Greek Night

Now, before I start, I'm not being horrible. It was one of those classic events that was naff and cringeworthy but still heaps of fun in the long run.

"You must come to our Greek Night on Monday!" The receptionist had begged. We'd already read that it was a bit of a hoot, so we paid €40 to attend. Our only information was that it would be an authentic Greek night with food.

Now I was wondering where it would be held. I mean, how do you stop other guests attending who haven't paid to attend? Oh, I see; it's at the pool bar area, which is open-plan! So glad we paid forty Euros. The wife and I bought a drink and sat in the wicker chairs just as Kefalonia's version of Derrick and Dave, the local pub entertainers, started to set up; I have no idea what their real names are, but with his Bontempi organ, Derrick accompanied his mate Dave, who wandered around and strummed his Bouzouki in your face (I kid you not) all while sporting with a deadpan expression. "Smile, you git! I paid €40 for this!"

I've discovered the problem with Greek music is IT NEVER ENDS! We were treated to Zorba's Dance no less than three times! Clearly, Derrick and Dave's repertoire is limited, to say the least, although I suspect they would argue they were simply playing songs that the "Those Larger Swilling Brits!" have heard before.

What I didn't know was they were, in fact, playing for time and trying desperately to keep us occupied. Our host, Maria, who I honestly believe was drunk as a skunk, constantly took to the floor to bellow at us, imploring us to be happy and patient because the show had basically gone to pot, and she was desperately trying to cobble something together. Unfortunately, Derrick and Dave hit us with the most evil song in Europe is Siko Corpse Sirtaki. AKA the La La LaLaLaLa La La song Reader Beware! This song will take over your brain.

My missus in the green top, dancing to the damn song at the bottom of the page

The original dancers had let her down apparently, but she knew a couple of lads from the local kebab house who she must have been offered €100 to come and fling each other about for us.

I did laugh when they arrived. They were clearly kicked out of a cab at the bottom of the stairs, and Maria (Our host) promptly shoved them onto the patio. "Dance, monkey boy, dance!" To be fair, I have no idea if they were a couple of lads that Maria knew; all I know is I couldn't do what they did; my leg never went that high when I was twenty, let alone now.

Then came the exciting bit. They created a 'Fire Ring' on the patio floor while a lad danced inside it.

Maria then encouraged the audience to throw plates at the dancer's feet, hoping a chard of super-sharp glaze would take someone's eye out!

People were ducking and diving as the more overzealous and probably drunk participants endeavoured to hurl a cereal bowl to the ground with the greatest force possible, ensuring an almost napalm spread of white porcelain over most of us. Maria, of course, gave the best rendition as one of her staff handed her a stack of around twenty plates, which she devasted with another plate, making it look like a snowfall of pottery. The next day, the area was still covered in shards of plates and bowls, which was a bit dangerous, given that the bar was next to the pool. Like I said, it was fun, but I'm not sure it was worth €40.

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My actual name is Pete. Here is why I have the username dickturpin.

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