What do Butrus Butrusghali, Zeus and Una Stubbs have in common?
They’ve all been major players in the Viking Invasion of Athens (or should that be Wiking?) these last few days.
Six of us met at Heathrow for the outbound journey to Athens via Rome, though Nick was on a direct flight. Al’s mates Geordie and H were with the rest of us, who comprised Al, JG and me, with Wolfram flying in the following morning. Alex (Big Clive) and Gordie were already there. Una Stubbs was lying in wait.
After a straightforward couple of flights to Athens, it was into cabs for the scenic route (at 1am) around the Greek countryside by the driver who couldn’t believe his luck at being able to add extra fare. He’ll get his when Zeus decides who lives and who doesn’t. Found the hotel then straightaway found a decent nearby bar, complete with photos of naked women on the walls! A few beers later and it was time for a bit of shut-eye, a nice little 3.30am start to the weekend. 24 Hour Party people? This lot are 96 Hour Party People!
Friday morning saw us off up the Acropolis for a misguided tour, always knew my classics degree would come in useful one day. After having some photos taken with the Viking flag on the Parthenon, and the maintenance shed up there 
we went down to the ancient Agora, where we nearly got arrested for having a photo taken of the “Wikings” flag in front of the Temple of Hephaistos. Naughty naughty! Greasy shite meal followed, then more beer. And far too much blagged tequila. Far too much. We met up with Elias and Sophia at about midnight, at the House of the Rising Sun pub. Great to finally meet them after a couple of near misses last year, and a great night was had by everyone. Another 4am job though, some of us are getting a bit old for this lark! Top marks to Geordie for introducing himself to Elias as Butrus Butrusghali, even though none of us actually knew who he BB was at that point. Excellent scran in Thission, once we’d done the two metro trains for 200 yards bit (all so we could re-enact that famous Anton Corbijn tube station picture!).
Saturday morning saw more beers in Syntagma square, then the train down to the venue. This is where it started to go a bit wrong. Alex decided to over-rule where I said the venue was, and we ended up going about three miles past it, and for some reason we decided to walk back in the mid-day heat. You know what they say about mad dogs and Englishmen……anyway, we met up with the rest of the Wikings outside the venue and got back on the tram down to Glyfada, where we eventually found the Irish bar that kindly put the football on for us. Too many beers later, we were off on our increasingly merry way back to the venue. Big queue for the guest list, but we managed to secure three backstage passes to start with, later increased to ten (we included Elias/Sophia in the party) by some opportune blagging in Greek. It’s all Greek to me!
Lo and behold, it was a free bar! That can only mean one thing, Wiking carnage. We emptied the fridge in about two hours, then started on the spirits. Got some great pics, then Hooky and Sarge came across for the interview. I do wish I’d been more sober, but all the same we managed to ask most of the planned questions in a semi-coherent manner, and Hooky was a real star for going along with us.
We had no idea what drama was about to unfold though, a storming set that unusually began with LWTUA, and contained the only half-heartedly predicted Working Overtime, but also the magnificence of Perfect Kiss. You should have seen the place, it was like England winning the World Cup for us, and Greece being given the Elgin Marbles back 
Great set that ended with a blast of Ceremony and Shadowplay, not played together in sequence since the last ever JD gig.
Someone else will have to remind me what happened after this, as I have no recollection at all of getting on the tram. Some of the guys witnessed a traffic accident, with JG on hand to administer blood-mopping tissues. Alex, Gordie and me were on the tram in front. My monkey-swinging from the hanging handles managed to clear the one carriage, then we had a bit of a technicolour living graffiti incident, featuring the man with his own name on his Man Utd shirt. No prizes for guessing. That cleared the carriage faster than a spare dinghy in the Canaries. As we may have already indicated, it was all Greek to us, and that’s the excuse we will use for being on the wrong tram, which took us to Piraeus instead of Athens. 3.30am by the time we got back, to find that not only were the rest of them having a party, but Geordie had been in the band’s dressing room! Two hours later and the last man standing turned off the light.
We didn’t do breakfast on the Sunday, strangely. Sunday was a bit more sedate, though it still carried on until 3am with a pile of ouzo and sordid sentimental stuff from H H and Geordie went off swimming, JG did the Acropolis having missed the earlier trek, and the rest of us just sat around and drank. Hard life, but someone’s gotta do it!
Monday was definitely the most normal of the days, another wander round the fleamarket, fewer beers, more disagreeable food, more Una Stubbs, then a jetstream taxi across Attica and two planes home. Got back at midnight, totally fooked but happy. I need a couple of weeks off now to recover, so am off to Greece. See, it really is all Greek to me!
I've probably forgotten loads, so please lads fill the rest in!
going to visit in Aug!
please don't flame, im only joking.
Top yarns and photos, guys... 