So we’re on our way to Kea island. Where???? You may well ask. Middle’afuckin’ nowhere, is the short answer. Possibly ‘middle of the Aegean Sea. Same difference.

We were looking for a break, a quick holiday to raise the spirits and rest the souls and enhance Mrs Conway’s suntan. And me mate Mark begged me, encouraged me, eventually forced me to have the holiday he’d had two months ago. He didn’t offer to pay for it, like a good friend would have, just made me do it.

So Sunday morning we’re up at 4. Out by 5, driving to Stansted. Driving? Yes, for the first time in decades, I’ve taken a car to the airport. Because it’s reliable, the driving is better than an Uber, certainly faster, and it’s cheaper to park than take a taxi. Getting a train from Liverpool Street at 5am was never an option. And the parking guaranteed ‘a 5-7 minute walk to the terminal’. Which it wasn’t. No, it really, really REALLY wasn’t. It was one of those annoying carpark buses which I, quite frankly, hate. They’ll be hearing from my lawyers.

Flight good. They’re always ‘good’. You take off, go to sleep, land. In Athens. What can go wrong? Then a taxi to the ferry port and… you wait.

Ferry ports the world over are horrible. They build them in nice areas, beautiful surroundings, normally near the sea, probably, then they spend 3 years and 4 million Euros making it all look near-derelict, dirty, rotten and seedy. It’s an art. Like Tracey Emin designed it. Because if it’s too pretty, the ferries will refuse to land there. So it’s shitty. And we’ve only got about 2 hours here, so it’s not… yes it is, it’s very bad if you’re as impatient as I am. Mel’s happy as long as she’s in the sun. Anywhere in the sun. And in the absence of, like, a really nice cafe or restaurant, because who’d want one of those in the neighbourhood?, we instead ‘went native’ and at the typical and traditional Greek lunch. A bag of barbecue flavoured crisps and a Sprite. Mediterranean food; all good here, you’ll live forever with that diet.

Once the ferry arrives we’re just one hour away from Kea Island, the land of Mark’s dreams. Then a short cab ride to the hotel and that’ll be hopefully just 12 hours since we left home.

And all I can say, Mark, is: IT BETTER BE FUCKING GOOD!!!

Happy Sunday

A xxxx