery Clift, Judy Garland, Jim Morrison, B S Johnson, Jack Nance, and most recently of all, Kenneth Lay - with my usual amount of success - none. As you can tell I'm kind of wildly ambivalent about baths and bathrooms. It's a good list, an illustrious list in a way, but I sure don't want my name adding to it. No thanks. I reach out for another fag and light up. Good old lung cancer'll do for me ta. Down to work.

What do we have then?

A project that is clearly weird - the last time I got a straight on case Methuselah was a boy - and that joke file tells me more by what isn't in it than what is.

A hundred missing intercepts? Or is the 101 just a yank thing?

Two Alexes - one the colonel and one the writer of the intercepted missive - AG.

An assassin - professional we presume but employed or freelance? - called Boris.

Two surveillance teams in operation on our lovely Sonia - maybe 3 if we count our boys and girls.

Some very healthy paranoia.

1 murder - probably.

some soviet shenanigans - certainly.

My gut churns and a stream of bubbles makes it to the surface through the scum. Sniff that Poirot! I smelled Bratva from the outset and that mention of Obshina nails it pretty perfectly for me. The FSB reference is phoney - I'm sure - I'd bet on it - better bet than George's too (2nd at 16 to 1 SP). A blind. God help us this is gonna be a bramah. Sharpen up Charlie! These guys play for keeps.

Time for coffee. Pull the plug. Wrap the towel around. Step out. Christ I'm looking a mess these days -the old AD has started ravaging this once wonderful - godlike - physique.


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