The lack of progress on getting permits to rebuild the Greek Hovel is starting to concern me and I am keen to make contact with George the architect ahead of my next trip on Saturday. And so I pick up my battered 1990s Nokia phone and scroll the directory and finding a George with a Greek number I call. For once I get an answer...
But the fellow does not seem to understand a word I say and is babbling away in Greek. It dawns on me quickly that this is in fact George the Albanian who assists me with all things olives. Tikani? Cala. we say to each other. We know we are both well but that is about the end of it. I try to convey that I will arrive on Saturday with the phrase avrio, avrio Saturday.
But I fear that lost in translation does not convey what is going on as Tomorrow, tomorrow, Saturday is pretty meaningless. I hope I see him on Saturday.
I then try calling George the architect who speaks perfect English but seems to have disappeared altogether. My heart sinks again.