I’m loving Greece. But like really loving it. Ok, pools, beaches, no working, total R&R all combine to deflect reality for the short-term and create a feeling of well being and love for all men, women, LGBTSUVBBCUAEG&T and everything else in between, but beyond the normal holiday illusion, Greece is special.

For a nation brought to its knees by masses of recessionary debt verging on bankruptcy not long ago, the people remain upbeat. It’s the Greek way. They invented democracy on a hill in Athens which I walked up the other day. And ‘absorbed’ some of that into the soles of my feet. There’s a kind of freedom of spirit here, perhaps the relief still that the Turks left in about 1200AD and the Romans had long gone and the Syrians, Babylonians and Hungarians had let them be after centuries of outside rule. Or perhaps its just the fucking heat. Either way they’re free and they’re lovely.

We went to a restaurant in Athens and it was full. So as we were walking away a very elegant, 70-year old man said to me ‘that’s a lovely restaurant’. ‘Yeah’, I told him, ‘but its full’. At which point he changed direction and led us 5 minutes round a few back streets to another. Pointed to our table and went back the way he’d come. He never offered to pay but it was a lovely gesture anyway.

And they can park where they like. One measure of true ‘freedom’ in any society. Ok, they park really badly and cause obstructions at every opportunity but the law here is flexible in that respect. They also don’t wear crash helmets on motor cycles. I’m not saying that’s a good thing, a terrible thing, an outrageous thing or any thing. It just means they are free to decide. Free to feel the wind in their hair, free to die on a Suzuki 250 on an Autoroute near Mount Olympus.

One legacy of the Euro crash is that food prices in restaurants are outrageously good value. You can eat like a god (Greek god, 10-a-penny) for 50 quid a couple, or obviously spend more. But you can eat really well for less than £20. Including wine, beer, drugs, wild women, baclava and a limo there and back. And this is feta-heaven, if you like such a thing. Last night for starter we had feta, baked in pastry, covered in honey. I’ve never eaten ‘heaven’, not even sure it exists, but if Carlsberg made heaven…

And so to my favourite thought whilst sitting at a swimming pool. Ok, one of my favourite thoughts. “Why would you have THAT fucking tattoo????” Why would a single parent from Esher have an entire Maori legend inked from toe to shoulder? What would make a grandmother from Gstaad walk around with half the astronomical constellations etched permanently across her tits? What is the purpose of a ‘full sleeve’ if you’re not a footballer?

Philosophy’s the other thing done in Greece (though not for about 2,500 years, sadly) so I shall ponder all this during my stay in my vision of heaven.

Happy Hellenic Tuesday

A xxxx