As I was leaving the Greek Hovel this morning at around 9.30 the gardeners arrived. Before Dan Levi tweets out abuse from the Manchester slums about how I am outsourcing hard work, let me explain.
I refer, of course, to the flock of sheep which have now spent two days grazing on the land. I now that snakes do not like sheep and I know that trimming the grass will reduce the habitat options for the local wildlife diversity. And so this was my cunning plan, all I needed was a shepherd to play ball and a translator and Foti did the business on Tuesday.
Sadly, I am told that sheep prefer luscious green grass and not my dry and brown offering and so the gardeners may not be coming that much more. Bloody hell. I prefer a delicately grilled fresh trout in a lemon sauce washed down with a chilled Burgundy white to Greek salad and a can of diet coke but there do not happen to be that any 4 * restaurants in the ‘hood. And for that matter I cannot see a blade of green grass anywhere near Kambos – the whole area is scorched and dry. How fussy can a sheep be?
It seems as if the grass cutting will be down to me. Foti has a machine and says he will teach me to use it. But he says that I must be careful of the snakes. He is a wily old goat, he knows how to yank my chain.
5 Euro an hour and Foti cuts the grass and meets the snakes or zero cost and I cut the grass and meet the snakes. Hmmmm, I shall sleep on it but apparently trade is brisk at Real Man and so I might duck out of this one. I am sure I can persuade myself that it is all about opportunity cost.
Anyhow, especially for Paul Roberts and my other readers from Wales, here are my gardeners.
