Nick Papadopoulos's name is synonymous with eating Greek in Durban even though these days his fare is more global in scale and flavour. Monthly, on a Sunday, he and his team revive the legendary lunchtime Greek eating extravaganza. At the Point Yacht Club, a venue with a view, and upstairs from the Anchorage bistro. Where it took a committee to revive the celebrated PYC pie.
Sitting in the shade of an umbrella mesmerised by the reflections - Impressionistic colour splashes displayed as rippled images thrown by yachts tied to their mooring docks - I find myself transported.
Interesting what the mind does. Where it can take us. Because without bidding, without a plan, I find myself in Greece. W-a-y back. Sleeping out on the beach next to my friend, Rob. Not exactly sleeping at this point because Rob, in the sleeping bag next to mine, has snored me awake.
Fantasies surface about what I would like to do to him to shut him up. Thing is, a husband or boyfriend you can take liberties with in a familiarity-breeds-contempt sort of way. But a friend?
Then I watch myself all-of-a-sudden sit bolt upright, turn on him, give him a swift sharp...