The first night in Athens i went to 2 parties, where i was photographed for Highlights magazine’s celebrity page -for the first time- by talented redhead photographer Penelopi -who had in fact photographed me before for magazine Gynaika in the port of Piraeus, while i endangered my life posing on a deserted mill full of ancient bacteria, rusty peaces of iron & other traps, together with 3 other writers. Those gorgeous  fotos  however never got published.  Based on this lovely tradition, these photos should never be published either – although i hope they do. But it doesn ‘t matter because i always have a great time with Penelopi, be it adrenaline pumping situations or great laughs. I have, by the way, been interviewed by the extremely stylish magazine Highlights in the past. But i never saw the interview!

On the same day i managed to miss a terribly artistic dancing show by Dimitris Papaioannou, a fact i am now regretting.

On the second day of Athens my true luck gave to me: 5 metro tickets,  4 taxi rides and 3 business meetings, in different areas of Athens. I therefore collapsed on Odyssea’s bed at ten in the evening, like a log. I woke up after midnight -and who could i/ should i/would i call? I called Mario. He was in his pyjamas already. He gave me the usual seminar,  ”Why didn’t you tell me you were coming so we could have planned this bla bla.” I called another pyjama-addicted person. What did i expect? This one had recently got married. The next person didn’t even reply. So i rang my diplomat friend of ten years but she was in Brussels -or maybe Amsterdaam per usual. I was already disheartened, suspicious of the possibility of a boring night away from both home and pc.

There was this aquaintance, on the other hand, i knew would want to see me but he was not a friend, thus i didn’t risk a call. It would be suggesting stuff. Like, you know, stuff. It WAS 1 o’ clock after midnite then. God, i can be such a petit borgois sometimes.

Painfully aware of the parties sizzling all over town, parties i would not/could not go, i got upset. Here i was, fresh out of bed and no place to go. I was getting pissed off when all i wanted was to get slightly pissed (in the British sense of the word, which is ”drunk’). It felt unfair, to be locked in an apartment that was gradually getting far and away from down town. One i was about to get to know intimately.

I found out how to not abuse a gas cooker. I boiled some rice. Took some fotos. Stayed for 5 minutes in the freezing balcony watching other balconies’ funky Christmas decorations. I got obsessed with taking more fotos. I ate the rice. And took more fotos. The apartment wasn’t terribly adventurous or photogenic though.   

I read a magazine. Then a book. How to be good, by NickHornby. I have always loved Hornby. I read the whole thing. Then i slept in my friend’s bed, although i was appointed the sofa, which i hate because it smells of too many ciggaretes. What the heck, after this i deserved it. (My friend, Odysseus, returned at 8 in the morning and slept in the sofa. He rang to say Merry Christmas recently, so i know he is not mad at me.)

I left the following day, genuinely ungry at the city.