When Lightning Strikes

OK, the cold war has been over for a long time now and so when one Russian (Victor) presents himself on my doorstep I should not have concerns about taped conversations or being observed by Interpol, again.....

Things as usual begin quite innocently, this was no exception....I went to pick up the laundry the other evening and didn't get home until day break, I could tell it was dawn as no-one paid any attention to my skimpy clothing: bikini (both pieces this time) under a loose, see through dress, with flat canvas boat shoes....perfect morning attire, but before.....

A couple of club members were partaking in a glass of fine home brew when I dropped in to collect weekly laundry from the pizza restaurant (where else would you collect laundry, after all I buy my alcohol at the petrol station and get shoes repaired down at the docks, this teraine is not conducive to stilettos and the local fisherman's got the best pair of pliers and is a deft hand at removing hooks so I guess it makes sense that he can remove the damaged heel end and put in a new one), anyway there I am collecting laundry and accept the invitation to join the party.

Well in between the laundry pick up and dawn we managed to write off a lot of vino, make our way across the road to the foreshore - this in itself is a fete as the current onslaught of Czech tourists are as driving savvy as Eskimo's are at sand castle building - on the other side there was music, there were lights and a few girating bodies one of which was Victor, the Russian, who's some where between 40 and 50 years of age, think of every cliche of Russian appearance and then imagine the opposite - you've got Victor - blonde; short (for this region anyway); average build, but with a definite Ruskie accent and lots of bling (which apparently he can well afford)....I'm fairly certain that the only half dozen words I spoke to Victor, in the 10 minutes we saw him were 'we should talk about business sometime' - I didn't know this was code for "come over for a quickie".

At about 2am the unexpected happened (as said I'm in minimal attire, equally due to lack of laundry and warm temperatures): the heavens opened and an onslaught of lightning & rain proceeded to entertain us, that's until the more sober of the party realised we were near water, surrounded by sand and seated on steel chairs - I'm guessing all conductive materials that are required for a mass people barbecue. Being a health conscious crew, we wanted to get out of harms way so we piled into the BeeMer (yes it's made of steel, but it's a moving target thus harder to hit, right) to go in search of the other club members in the old town. Well it was an open air cafe we took refuge (yes you can take refuge in open air...be patient), again the same sober wowsers insisted on pointing out the outdoor umbrellas on a rod of stainless steel (it would seem we could find said element faster than BHP's surveyors, I think the Chinese ought to be negotiating with our club rather Rio Tinto). The need to move due to health reasons was becoming the evenings theme and having found a few more folk to add to the impromptu party we proceeded over the bridge to a recently re-opened club where patrons were unaware of the deluge which had forced us into their midsts.

All must be well at the venue as the music and live feed from the local radio station didn't seem to present any short circuit issues in the minds of these fine publicans, the fact this renovated terrace now had a armoury of architecturally splendid steel piping surrounding its ancient stone walls didn't seem a reason for concern that it may conflict with the ongoing current creating flashes....so in the spirit of all things electric we proceeded to add friction to the dance floor and make puddles with our choice of liquid refreshment, I really do hope all the liquids were out of glasses, as we were all still quite wet it was hard to tell.....and there's only one version of 'pissed' that's acceptable.

Oh yeah.....Victor, he must have stopped smoking his particular blend (which he hides in the flower pots at home...it's not much of a hiding spot when everyone on the island knows), he managed to find my house the very next afternoon (no, I didn't give him these detail...well again everyone on the island knows about the foreign babe in the red house - damn, this must be another code - really need to work out the local speak).

It's a bird, it's a plane.....

There I was driving into town, to have the BeeMer washed and replenish my caffeine levels. At a snails pace I'm manouvering the more than narrow, serpentine roads on the island (there's also persistent on-coming traffic created by tourists who insist on raiding this piece of paradise with vehicles almost as big as mine and so this becomes a too close for comfort experience, my shoulder muscles tense; eyes bulge; little silent prayers are whispered as we defy space and driving skills) but I'm still thinking what a fabbo day I've had - there was sun and sea and I'll be getting ready to go to dinner soon....I'm on the home stretch, just before I hit the bridge and make it into the old town, well guess what lands on my windscreen? no, not another low flying insect (and what on earth do they eat to create that mustard yellow streak)....a man - a real life, full grown male.

I saw him, he saw me, I made eye contact, he took another look.....then as I got real close he falls onto the windscreen - glass is smashed, his nose is smashed, there's blood, I'm resisting the urge to turn on the wipers, there's a bit of wimpering, there's hyperventilating (that would be me). Ambulance is called, the locals all come out for a look (no-one's interested in getting involved, but all want to know what's going on and of course there'll be at least a dozen versions of who hit who and how); ice pack arrives from somewhere; his head is bent back to ease the blood flow, mine is between my knees (don't really have an excuse for it, but I only know one brace position even if I am a little late implementing it), the broken nose belongs to Mario a local who tells me he slipped when he saw me - not like that's news, there's been a few who have broken more than their noses in my presence.

The club members all converged and took over looking after one of their own, new windscreen had been ordered before the scene was cleared; BeeMer was moved into a drive way allowing two way traffic to share the single lane again; S series guy cancelled the next two appointments and started making his way to the island, he also contacted the local police (wonder if they're keeping a record of this families vehicular challenges....never fear, this can also be taken care of).

The current take on the event is that men are falling out of the sky for Romy....technically this may be true, but I'd prefer they didn't arrive as damaged goods.

Had to make my way to the insurance assessor with GQ model.....S series guy insisted I have company (he'd be wiser to give Boris this chore)....riotous fun filling out the form when explaining the face planting incident and then the sketch that needed to go with this - we couldn't resist putting a few of the bugs with names and addresses as witnesses.