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German dwarf…

In an effort to get some snaps for use as part of The Worst Seat in the House publicity (Jeez, this is beginning to sound like an advertisement feature!) and get away from a couple of hours of hazy weather, we hopped on the bus for the eight mile trip to Kos town. Judging by the amount of people squeezed inside, the bus is owned and operated by First, who do the park and ride transport in York. It was just like hopping on a White Line. Kos town was a good place, full of ruins and signs that it’s been inhabited by Egyptians, Romans, Venetians, Ottomans, the Knights of St John and two playwrights from York. We clambered on-board one of those comedy tiny tourist trains where the audio commentary lags behind what you can see by several minutes. A handful of young beggars, who had been fishing in the bay with sticks and may or may not have been Turkish, were gobsmacked by the sight of a German dwarf, whom they touched, stroked and laughed at. An odd sight (though not as odd as this!).

We’d actually started the day with a bike ride, on the lookout for a secluded beach upon which I could do my naked dancing. We found such a place but it was too windy for both frisbee flying and bat and ball, thus scuppering our plans. And the sun disappeared before the naked dancing could commence. As we left this secluded spot (or, as some people would have described it, a rubbish tip – there was a discarded matress that had seen better days smack in the middle of some sand) we heard some tears. Closer inspection in some bushes revealed a scrawny kitten, who M reckoned was crying for its mum. Shucks. A brief discussion about quarantine laws dismissed any plans to stow the kitten, who we christened Jenny (all cats we meet are instantly named with a name that has to rhyme with Penny, the uber-cat), in our baggage. Cue even louder cat cries as we peddled off for a Mythos and a G&T and a more comfortable life where we don’t have to worry where our next can of Felix is coming from.

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