Post by neilcrud on Jun 9, 2007 8:46:26 GMT
Cumi Pants v Michelle
Kassandria Town Hall
Halkidiki, Greece
18.05.07
Kassandria Town Hall
Halkidiki, Greece
18.05.07
(review n pix by neil crud)
Forever the romantic, Cumi lets his feelings be known
I checked myself in the bathroom mirror. A lukewarm shower had washed away the sweat and the dust of the previous day and my reflection confirmed it had been a long one. There were bags under my eyes and although a full night’s sleep was just behind me, my head thudded and throbbed in protest.
Alcohol dehydrates the body and the headache you suffer is a the result of a shrunken brain. Not a drop of water had passed my lips for a good 36 hours – add the heat, the two pints of £3 lager in Manchester Airport, the three pints of Amstel at the Corner Bar in Afitos, the bottle of Ouzo and then a full night of lager, wine and tequila, it was little wonder my head had declared war on me.
Myself and Steve Sync were in the Halkidi region of Northern Greece for Cumi’s Greek wedding – marrying longtime bird Michelle; and although we had tried really hard to talk her out of it, the scene was a great place for some serious drinking.
Sync’s meticulous planning arrangements led us 15 or so miles up the road from the wedding party to reside at the sleepy Greek village of Afitos. The Two Star apartment was plush by Las Vegas standards and once the village name puns were out of the way (Let’s Afitos – Couldn’t give an Afitos) we headed for the bar.
Cumi Pants, please note this isn't Michelle with him
Cumi was staying at the Sani Resort. Sani by name – Sanitised by nature; not a blade of grass was out of place at this 5 Star totally un-Greek complex. He took the rare move of inviting his family and friends 2000 miles across Europe, not only for his wedding, but for the honeymoon too!
The pigeon Greek I had remembered since living in these parts many years ago came to little use in Sani as everyone working here were of East European origin. You were waited on by Slovaks, served by Serbians and brushed up by Bulgarians.
Michelle’s last gasps of freedom before becoming Mrs Pants took place at Kassandria Town Hall. A coach ferried the wedding party, heaving through the dusty narrow streets, clearly built without a 52 seater in mind. We had to walk the final half mile up a hill in the hot afternoon sun – wedding guests, children and bridesmaids in full regalia and high heels.
The mayor of Kassandria looked pretty cool, like Nick Cave with a goatee sporting a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and jeans. I was half surprised he wasn’t smoking during the ceremony. Everyone smokes in Greece.
’Smoke Butch Cigarettes for men with really big cocks.’
Cumi is disgusted that Sync played 'Lady In Red' for them
I went to a Greek wedding in Kythera in 1991. A Canadian couple cycling their way around the world, chose the quaint village of Potamos to exchange their vows. It was a brief ceremony – the Greek Orthodox priest uttered a few words, the happy couple both affirmed with a ‘Neh’ (yes) – we threw rice at them and they rode off into the sunset (well, we got pissed first!).
Sixteen years on and little has changed, the religion has been chucked out and Cumi’s Dad translated the vows, but it was all over quickly and without the pomp and ceremony of a traditional Here Comes The Bride (have you seen that top shelf movie?) available at British weddings.
The photos took longer than the ceremony and it was back to the Sanitation of the hotel complex foe a champagne reception.
One thing you won’t get at a bash in the UK is for all the guests to jump in the sea! Which is how we spent the afternoon, bobbing up and down in the salty Med, with me, Cumi, Sync, Paul and Rob playing ball like a bunch of puffs on those 0898 adverts. ‘Catch Alan! – 0-8-9-8… Meet new friends - 0-8-9-8’.
'Got no trunks' - Steve Sync has to take the plunge in his underwear
A huge electrical storm loomed on the horizon but thankfully it stayed put until long after the revellers had gone to bed. Unfortunately once it did strike we didn’t see the sun for the rest of the week. As the heavens opened above us. Sync and myself shared a bottle of red with ex-Sons of Selina roadie, Rob’s apartment. He soon regretted his generosity of letting us kip overnight as Steve and I communicated in our sleep by a series of continual loud snoring grunts and farting!
’Look guys, I like you and all that, but I want the room to myself tomorrow night.’
Said a bleary eyed Rob in the morning. Even a day’s heavy drinking didn’t comatose him enough and he was kept awake by what he described as the sound jungle chatter, as if a family of pigs were living up trees!
Rob had driven Sons of Selina to Holland when we played Amsterdam Arena and Den Haag Festival – we had a good time reminiscing over a bizarre few days we spent on that tour.
Sync and I were fast running out of beds to sleep in. I swear I don’t snore and it’s Steve who does so in stereo, thus making it sound like two people. The bridesmaids lets us use their two spare beds on the night before the wedding and complained in the same manner as Rob in the morning and barely spoke to us again! I’m sure it was because of Steve’s volleys of mortar farts through the night!!
Steve Sync tries out the new Greek roadside suicide gas ovens
By Day 3 Mr Sync had struck up a strong relationship with the toilet in the apartment and shared everything with it. Never one to be abroad without some food related problem he was suffering from, ‘a form of indigestion caused by alcohol where I keep throwing up into my throat.’
So while he continued his toilet conversation I marvelled at the phenomenon that is daytime telly. It doesn’t matter what country you’re in, Daytime TV is shite. It’s designed to get you off the dole and into work, and if you sit there and enjoy watching Trisha etc, then you’re obviously too braindead to even flip burgers and deserve to be unemployable. The Greek equivalent of Daytime TV was like a Pebble Mill meets Richard and Judy – total rubbish apart from a spot of traditional Greek dancing, which transfixed my eyes to the screen. There is something strange about grown men holding hands and dancing – and yet I was drawn in by the mesmerising routines. I guess I feel the same draw when I stumble upon Line Dancing back home, although don’t expect me to be singing ‘Achy Breaky Heart’ on the Karaoke!
There was a strange smell on my jeans and I soon sussed it was cigarette smoke, stuck to the fabrics from the previous night at a club in Kallithea. Smoking is still cool in Greece and it was unpleasantly unusual having got used to the smoke free bars in Wales.
The smoking ban has brought on ‘Smirting’ – smoking and flirting – you see the little groups of social outcasts huddled outside every pub in Britain. It’s a new culture that’ll create families of smokers.
’Where did you meet?’
’Oh (coughs) outside the Queen’s Head.’
This Two Star Hotel isn't up to much...
Once Sync had cleared out his bodily debris we headed out for the first meal of the day. Tomatoes and cucumbers are a staple part of the Mediterranean diet. The self-shit inducing combination laced with olive oil and vinegar is added to every Greek meal.
‘Full English Breakfast’ has a tomato and cucumber garnish neatly chopped on the side of the plate. We joked about Big Macs, ice cream, apple pie and custard, all laced with tomato and cucumber.
The hangover was intense and relentless. I had trouble sleeping as my kidneys or my liver or some unknown organ in the small of my back protested wildy about being subjected to such stupid amounts of alcohol.
‘At least I don’t do drugs,’ I bargained, ‘Fuck off you self abusing twat.’ My back replied and hurt even more.
We discussed the merits of Duncan Black joining a reformed Sons of Selina and going back on the road with the some new songs thrown in with the err.. classics.
’But the tosser lives in Canterbury with Thomas a Becket’ I said…
(to be continued… maybe)