Yard Sale!

I may run a mile from "Negotiating with Nippon", but I love a cleaning job from the bottom up.

The store room 'neath the kitchen has needed a going-over - and duude, we're talking a des res basement apartment-size space here, perfect for an illegal immigrant family on good speaking terms, or a bachelor curmudgeon (who? where? what?).

So I pin up my Greek lesson cues on the walls and strip down to posing briefs and bare tan-needing pot-belly and start work.

First off, I am not alone.

My dear, the rats who've been living there rent-free, not to mention the skeletons of their ancestors; also dead birds and all sorts of creepy-crawlies and snakey thangs - all v sulky at being disturbed after 10-yrs' spongeing off mama.

Out they slither or run, to be met by Sam posing as hunting dawg, who scampers after them with convincing yelps and hollers.

Benefits of Ignorance: I know nowt about what's to be kept, so out it all goes for a Yard Sale to be presided over by Yours Truly and a brace of Yorkshire Lassies who 'know about these things'.

There's also a gang of cowboy recyclers who turn up, cast an eye over the junk, offer you 17/6 for the lot and off they tootle.

It's actually huge fun and I've unearthed all sorts of goodies from way back:

Complete sets of porcelain from when Mum packed up to leave Hong Kong in late 1970s, cheapo stuff then, totally out of production now and worth tons

About 200 vinyl LPs packed to last and never opened - Lehrer, Burl Ives, all those stereo experimentals; Charlie Kunz; all my Elvis I thought Dad had ceremonially pyred

All them Rodgers & Hammerstein et al the old folks grooved to;

Paul Robeson, Hank W snr (was there ever another?), Harry Lauder, Platters, Tommy Steele, Bert Weedon, Al 'Golden Guitar' Caiola, George Formby (naughty ukelele wizard - "When I'm Cleaning Windows", yeh?

Veritable treasure trove.

Dad's old golf clubs, plus a titchy notebook with his precise notages:

"Jul 12. 1530hrs. Light fair. Long shot to #15th. Wood, aim 2 o'clock bushy top tree left of yellow house."

"Friendly 4some. Self, P vs TD and L. T unreliable on sand and water shots. Conceded water but accompanied him to next sand shot."

If that's not nailing a guy for cheating, swallows don't dive to drink from the pool.

I have nothing of my father's by way of his writing and now I do.

Is not all golf: even on the fairway he was thinking

"MG Oil - check level for leak.

Club orange juice better than home. Ask brand

Pool level - unlikely leak; more likely guests' unseemly splashing."

(Oh, dad! You so rocked; why did we never talk?)

Out with the old, in with the cleaner stuff and scrubbing.

Back of top shelf, Magnavox stereo set, 2 massive speakers and tube amp like they don't make no more.

Quick clean and it's booming.

Thinks: Rent out cottage for mega rent to tourist suckers (never liked the idea of a whole 2 mins trudge up to home cooking), nest in basement.

All this while, lugging and wheezing stuff in and out, glancing at my Greek lingo cues:

Puff - 'Well hey there' - wheeze - 'you must be new here' - grunt - 'perhaps I can show you around?'

Puff - 'my that's a fine sunset' - cough wheeze

'Yo, big guy, I saw that space first'

Cough - 'OK, this is it: Spectator, Athens News and a pack of Karelia - no need check, the Speccie is 4.20, total 7.50, got it right here, even da small change.

Why thank you, my Greek isnt as good as it'll become, I'm taking lessons.

Ciao, guys. Kalo hypno''.

Here in siesta country, between noonish and 2ish one bids 'good snooze'.

I bid Ioanni and Pauline kalo ipno the other day as he dragged her off with that lecherous curl to his lip and she looked back pleadingly with a "Dunno how much hypno I'll fit in. He's a bit of goer."

Life in Greece!