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, March 16, 2007


Keith surreptitiously glimpsed over at her table ... he didn't want her to see him looking ... he didn't need his ear bending tonight ... Robbo would be coming in soon and he wanted to spend some quality time with him ... Robbo was a local jack the lad ... a proper scouse scally ... Keith was fascinated by him ... that accent ... that empty swagger ... all that vapid posturing ... Keith knew in his heart it was empty but still it drew him in ... or was it those muscled shoulders and that squat little body ... the weather beaten face and the balding head ... no ... that was nowhere he wanted to go.

Liz gave him the creeps big time. She was ordering another drink ... not looking his way ... one more and she'd have to hit the tab again ... these sad old dames creeped him out ... if she told him about her abusive father and downtrodden mother once more he'd have to think seriously about hightailing it back to the US. This was what passed for a social worker in this country ... third world ... seriously fucked up. She aways ended up crying or ranting ... she seemed only to have two modes ... and he didn't like either of them but ... but she was a regular ... and he was the owner ... how was it the Brits called it ... noblesse oblige ... something like that ... what you have to do in his job.

Robbo was a diamond though ... last time he'd been close to bankruptcy he'd helped out ... shelled over his latest redundancy payment ... that had kept the wolves away for just long enough ... OK so he drank too much ... didn't all the regulars ... what else was there in their lives ... the place was a toilet ... what was he doing here ... he'd left before the guys got after him and he still didn't know what was waiting for him if he ever went back ... fingers crossed that wouldn't be necessary ... those people have long memories ... look at the trouble Polanski was still in ... and that at least was a girl ... and Polanski was pretty kosher everywhere else in the world.

He was watching the door in the mirror behind the bar and he saw Mad LIz looking his way ... please no ... don't let her ... the barman brought her drink and Keith took the opportunity to slip off to the head unnoticed.  He stood pissing ... wondered how much longer Robbo would be ... he was he thought like a young girl waiting for a date to turn up ... no, don't even think it ...  stay straight ... shaking off he reminded himself to check the cleaning roster ... he nodded the state of the bathroom through ... Malcolm - an hour and a half ago ... Wayne due in half an hour ... the waft of deodorant caught in his throat and as he opened the outer door the smell of burgers ... next week the mexican menu comes on line ... hope that picks business up a bit ... should get the later passing trade ... he hoped ... margins were still dangerously slim ... wafer thin ... thank God for the regulars ... he stepped out and saw Robbo swagger in ...

1 comment:

  1. So, this is what life in Crete is really like, huh?

    Worra laugh!

    Funny though, I've met the same types in France and Spain (but particularly Spain).

    Apparently two-thirds of all Brit expats return to Blighty within 3 years (after having spent their entire time abroad running the place down).

    Glad you can find some amusement in the type.