Some wanker ex boss of mine said this to me once as I was starting a new job in a pub – “so let me tell you who’s who in the zoo!” and then proceeded to bring out some kind of biblical manual, as though working there required a degree in astrophysics and that it was essential I know my place in the hierarchy of mixologists and assistants to “entertainment officers”. Well needless to say I’ve taken his patronising approach and am rendering it useful as I now will tell you “who’s who in the zoo!”.
Firstly though, the Zoo. What is this blog about?? Picture the scene. It’s a rather beautiful sandy beach in Corfu, has a hotel, many tavernas and bars, popular with tourists (well not as popular as other years, economic crisis and all that palava). My partner and his family run a wee complex – taverna, beach bar, mini market, car park. Times are tight, everyone’s desparate, nothing works, my in laws are dangerously batty, controlling and in your face, and I, possibly for one year only, am going to be working in the mini market, one of the most tedious jobs to exist. If it’s not a quick ticket to the mental hospital by the end of summer, I’ll ride bareback and naked through the local village alla Lady Godiva. Which may well ensure that ticket anyway. You see where I’m leading you? Into madness. Do keep reading.