Of Russian Oligarchs

“That’s £12.00 please…”

We only take cash.  We’re used to seeing cash.  We’re not used to seeing eleventy billion Great British pounds, all at once, pulled from a trouser pocket.

The women stand a few paces back, talking among themselves.   The men have ordered souvlaki.  Pork souvlaki.  Man food.

Eyes back in their sockets, I ask the Greek God, ‘Did you see all the money?  What d’you think?  Gamblers?  Mafia??  Oh, God, I hope they like their food.’

The foreign men come back a minute later. Ooh ‘eck.  I wonder whether we have displeased them.  Do they have a gun?  They stand, side by side.  I am quite scared.

They look at each before one of them asks, ‘You have some napkins please?’

Crumbs.  It seems even Russian oligarchs can get in a mess with tzatziki…

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