“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…