Saturday, July 01, 2017
Kefalonia 2017 - Part 4
Now the fun starts...
You know what it was like as a kid in the build up to Christmas? The excitement of getting an advent calendar on the 1st, even more excitement putting the tree up? Presents magically appearing round the tree that you never queried as not being from Santa? And finally seeing that half eaten mince pie, the gnawed carrot and the empty Whiskey bottle (which was full the night before, and only in later years did the relationship between that and my parents general grumpiness on Christmas day become apparent) and realising Santa had been? Well, that's how we have felt this morning...
We've been monitoring the Easyjet flight from Gatwick from it's first gate open moment, to it's late take off, to it's finally landing in Kef. Set squares, slides rulers and theodolites have been extensively used, angles calculated and licked fingers held to the wind all to make sure we know exactly when Mr & Mrs Watford will arrive.
Having calculated their arrival time to three decimal places, we are bouncing on our sunbeds in nervous anticipation of their arrival. But they do not come. A broken baggage belt has left them delayed at the airport, and with that deflated feeling you had on Christmas morning when opening up what you hoped was Super Mario Cart 64 turned out to be Super Stories for Plucky Young Chaps, we slink off to the bar.
It's not long however before spirits are revived (and indeed drunk). Like when you found your parents had been sandbagging you and produced a brand new Playstation from behind the sofa, (with six games included), we are soon united with the W's and the holiday can really begin.
We tell them about new barman Theo, who makes his own ginger flavoured spirit base that will blow your head off. we urge them not to try it.
We then tell them about the Kimono Cult. Or cunts, I'm not quite sure what Lisa said. These are three Norwegians who walk around with towels wrapped around their necks and blue and white silk kimonos on, in the style of a boxer heading for the ring. The thing that really makes them cults though, is the fact that they are all wearing odd pairs of crocs...FFS, the Kimonos were bad enough but odd fucking crocs??? Oh my giddy days...
We then tell them about an incident on our first night that left me doubled up with laughter and the wife's reputation as a level headed and sober individual in tatters...
It starts with a visit on our first night to our favourite restaurant, Phaedra. We previously ate here a couple of times on our previous visit to Lassi, and it's fair to say the staff are very friendly, kissing and hugging all and sundry who come up their steps. We too were accorded this privilege, and after our fabulous meal were presented with their special postprandial liqueur - Cherry Raki - on the house. This arrived in a small specimen bottle holding enough for two shots each. Lisa downed it in one and, telling the waitress, the lovely Klodia, how nice it was, bags us another bottle. I assume it's good as I didn't get a look in edgeways for a drop. This scenario was repeated every time we went in there, increasing from one freebie to two, two to three and eventually on our final visit them simply giving in and sending us on our way with a whole free bottle of the stuff.
Fast forward a year and we're marching up the steps to get in, negotiating a veritable scrum of hugs, kisses and backslaps from the male waiters on the reception desk when we hear a commotion behind us. Turning round we see Klodia running across the restaurant towards us, arms wide open and, having swept Lisa into a massive hug she says the now immortal line: "Mrs Cherry Raki, you have come back!"
You know what it was like as a kid in the build up to Christmas? The excitement of getting an advent calendar on the 1st, even more excitement putting the tree up? Presents magically appearing round the tree that you never queried as not being from Santa? And finally seeing that half eaten mince pie, the gnawed carrot and the empty Whiskey bottle (which was full the night before, and only in later years did the relationship between that and my parents general grumpiness on Christmas day become apparent) and realising Santa had been? Well, that's how we have felt this morning...
We've been monitoring the Easyjet flight from Gatwick from it's first gate open moment, to it's late take off, to it's finally landing in Kef. Set squares, slides rulers and theodolites have been extensively used, angles calculated and licked fingers held to the wind all to make sure we know exactly when Mr & Mrs Watford will arrive.
Having calculated their arrival time to three decimal places, we are bouncing on our sunbeds in nervous anticipation of their arrival. But they do not come. A broken baggage belt has left them delayed at the airport, and with that deflated feeling you had on Christmas morning when opening up what you hoped was Super Mario Cart 64 turned out to be Super Stories for Plucky Young Chaps, we slink off to the bar.
It's not long however before spirits are revived (and indeed drunk). Like when you found your parents had been sandbagging you and produced a brand new Playstation from behind the sofa, (with six games included), we are soon united with the W's and the holiday can really begin.
We tell them about new barman Theo, who makes his own ginger flavoured spirit base that will blow your head off. we urge them not to try it.
We then tell them about the Kimono Cult. Or cunts, I'm not quite sure what Lisa said. These are three Norwegians who walk around with towels wrapped around their necks and blue and white silk kimonos on, in the style of a boxer heading for the ring. The thing that really makes them cults though, is the fact that they are all wearing odd pairs of crocs...FFS, the Kimonos were bad enough but odd fucking crocs??? Oh my giddy days...
We then tell them about an incident on our first night that left me doubled up with laughter and the wife's reputation as a level headed and sober individual in tatters...
It starts with a visit on our first night to our favourite restaurant, Phaedra. We previously ate here a couple of times on our previous visit to Lassi, and it's fair to say the staff are very friendly, kissing and hugging all and sundry who come up their steps. We too were accorded this privilege, and after our fabulous meal were presented with their special postprandial liqueur - Cherry Raki - on the house. This arrived in a small specimen bottle holding enough for two shots each. Lisa downed it in one and, telling the waitress, the lovely Klodia, how nice it was, bags us another bottle. I assume it's good as I didn't get a look in edgeways for a drop. This scenario was repeated every time we went in there, increasing from one freebie to two, two to three and eventually on our final visit them simply giving in and sending us on our way with a whole free bottle of the stuff.
Fast forward a year and we're marching up the steps to get in, negotiating a veritable scrum of hugs, kisses and backslaps from the male waiters on the reception desk when we hear a commotion behind us. Turning round we see Klodia running across the restaurant towards us, arms wide open and, having swept Lisa into a massive hug she says the now immortal line: "Mrs Cherry Raki, you have come back!"
