Episode 40: A New Hope?

You know me. You followed me around the country. You loved me on the TV when I had you in stitches with jokes about my penis. You followed me in the tabloids, you supported my charitable works. Then you didn't. I don't know why. You just stopped. Now, I have people who love me again. So much that they made me their mayor. This is my new story, From Under Dark Clouds.

She didn’t like it, not at all but I was unfamiliar with her approach. She didn’t shout and she limited her expletives to moderate and non-personal.

“I can’t have a camera in my face twenty-four-seven. I can’t do that again, not now, not with the boys.”

She was right, of course. This was about me and the campaign not her and the kids.

Jude and Roni were downstairs, I couldn’t be sure that she wasn’t recording this conversation. Maybe that explained my wife’s temperance. I went down to lay some ground rules to find Roni with her camera following the kids playing with their Lego.

“Stop!” My demand had immediate affect on the kids but not a twitch from the camerawoman. “Put the camera down, NOW!”

She did but looked up at me with bemused eyes.

It took more than an hour to come to an amicable agreement. She wanted access to me but negotiated like the girl with the golden ticket. Exposure was, is my business and she seemed to understand that like I couldn’t. She would get a couple of interviews with the wife, some shots of the boys, pixelated and with no interaction from her and I would have power of veto on interviews with anyone else. The last one was the hardest. She claimed the right to retain journalistic freedom. I gave her open access to me and the campaign. She agreed.

The narrative would be my fall from grace and subsequent rise.

“And whatever happens after that…” she added.

We wrote it all down and signed it with Jude and the wife as witnesses.

“Well, that’s that in order. What do we do today?” Jude enthused.

“Sit down!” the wife barked. “Same goes for you!”

We wrote out the same conditions, adapting some for copy journalism and signed. Roni relished her loopy signature planting a heavy full-stop at the end.

The local coverage of the attack waned a little until, maybe due to a dearth of real news, the channels all picked up on the foreign interest. The number of Youtube views of the English version of the campaign video was a prominant part of the story as well as one of Jude’s articles in The Cerberus. He beamed. The news was that our news was big news in their news. The attack, the campaign video and even the kid with the bouzouki went ballistic. Just as and when Mike had predicted. That reminded me. I needed to speak to him, he was getting weird… weirder.

My phone buzzed, not its usual ringtone, it just buzzed. I swiped and put it to my ear. Nothing. Looking at the screen, Mike’s avatar appeared. “Hey Boss! The Youtube videos are going viral worldwide but domestic stats are showing significant engagement with over eighty-four percent watching the whole clip. Ninety-six percent, excuse some rounding of figures, are watching more than seventy-five percent of the clips. I have planted a script on all GD and sympathiser sites that phishes all their data when they log in. I am in the process of analysing the emails and PMs as we speak. All online communication, forums, facebook, twitter etc that refer to you, or them, are automatically modified in our favour. Persistence invokes the phishing script.”

“Wow, good work, Mike.” I looked round. Jude and Roni we plainly eavesdropping.

“Oh! And Boss.”

“Yeah, Mike.”

“You have no need to worry about me. We are fine.” The image shrank to a dot and disappeared.

I turned to the journoes. “Wow what they can do, eh?” They stared at me. “You heard that, right?”

Jude looked at Roni. “Just heard like white noise.”

“Me too!” she replied.

I got Yiannis Galtides on the phone and told him to meet me at the town hall. He wriggled tried to schedule for the coming week. I needed to see him now, while I still had the ideas in my head but he was preparing for a tech startup conference in Sofia, Bulgaria. I told him that I was considering him for a consultant or even ministerial position but I need to find out if we were on the same page.

“One hour in the conference room.” I told him.

He agreed.

I grabbed the Vespa keys from their hook. “Get your stuff, you got some journalism to do!”

We stood round the scooter. I looked to Roni and Jude with their flight bags and back packs. “This is not going to work.” I stated the obvious.

Fortunately, they had rented a car but suggested following me on the Vespa. “Who’s that guy in South America somewhere with the VW?” Roni asked.

“Yeah, Uruguay, the president.” He squinted. “Jose Mujica. Drives an old original Beetle. You know he was offered a million for it?”

“Nah!” she regarded the Vespa and pulled out her camera. “Awesome narrative motif!”

It started on the forth kick, with a little choke.

Whether Yiannis and I were on the same page remained to be seen, but we were definitely not in the same time zone. He arrived nearly two hours later with a little girl in tow.

“I needed to see you alone.” I motioned to the child.

“She’ll be OK, she has her crayons.” He looked to her and she nodded. He turned to the journalists.

“They’re with me,” I assured.

Roni pulled out a piece of paper and told him to sign.

I picked up the phone. “Mike, I need a computer game for kids.”

“Language?”

Roni was filming Yiannis signing the paper.

“English,” I looked to the girl, Yiannis looked up and nodded.

“Gender?”

“Age?”

“About eight, nine?”

“I’m eight,” the girl confirmed.

“Kim Kardashian: Hollywood. Workstation three, secretary’s office.” Mike instructed.

I turned my back “Oh! And Mike. Keep an eye on her, please.”

“Face registered, surveillance activated. She’s safe, Boss.”

Yiannis took the girl to the door, raised his arm and directed her down the hall.

“What are your ideas for turning this economy round when we get into power?” I asked Yiannis.

“When?”

“When!” I repeated.

“Well, we need to rebuild the entrepreneurial infrastructure. Build a new generation-wide mindset through tech startups and cross-border commerce.” He leaned back in his chair, rubbed his hands together and smiled broadly.

I looked up at Roni who was flitting around the room with her lens trained on us. “Did you get that, sweetheart?” She smiled and gave a thumb-up. “Now, Yiannis. What do you think we can DO to turn this economy around?”

“We need to expand the Startup Shed ideology to encourage young neophyte ventures to grow into viable value propositions for the world market and encourage international investment.” He dug into his backpack and pulled out his laptop. “Look! I got a powerpoint which outlines the strategy we proposed to Socrates.” He connected a cable to the machine and searched behind the wall-mounted screen for somewhere to plug it in.

“Mike, how’s the little girl getting on?”

“Level three, two upgrades and a bonus. She drank juice.”

“Shut it down at the end of the next level and save all her progress, please.”

Who doesn’t love a good powerpoint? But I was sure he had a lot of preparation for Sofia tomorrow.

At the door, I asked him how many of our accelerator teams had received seed funding.

We had some interest from some major VCs.

“Interest enough to put capital on the table?”

He nodded heartily, “Not yet.”

I wished him a safe trip.

“And Yiannis. Look after that little girl.” She took his hand and lead him out.

I closed the door behind me and wandered down the hall into the secretary’s office. Her head sprung up. She asked me who the little girl was. The screen where she had been sitting was still flashing an animation of Kim Kardashian saying “You are a STAR!” I answered without thought, “A business partner.”

I asked her to arrange some coffee and sandwiches. And, some tea for the Brits. With milk!

Back in the conference room, Jude was tapping away and Roni was reviewing her footage.

“See, investment in the youth is the answer. A new generation of entrepreneurs to bring this country into the twenty-first century.” They each looked up and smiled agreement. “Can’t argue with powerpoint!” I added. They both swung their heads over their laptops.

When the refreshments arrived, Roni peeled back the bread and recoiled. “Anything without meat?”

I picked up the phone and called the secretary. She apologised and promised immediate rectification. I passed this on and she smiled, stirring a third teaspoon of sugar into a liquid milked to a pale ecru. “I need you to get someone on the line and patch them through to my mobile.

“Of course, Sir. Who?”

“Panayiotis Karaletsos.”

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Episode 39: A Fear of Success

You know me. You followed me around the country. You loved me on the TV when I had you in stitches with jokes about my penis. You followed me in the tabloids, you supported my charitable works. Then you didn't. I don't know why. You just stopped. Now, I have people who love me again. So much that they made me their mayor. This is my new story, From Under Dark Clouds.

My face felt like an over-full shopping bag, fit to bursting. My morning coffee dribbled down my face due to a can of baked beans making its escape through my bottom lip. A packet of spaghetti had broken through my brow but it was the toilet cleaner in my eye that was causing the most pain. A shape moved in front of me that caste a soothing shadow. It was Jude.

“Christ, man you took a proper pasting!”

My reply was the composition of broken clockwork stumbling over a paralysed tongue.

He shushed me and placed his hand on my chest. The toilet cleaner was a camera light behind him in the corner of the room.

“This is the girl I told you about, Veronica. She’s gonna document your campaign.” Jude pointed to the light.

I pursed my eyes but that hurt more than the light. I raised my hand to guard my eyes and she waved from behind the camera.

“Must have got a few in there, big guy, your knuckles are shredded.” How could I tell him it was from Ares’s studded belt buckle.

I waved my hand against the light. She got the message, shrugged and turned it off. “So you really mean to do this, eh?”

The camerawoman opened the curtains.

I spat a word that began with F but simply ended in blooded spit.

“Hey, Roni. The light is bothering him!”

I huffed exasperation.

I had been in the emergency ward most of the night with Socrates screaming about legal action and campaign funding. Nothing was broken but getting the crap kicked out of you on prime-time fractures deeper than bones.

Socrates burst through the door, still yelling, his arms windmilling the way only Mediterraneans can.

“They are going to fucking pay!”

I looked up but Jude said what I was thinking. “You’re going to sue the Golden Dawn?”

“Are you fucking mad? We won’t get a drachma from them!” He raised his hands, palms slightly apart as to explain something to a child. “We’re going to sue the channel.”

The camera was rolling again on Socrates, at least the light was out of my eyes.

“The fucking security didn’t raise a finger—” He paused in thought. “Private security contractor— we’ll sue them too!” He turned to me and started waving again. “Get yourself out of that bed and into the shower, you smell like you shit yourself!”

The channel had laid on a private plane to get us back up north but we’d need to hurry.

The shower of shards left me fresh but sore.

The Lear-jet, or whatever, was well furnished but like riding a limo down a farm track. Every shudder and bump made my features bounce around my face.

Jude pulled out an iPad. “Manic Street Preachers, eh?” He swiped and tapped until a video began. It was last night’s scene dramatically slowed with If you tolerate this your children will be next dubbed over it. “A mate of mine knows James Dean Bradfield, he’d be stoked that you used his words. Might be able to get him on-board.” He scribbled some notes in his moleskin.

I replayed the video, the warped power chord at the beginning was the glass on its trajectory, the drums came in as it smashed across my face. I watched his arm swing the glass of water, maybe just intending to soak me, then his sneer snapped into something else and he released it. The whole motion had been a flinch of time but like this it contained moments. Moments that you only see when adrenaline is coursing through your veins.

Roni handed Jude a bag of ice from the mini-bar. I put it to half my face so I could watch the video again. She resumed filming. When I stood at the end, staring into the lens you couldn’t see how much I was shaking. My words came in English, under pressure I was more common Essex than New Greek.

The wife was waiting at the airport. She looked at me and drew breath to ball me out then just threw her arms around me, it hurt but it was worth it.

“You stupid bastard, now you’ve made another enemy.” She huffed. “Don’t know who’s worse, the Vatican or the fascists.”

“Ain’t much in it, love.” I managed.

Socrates walked ahead, the yelling and flashing started before we entered arrivals. He drew their fire as we slipped out to the waiting car. I couldn’t answer their questions if I wanted, all that came out was spit and bile. Jude and Roni with her camera soaking up every moment followed, she tried to get into the front passenger seat but Socrates pulled her out and pointed to the taxi rank before slipping in himself. He instructed the driver to drop the wife at home but she insisted on coming with us to the town hall. He still couldn’t argue with her.

The familiarity of the scenery calmed me. The wife held my hand, I was safe again. She kept asking me how I felt and if this hurt or that. I just squeezed her hand in reply.

“This is bad. These bastards don’t wear suits! What are we going to do now, where can we go?”

“The boys?”

She hadn’t sent them to school, they were safe with her sister.

I lifted her hand to my knee and turned, slowly. “We are not running!”

We pulled right up to the entrance of the town hall, there were more press waiting for us. Socrates told the driver to get out and help with crowd control, which he seemed to relish.

Two suits and the well-assembled secretary were waiting for us in the main conference room. She crossed the room and ran her fingertips around my face.

“Brave, brave Sir.” It wasn’t often she spoke to me in English. Her hand recoiled as the wife entered the room.

Mike’s juddering avatar was on the main screen on the wall. “I’ve taken all Golden Dawn and sympathisers sites down. They have no channels of communication. The only narrative is ours.” I waved to the screen. “Please don’t ask him to come down” the avatar said.

I didn’t.

The suits were lawyers. They began hitting me with questions before I had even sat down. They had established the studio’s culpability and were working on the exact wording of the complaint, adding a list of laws and liabilities. Socrates added the security firm’s liability and another list began. A photographer came in to take pictures of the damage. I overheard Roni ask for copies. I didn’t notice them arrive until the wife swatted her away.

Socrates even called for a doctor to come and examine me. He winced as he poked me, shook his head as he shined a torch in my eyes and hmm’d when he asked me what I remembered. We had a copy of the hospital report but he felt that they had understated the extent of the damage and suggested some much better symptoms. The lawyers asked him some questions and another list began, titled with the name at the bottom of the medical report.

By the time the police arrived to take my statement, I felt like a bargain bag of ground beef. They noted all my answers along with a few from Socrates and the lawyers. One looked over the officer’s shoulder insisting that all the answers were written as mine. I signed all the sheets and initialled every correction. One of the lawyers scanned a copy with his phone and they were gone.

The door closed and finally it was just me, the wife and Socrates. And the journalists.

“There’s something bothering me.”

Socrates raised his hand and told me everything was under control.

“No, something else.”

He patted his chest and repeated himself adding that those fascists wouldn’t get close again.

“No!” I said.

He was losing his patience.

“That economist—”

“Karaletsos?”

“Yeah.”

“What about him, the fucking neo-liberal!” He stood to leave. “Want me to order some food?” He looked from me to Jude and Roni who smiled enthusiastically.

“He said we had no economic strategy, no viable manifesto.”

“Fuck him! After last night we are on every channel across the globe. You’ve gone viral.”

“BUT! Socrates. If we do get elected, what are we going to do?”

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Episode 38: If you Tolerate this...

You know me. You followed me around the country. You loved me on the TV when I had you in stitches with jokes about my penis. You followed me in the tabloids, you supported my charitable works. Then you didn't. I don't know why. You just stopped. Now, I have people who love me again. So much that they made me their mayor. This is my new story, From Under Dark Clouds.

You’ve been in the playground when the school bully walks in with his goons. We all know what that feels like, unless you were the school bully. Everyone tries to continue playing, maintain the nonchalant appearance of normality while being desperately aware of every skip, every jump, every word. Movement in the studio became stepped, metered. Trakas, the New Democracy Finmin played the denial card.

“Here come the goon squad.” He said just low enough to believe he couldn’t be heard.

But the studio had gone churchly quiet. “Traka! Show some respect. You’ll be begging at my table soon enough.” Ares answered, not loud but with entitlement.

There is a reason that teachers cannot combat bullying. It doesn’t start in schools and it definitely doesn’t end there. People who need recognition force people who need to follow to victimise people who need protection. If the meek ever do inherit the earth it will be after many more heads are flushed down toilets and a lot more lunch money is taken.

The entourage made its way through the middle of the room and everyone found jobs to do on the peripheries.

This wasn’t the first time I had met Ares, first time I was the fat kid of the class and he made me piss myself. I strode over to introduce myself. One of the shaved gorillas stood in my way. I smiled and Ares waved him aside. He looked down at my outstretched palm. ”I know you, mongrel. I read your file. Your own people don’t want you, you think my people do?”

“You have a file on me? What an accolade.” He looked straight through me, I doubted that he could pass the Turing test. I implored him to be nice, after all this was just a bit of telly.

“Enjoy your little skit, comedian.” He turned and continued through the studio. Needless to say he was the only one who did not address me in English. The host walked with him onto the set. Only there did his entourage break, positioning themselves behind their leader on three sides, just out of shot.

“Ladies and gentlemen, to your places.” A production assistant gently lead me by the arm to the set and placed me at a low coffee table opposite my new friend from the Golden Dawn. I crossed my legs and relaxed in my chair. My pissing days were long over.

A jingle played and the host began his introduction.

“With the elections upon us we give the spotlight to some of the minor candidates and ask if they have a new perspective to offer.” He introduced Ares who wished the viewers a stoic good-evening. “And a self-professed New Greek from England who surprised everyone by winning the mayoral elections.”

I smiled and added that I was not the least surprised at that one.

“The minister of finance, Manolis Trakas, to outline the government’s strategy, should it get re-elected.”

“We also have the renowned economist, Panayiotis Karaletsos who will give us his views on the causes and possible remedies of the crisis that grips our economy.”

He nodded.

“And it is with you, Mr. Karaletsos, that I’d like to begin. What do you think is the root cause of the present situation?”

He began with the European central bank’s incompetent appraisal of Greece’s qualification to join the single currency then accelerated to the austerity and bail-out plans that have only managed to get the country in more debt. I followed it quite well and found myself nodding, more in comprehension than agreement. He seemed to have omitted any mention of Greece’s role.

The host then opened the question to each of us to offer our manifesto to a viable solution. According to Trakas, New Democracy proposed more of the same, we were on the road to mend, we just needed more time and cooperation with the European union and the good will of the creditors. Ares proposed freeing the country from its immigrant burden. Then to me.

“Well, Stelios. I think we need to get businesses doing business. We need to build a business environment unencumbered by bureaucracy with clear, consistent taxation so that they can plan ahead and compete in the world market. This would provide jobs and stability.” Sounded like a plan.

“How would you go about addressing the huge problem of tax avoidance?” Karaletsos countered.

“Yeah, well people and businesses fiddle their taxes all over the world,. You only need to look to Starbucks, Amazon and Apple with their funnelling of money through Holland, Lichtenstein and Ireland. And, they’re only the big names. I think a fair stable tax system, staffed by understanding public employees who would be more empathetic to local industry would make businessmen and women more willing to give their fair share, right?”

The economist sipped his water and coughed into his fist. “So you propose that a nice fair tax system would turn round an economy that has shrunk by almost thirty percent in four years. With a debt to GDP that has gone from seventy eight percent to a hundred and ninety four in the same period.”

“I’m sure everyone would be more willing to contribute if they could see the sense in it.” Surely he could see the wisdom in that.

He smirked at me. “Capital is leaving the economy faster than we have seen since the junta period and your strategy is empathetic taxmen? May I ask if you actually have an economic strategy in your manifesto?”

I chuckled at this. “If we didn’t, would I be here now?”

“I haven’t managed to find it!”

“I’m sure you can understand that we need a stable tax environment to attract outside investment and let’s be honest, when we go to the tax office we feel loathed to give our signatures let alone twenty three percent of our earnings.” I checked the cheeky step. Done. Now in lieu of flirting with the host I turned to the Golden Dawn representative. “Now your people, Ares. I hear you do a lot in the community to help the old and needy.”

“The Greek people know that we are their true supporters—” he said slowly building pace. But I cut him short.

“Yeah, all well and good. I’m sure you are aware that this is one area where we agree. We have worked hard to give our citizens their dignity back. But we need to work with the international community, not against it.”

The finmin nodded in agreement.

“We don’t need your foreign money and your foreign laws!” Ares sneered.

“As far as the Euro is concerned, I think we are agreeing again.” I leaned over and touched his knee. ”The UK did not adopt the single European currency for just that reason. But the world is a family that must work together. We must embrace our neighbours.”

“We have been taking care of our people in the community with food and protection. The old and the children look to us for help. We are strong because we don’t look to others for charity.” His fists were tightening.

“Yes, and once again we find ourselves agreeing, Ares.” I leaned over again but he was just out of reach. “He’s not so bad after all,” I said looking at the host. “I have implemented initiatives in my town to help local businesses thrive and provide jobs and welfare for local people. Where we do disagree is—”

“We don’t need foreigners to dilute our Greek blood.”

“Now that is an interesting point there, young man. And, were my wife here, I’m sure she have have a lot to say on the matter.” I smiled at the camera. “You have a particular problem with people from other countries, don’t you?” I gave him time to answer but his eyes just went blacker. “I couldn’t help noticing the tattoo on your man’s neck here.” I invited the camera to pan to the bodyguard standing behind his master. “It’s a swastika, right?” The camera didn’t move. “An Indian religious symbol adopted by the German Nazis when they tried to subjugate Greece, with help from the Bulgarians and the Italians.” I didn’t see it coming but it came nonetheless, first the splash then the smash of a glass impacting with my cheekbone.

He was across the table and on me “MONGREL. FAG. FOREIGNER!”

His knee went into my balls, my hands sprung to defend my face but his taught abdomen got in the way. All I could do was scream to get this madman off me but it was he that rose above me, drool running from his lips. I scowled as defiantly as I could, trying not to flinch too cowardly. He spat and landed one across my jaw before swinging his head at the goons and walking out.

The studio security were still planted by the door.

The production crew fell on me with cloths and tissues, they came away blooded.

I pushed them away, stood and looked the camera square on. “If you tolerate this, then your children will be next!”

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Episode 37: Nowhere to Hide

You know me. You followed me around the country. You loved me on the TV when I had you in stitches with jokes about my penis. You followed me in the tabloids, you supported my charitable works. Then you didn't. I don't know why. You just stopped. Now, I have people who love me again. So much that they made me their mayor. This is my new story, From Under Dark Clouds.

Youtube stats have become a bit of an obsession, I must confess, dear Blogees. I tried to find a way to get my account to let me know of any updates but they were too slow so I just check in on a regular basis to find that nothing has changed.

The campaign video is only creeping into triple figures. At least the Greek version, the version in English was doing great for a few days and it’s still ticking over. That said, the kid playing Thunderstruck on his bouzouki has got nearly four thousand views already. Fortunately my name is tagged on the video and the edit even left a few moments of my speech. Well, mostly me shouting THUNDER! Socrates got his number and I think we should have him as a regular. I must admit though, piggybacking interest from a high schooler with an ethnic instrument is a new low for me. Some of my old stand-ups and TV appearances are into the millions and one where I made a US news anchor turn bright red on live TV, nothing to the colours I made her turn later off camera, is getting on for three. But, getting a few thousand locals to watch me promise them a brighter future, albeit dubbed, seems to be beyond me. Maybe my charisma just doesn’t translate.

The family were still sleeping so I indulged myself for a couple of hours with those old videos. Watching the guy in the golf trousers and Punisher t-shirt that used to be me made me a little me-sick. Not for the booze and drugs and fast-food sex, just the me that had something to say to people who understood. I’m telling them I’m a New Greek but I’m getting the feeling that all they want are new cars and new phones. Greeks are better when they’re vintage.

Socrates had me booked for a TV interview later. We were flying down to a studio in Athens, shouldn’t have been too taxing. I flutter my eyes at the hostess, be a bit cheeky and tell them to face up and claim their country back. Simple recipe but it works. It worked pretty well back home until the church got involved. I didn’t get how much people still listen to them.

I got an email from Jude but only had time to skim it. The people back home. Should stop saying that, here is my home now. Anyway, they were divided by my foray into saving Europe’s hardest doneby, divided but interested. He’s coming back to get the inside story, follow me around for a while.

The family were waking up for the school run and Socrates called. I refreshed the Youtube page. Nothing. He gave me the itinerary for the day. I had a two-hour Greek lesson then we were off to the airport. He warned me that this may be a bit of a challenge and to have my wits about me.

In my office, I opened a box of index cards where I wrote my vocabulary for a last minute refresher before the tutor arrived. I’ve been enjoying the lessons and the wife says it shows. The kids still won’t speak to me in Greek.

In the cab down to the airport I vigorously practised hypothetical speech with Socrates. It had been the subject of the lesson and the tutor deemed it an important skill given the task of the day. Socrates answered me in a mixture of hypothetical and definite which confused me a little. Not as much as I confused the cab driver asking him what would happen if we took that road or this.

He pulled to the side and leaned over the seat. “You want me to go this way or that? If we go that way,” he pointed out. “We will not get to the airport and you may not get your flight.” His syntax was textbook. Socrates was smirking behind his fist. “If you were to allow me to get on with my job, we might get you to your destination!”

“Were I to do that, would you be able to get us there on time?” I asked.

“I would have no doubt about it.” He turned and pulled back out into the midday traffic.

“We are definitely getting our money’s worth from the tutor,” Socrates said. “But, if I were you, I would shut up for a while.” I think he was just a little proud of me.

“I was a philologist before I had to start cabbing.” The driver bemoaned. “It would seem that you are getting good instruction.”

I wasn’t sure If he meant Socrates telling me to shut up or my Greek tuition. He enquired where I was from and what I was doing here. He knew of Essex, it used to be a brand of washing powder here, but he had friends who had studied at the university in Colchester. When I told him that I was the mayor of the one-horse town where he picked us up and my political ambitions, he nearly stoved the car into a queue of traffic at a red light. “Yeah, I saw you on Youtube!” At last someone. “Fantastic! It’s about time we had some fresh blood in this political circus. You really showed them.” He turned his attention back to the moving traffic. Socrates nudged me to get into campaign mode. Not that I needed telling. He pulled a left into the final straight to the terminal and I started talking about claiming the country back from the bankers and eurocrats. Greece was a debt colony that had fallen into the role through apathy and malaise. Playing the sympathy card would no longer cut the mustard and we needed to fight back.

“I was at a march only last week…” the driver said.

“If I could stop you there. You can march and chant all you want but unless you have allies up top, in Athens, in Brussels, no one is listened.” The driver corrected my verb use. “You need a new regime, a meritocracy. Get these self-serving politicians out of Athens.”

“So who do we vote for?”

“Vote for me! Tell your friends and family, tell everyone who gets in your cab! If you are still going on marches a year from now, don’t blame me. You saw what I did in my town, you saw the youtube video. Spread the word!”

We arrived at the terminal and the driver helped us with our bags. As we walked away from the cab I turned and wished him happy trails, he raised his fist in the air and cried, “THUNDER!” Maybe he saw the wrong video.

The Palaver of check-in and boarding is longer than the flight from Thessaloniki to Athens and I managed not to get into any conversations. Conversations on planes are so awkward, if they go well, you have to exchange details and go to baggage reclaim together. If they don’t, you have nowhere to hide.

Athens airport is in the middle of a desert, the harsh, bare terrain that surrounds it is a juxtaposition to the heaving metropolis that neighbours it but all that bustle is just a facade over the same scenery. The Parthenon sits aloft a bare rock jutting from the city, alluding to its ancient antecedents as well as the barren landscape that it attempts to conceal.

The taxi dropped us at a concrete box dressed in pollution and peeling paint. Polished marble cladding surrounded the revolving door to the studios and a vagrant slept in the corner to the right, I suppose even tramps get to siesta. I pulled a note from my pocket and slipped it between his cardboard bed and his nicotine-stained beard. I turned just as a camera clicked.

The studio was like any other, dark but blindingly bright. The host, I had expected a woman, introduced himself. I shook his hand and he politely enquired about my journey.

“I hear you’re doing good work up there.” He said in English that he could not have acquired here. I thanked him and he left.

Socrates introduced me to one of the guests, Panayiotis Kara-something, an economist who told me he had studied at Essex.

“Did you attend Essex?” he asked in an overly deliberate English accent.

I told him I hadn’t had much time for academia due to the pressures of the real world.

He hummed and said, “Shame. Fine place.”

The second guest was Manolis Trakas, the government’s finance minister. Another of the Euro-lackys who had Swiss bank account written all over him. I offered him my hand. “Ah! The comedian.” Why was everyone speaking to me in English?

I replied in Greek taking pains to get it just right. “No, sir. I am the Mayor.”

“A mayor,” he corrected.

A girl with an iPad shuffled around inviting us to take our seats for sound and lighting checks. The doors to the studio opened and two broad men in identical bomber jackets and shaved heads bowled in and told everyone to stand. Behind them was a young well-dressed man in sharp suit and a frown. Behind him was another clone of the two in front and two members of studio security at a safe distance. I recognised the young man as Ares, the democratically elected MP from The Golden Dawn.

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