Kefalonia is pretty much like every other Greek island I have been too; lots of oleander, bougainvillaea and wispy pines. That's it more or less. The hotel pool, high on a mountain, has a wonderful view; a mile away is the Ionian and before that a plain of olive groves. Between the olive groves and the Ionian is the airport runway, which is not as depressing as it sounds since I quite like watching planes land and take off, especially when a few hundred metres above them.
Things of immediate concern; shit music played around the pool and a bunch of Greek kids playing on lilos. The lilos will be punctured by the morning so that is not too difficult to deal with. The music I understand is an ever present and will be something of a greater challenge. As for the kids themselves, I don't think they quite realise the danger they are in. But they will. Oh, they will. I have already taken a particularly virulent dislike to the older of the group - about sixteen - with bum fluff and a hair style so heavily adorned with gel it stays spiky even in water. He shouts and dunks the other kids. If he escapes without getting half drowned, the recipient of my specialist underwater and unseen punch in the solar plexus, I will be very surprised. It is a technique I developed for my deeply irritating younger cousins in Italy and it is lethal.
Hey ho, here we go!
