Tuesday, 22 September 2009
England versus Germany
In Petriti, a small fishing village in the south of Corfu, the fishing boats are coming in from their nightly operations. There are about eight of them in front of Vasilli's taverna on the quayside. Three years ago, he was full of bile for the crew, insisting they were Albanians who blocked his view and lived aboard to avoid tax.
This year, he tells a different story, unaware that he has met us before.
'The boats? Three of them are my family's. I am married to the daughter,' he says, chest puffing out with pride.
We are moored stern-to at the quayside, sandwiched between two yachts full of Germans. This is almost a fate worse than death for Mr Grigg's brother. It is not very nice, I know, but British memories go back a long way, even to a time when they weren't born, when uncles perished at the hands of the enemy in World War II. He is not a football fan but nevertheless would watch England versus Germany with Mr Grigg at the drop of a hat.
My iPod is playing Jupiter from Holst's Planet Suite and it reaches the part where it turns into the tune for I Vow To Thee My Country. Mr Grigg's brother turns it up, this song that is the epitome of being British. But, hang on a minute, wasn't Holst of Swedish extraction?
My thoughts are disrupted as a wasp comes along and kisses Mr Grigg on the nipple.
It's a hard life.
That's about it
Love Maddie x