My passport…

… finally came through.

The accompanying letter told me that the previous one, reported lost, had, in fact, been used by someone. There was a strong hint that I was under suspicion of having SOLD it, because there was a pre-printed sheet with all the dire warnings of consequences, rhubarb, rhubarb.

In a mad moment, clutching my precious identity, and without fear of capture, I decided to take a short break in the UK. From the weather point of view, this was a dire mistake. I arrived in London on the 15th of November, and it wasn’t too bad, but it just got worse and worse and colder and colder until my return here yesterday.

I did quite a number of things in the UK. There were friends to look up, one of whom, Rod – I haven’t mentioned him before to protect the innocent – has been very kindly looking after my hundreds of books and the more precious items I didn’t want to ditch when my witness protection program started. At the time, I had told him I was going to Wales, and he was quite impressed with my suntan when I returned to sub-zero Fulham! I arranged for the books and stuff to be freighted to Greece.

I reconnected with my London bank, and paid quite a few bad debts I left behind when I was shipped to Glasgow. You see before you a man with spotless conscience.

I also bought a sexy HP iPAQ PDA. Drool, drool.

It only took me about five minutes on the Northern Line Underground to decide that I was never returning to the UK. Up to that point, I’d been undecided. London stinks! I mean it really stinks.

More tomorrow. I’m just SO glad to be back. And Nikos’ taverna is just like home now. So I’m going home in a minute.

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