There was i just dozing off gently as the "Cathedrals Express," which I had caught at Moreton in the Marsh, pulled slowly past Didcot. Then my phone rang. It was a Greek number but not one that I recognised. It was Nicho the Communist on a land line.
So you are in England, he said. I replied that I was. He was calling to say thart he and "The Albanian" were returning to the Greek Hovel this afternoon to finish the frigana poisoning. Thank you very much I said in Greek. We will meet this weekend to sort out a second payment for the Albanian and for me to hand over his favoured currency, whiskey.
The job is done, even without my assistance. In less then ten days what were green fields dotted with green frigana will be a golden brown. And we can start plotting where to plant our new olive trees.
In Kambos, Avrio may not always be tomorrow but it always comes in the end.