“Can I have an ouzo with a drop of water and 1 ice cube?”

The barman is so used to serving the English abroad that he pours me a rosé. Ouzo / Rosé. It all sounds much the same when spoken in a language that isn’t yours. We iron out the mistake and I end up with both. Lou doesn’t want either, so I head back up and onto our balcony double-fisting.

Tonight we are in the Karavados Beach Hotel. It’s cheap, so we weren’t expecting much. They cater largely to tour groups and then list the remaining rooms online. We are in perhaps their furthest room from centre. It’s miles away from the swimming pool area where they play Ricky Martin and give you the wrong drink. We are in a far flung corner. The sort of place I like best. It’s dark here, and peaceful. I’m on the balcony. Mosquitos play happily around my legs and feet as I write. We all deserve a good meal from time to time. I had chicken souvlaki. They are getting some of it second hand. I went trekking in the Amazon in rainy season and they were on me like a carpet. This is mild by comparison. Let the little things munch.

The local beach has an orthodox shrine and next to it there’s a steep drop where old people are supposed to have gone in order to take the leap and make space for those younger than them. Lou takes me up there at night. I look over the top. Nobody pushes me, which is good. I’ve still got fucktons to do. A truly great friend of dad’s shuffled off his mortal coil this week, and there was still space for him. He was looking backwards, digitising old photographs of happier times, making gnomic comments on Facebook. Maybe he missed his friends. Surely he did. But we will miss him. There’s a great big party up there and he will have been very much awaited, sticking with us and keeping us all entertained. I’d seek his company first whenever I landed in the Isle of Man. I truly believed he would never stop. There are some friends of dad’s left, but this particular passing really marks the end of an era for me. I’m sure I’ll be able to get over to the island for the funeral.

Meantime it seems the onus is on me to LIVE. I hope I’ll work the next few races for Extreme-e – if they’ll have me back. I can fit my year around it, make some money, see some incredible far flung places and help build an interesting ethical future for racing – my father’s industry.

Meanwhile though I’m gonna listen to the cicadas and the dogs here in the gathering Ionian night. The stars are bright when my phone is off. The Rosé is nothing but an empty glass. My ouzo has been my nightcap here. Fresh, local and that sharp bite. I will sit in the dark awhile and sip my ouzo as the culicidae sip the blood from my veins.

We did things today. We lit candles in a hermit’s grotto. We saw a watermill powered by sinkholes. We went to a lighthouse. We swam in the sea. We did many more things. But yeah. Ouzo, mosquitos and old people jumping off cliffs. HEY GUYS IF YOU WANT MORE CONTENT ABOUT MOSQUITOS, HIT LIKE AND SUBSCRIBE OR WHATEVER.

Lou just switched off the light the other side of the glass balcony doors. Then she opened them “for a breeze.” We are gonna get eaten alive tonight. But sitting here with my phone screen the only light source finishing this I AM BECOME FOOD. I RETURN MYSELF TO NATURE. COME SUCK MY BODY EAT ME I AM YOURS NOW OH SIX LEGGED HIGH PITCHED PARASITIC … fuck this I’m going inside.

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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