We are back from our travels, despite Mr Grigg’s best efforts. When we reached the airport, he realised we had left our passports and tickets in a bar on Corfu Town’s sunny Liston.
‘I’ll go back and get them,’ he said. ‘You go on ahead.’
But I couldn’t go on ahead because I didn’t have a ticket or a passport. So I sat, like Paddington Bear, with my luggage waiting for my man to return.
Times are hard but ordinary Greeks are an honest bunch, even if their politicians aren’t. The document wallet was safe and well. So Mr Grigg was able to roar back across town, drop the hire car off and still do the Easyjet Strut and be first on the plane.
Back in Blighty and driving from the airport to home, I had a strange feeling in my stomach which had nothing to do with the tube of Pringles and Sprite I'd had for my supper.
‘Have you got the front door key?’ I asked Mr Grigg.
‘No, I thought you had it.’
Much searching later, we pulled into a Travelodge twenty minutes from home, not wanting to wake Mrs Bancroft, Mr and Mrs Champagne Charlie or Mr and Mrs Sheepwash for a bed for the night.
‘Let me have one more look,’ I said, turning my bag upside down in the footwell.
There was a reassuring chink of metal and there was the front door key, shining like the Holy Grail and accompanied by a heavenly chorus.
‘You f*ck*r’ Mr Grigg said. This, from the man who had left our travel documents in a bar.
A week later and he already needs a break. I am taking him away for the weekend. He doesn’t know where we’re going and will have to solve a series of treasure hunt clues before we reach our destination.
It’s my birthday surprise for him and, boy, does he need it. The birthday itself was spent watching a foreign harbour wall to make sure the boat didn’t crash against it in high winds. On top of that, two out of three children forgot the special birthday completely and his bus pass failed to materialise.
His malapropisms are getting worse. He described someone’s allergy to bee stings as ‘prophylactic shock’ and then said I looked very Bavarian when he meant Bohemian.
This morning, he was waiting for the parish council chairman to turn up after receiving a phone call last night.
But at the door was the one-legged Aga man, who looks a lot like Pop Larkin but is even more of a character.
“I don’t recall you phoning about today,” Mr Grigg said.
“Yes I did,” the one-legged Aga man said. “We spoke last night, you told me all about your holiday.”
That’s about it.
Love Maddie x
It's blowing a hooley out there. The wind is lashing against the windows and the dogs are play fighting in front of the Aga before...
Over the past few years, I've avoided talking about Brexit, either online or in person. The referendum nearly three years ago ended up...
Back in Corfu and we've just learned that the village where we lived for a year is set to become another film location for The Durrell...