all the decent men?!”. At first the collecting of phone numbers,
the illicit chats so as not to arouse the suspicion of the village, the
‘fancy seeing you here!’ bumping into one another, was exactly
what it said on the tin – a game, some good clean fun, something
to revel in, having cast off the shackles of attachment.
But after a while, the realisation began to creep in that there
may be a reason why these men are single. Most notable was The
Rat, who had spent the last three years bemoaning the bad timing
of our both being in relationships, preventing us from realising
the ‘connection’ that existed between us. Undeniably, there was a
connection there. And with the ending of his relationship a little
before mine, I was blithely unaware of what could stop this love
story in the making from coming to pass. With time, of course, I
realised that what could stop it was the ‘connection’ this particular
Rat had with at least three other women in the vicinity. Thanking
my lucky stars I had escaped, and optimism still in tact, I perse-
vered valiantly.
Girl
So I decided to go on a date. A genuine, proper first date with
someone I didn’t know; that’s right, didn’t know him, any cous-
ins, aunties, uncles etc.; we just met one night and exchanged
about
numbers at the end of it, which was how, two weeks later, I found
myself in Starbowl on a first date. Just me, him – and ten of his
friends. From the moment he blushed as I walked in the door, I
understood that this guy was a little shy, and, let’s face it, we all
need a back-up plan on a first date in case things are awkward,
town
jungle
but TEN FRIENDS? To compound my despondency, we were
promptly divided into two teams, Panathinaikos and Olympiakos,
with me being placed in the former. Big mistake. If there was any-
thing bound to make me yearn for the halcyon days of Saturday
afternoons with the boy, wearing his red hoodie whilst watching
Olympiakos play, it was that. I mean, me, a Vazelos! I ask you. In a
strange coincidence, Olympiakos were actually playing that night,
in a UEFA Cup game which they won 5-0, and which was being
shown on the TV while we were bowling. As a result, I spent the
evening texting and speaking to the boy on the phone every time
a goal went in which, if it didn’t go down well with my date, frank-
A
lot can happen in a summer. When we embarked upon
this year’s crazy season I was, if you recall, living in ly didn’t even register. The end of the evening passed with a peck
not-so-perfect harmony in the bosom of the boyfriend’s on the cheek, a ‘We’ll speak soon, yeah?’ and a swift exit from me.
family, negotiating my way through all the tact, diplo-
macy and biting of the tongue that this entailed; the approach of In many ways I had a fantastic summer, moving to a new house,
winter finds me living in a brand new house – with a dishwasher, work going well, plenty of visits from friends and family, and, of
hurrah! – in a different village and embracing a new single exist- course, the odd obligatory fabulous night out. It’s just, do you
ence. That’s right, the boy and I parted company, with me feeling know what all those fabulous nights out had in common? He was
it was time to get back into the game of singledom. Oh folly! Oh there…the boy, I mean. We move in the same circles (hard not to,
lathos mou! around here), and, neither one of us having a grievance with the
other, we decided to go down the ‘We’re still great friends’ route,
Interesting phrase isn’t it, ‘the game’; implying fun, freedom which in the past I had always declared a fallacy; that exes simply
from worries, enjoying oneself. Interesting because – and beware cannot exist comfortably as friends, there being too much water
anyone thinking of following the same path – it’s a jungle out under the bridge and all that. And now, albeit from the reverse
there. I had been sheltered and protected from it for so long, en- point of view, I believe it more than ever.
vying friends who didn’t have to make or receive the obligatory
‘where are you, who are you with’ phone calls on nights out, who Still, I don’t want this to be a tale of despondency and gloom. I
indulged in flirtations, harmless or otherwise, without the Greek fully intend not to slip into nights of, Bridget Jones-style, bottle
chorus of the village tutting and raising eyebrows and reporting of chardonnay on the sofa in my pyjamas, belting out sad songs
back to the boy before I had even got home. (Alone, I might add). (although I will admit, in darker days, to having succumbed, The
I longed for those carefree days of the thrill of the chase, that first Carpenters being my poison of choice: so tragic! Such pathos!).
phone call, the first date. The winter is coming and, with the slightly freer time that entails,
I fully intend to spend more time with my friends, those who
And boy oh boy will I be careful what I wish for next time! It’s proved their mettle during the tough times, making the most of
not that I seem to have any trouble meeting men; far from it, like Corfu town and not confining myself to the village. Who knows,
an overgrown child-woman in a candy shop, I was overwhelmed maybe this will be the making of me, and my life here? But in the
at first with the seeming choice, wondering what single friends meantime, and I suspect for a long time to come, the boy is still
had been moaning about with their collective cries of “Where are number one on my speed dial…
ISLAND 45
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