Mytilene

Abandoned Kitten

I never thought I'd write the words 'Abandoned Kitten' on my blog, but here I am writing them down like Maty friggin Poppins! During my trip in the Balkans this summer, my friend Laverne's friend, runs a vet and came one day after a swim (in Mytilene they go swimming during their lunch break) to find a kitten abandoned outside her practice. Of course my friend Laverne who is the UN incarnate had to feed the kitten and hug it and stroke it and... So by chance I found photos of it on my phone and thought I'd share them with you guys. The reason I did so is because I am thinking of getting a cat so I am in a pro-animal mood! Enjoy!

Cherchez le Sugar Daddy

So while on the Balkan Bonanza, Laverne (who I had renamed Jablonski) and I were sitting in Athens Airport. Of course for the umpteenth time I had to visit the bathroom because I am a neurotic. I get back and see Laverne (aka Jablonski) sitting there with a furious look on her face. No if you met Laverne you will instantly recognise that she is the sweetest, kindest person to walk the Earth and wants to save the world. I on the other hand am the opposite who would rather take over the world and then sell in on eBay bit by bit. Why we are friend is quite beyond me.

But today it was different. Laverne was in a foul mood. ‘Don’t look now, but the guy over there was blowing kisses to me and making rude gestures.’ I glanced over and saw an aging 50 year old, waeing white from head to toe with an open V-neck shirt, exposing his greying hairy chest. I could tell me was Greek from the gold cross he was wearing. ‘So you know what I did’ continued Laverne, ‘I did NA!’ she said slapping one had over the other. I glared at him and he looked away, ashamed of his actions. What a grubby old man. But it gets better, moments later his wife arrived, followed by his son who was our age and is a Brat and his daughter who looked like a goth-gone-cheerleading.

And what’s more, they weren’t just Greek. They were American-Greek. Laverne who comes from LA and is well versed in American pop-culture could easy tell me about the lives of these people. And so she began to dissect their characters bit by bit: they’re from New York. But not from the city. Maybe upstate. Maybe Long Island. You can tell their marriage is held together by material objects. I mean just look at the wife’s tan and bleached blonde hair. The son (who was lying on the sofa taking up three seats or so) acts like a brat. The father surely has affairs and…

She stopped because the wife who was chain-smoking got up to get the son another magazine of Maxim because he lost it and was moaning. He’s 24! What?

Balkan Photos 2

More photos from the Balkan Bonanza:

Top to Bottom: Leaving Athens // Herceg Novi, Montenegro // Dubrovnik, Croatia

Balkan Photos 1

The reason I have not been updating this blog is because I was away on what my friend and I call, the Balkan Bonanza. It was our backpacking trip in the Balkans in Greece, Serbia, Bosnia and Hercegovina, Croatia and Montenegro. Below are some photos from our trip.

From top to bottom: Sarajevo, Belgrade, Athens

(More photos coming soon)

Phonecalls to my Hater

So when I go on holiday I’m going to do things I always wanted to do and couldn’t do in Cyprus. I did it in Vegas, I did it in Tijuana. Now I’m going to do it in Sarajevo. And what am I going to get up to, you may be asking? Get revenge.

Confused? Don’t be. Let me explain. I’m the kind of person who ends up attracting the wrong kind of people. Not necessarily bad people, rather, sociopaths, sycophants (of others), ex-groupies, swingers, Scientologists and randoms who don’t know what they want.

And so I end up with a disproportionate amount of emails, phone calls and texts or people asking odd things. Things that are mostly illegal in places like Iran and Chechnya. Last week, I received a text saying: Hey do u remember me? Would you like to meet up today for some fun?

It fun means bashing the people you hated at school in a giant boxing ring, then sure. If it’s anything else, then no. So I replied diplomatically by saying: Who r u? How the hell did u get my number? No reply. Nothing.

So, when I get to the Balkans, I am going to call this person and all the others who have double crossed me, from every single country, city, village I visit and phone box I pass. They will receive calls from Serbia, Bosnia and so on, that they’ll go mad and wonder who is calling them at 3am (you don’t expect me to call them at convenient time now do you?)

So beware, if you start getting number with a rather strange dialling code, then it could be me, calling you from inner Albania from a phone box in a crumbing village, laughing all night, while you lie there, in your bed, panicking and wondering, who’s out to get you. It could be me. Or it could be the Albanian mafia.