Release the 'Nidri One'

3rd and 4th November

As it was Maggie's birthday on Tuesday night we'd gone up to Bill's again for a curry spree, which was excellent and very jovial and we'd taken the car but were leaving it there overnight.  Fine.  We arrived too late to squeeze into the car park, so it was on the lane.  And we happily hiccuped our way down to Nidri early on Wednesday morning by foot.

I woke up some time later on Wednesday morning wondering if Paleokatuna (where Bill's is) had a bus service, and would the car be in the way.  Sometimes a premonition has to work really hard to get through the mists of hangover, and still doesn't have the impact it should.

About half past two in the afternoon, we'd just got up to the land - forgetting the car entirely, when I got a call, saying, 'It's not your car in the lane outside Bill's is it?'  Apparently, the bus driver was furious, the various building sites couldn't get their lorries through, the police had been called, no-one had known whose the car was, the police computer showed an Albanian owner, the number plates had been removed, and the car was in danger of being impounded. 

This is not good information for a hungover brain.

We slunk up to Paleokatuna and removed the car.  There was one man there who was a little incensed, and I was mortified not to be able to understand and apologise properly for his grievances.  The number plates were missing.

I didn't feel like tackling the police just then, so it waited till this morning.  We went to Vlicho police station, Dave and Pauline chanting 'release the Nidri One' in a very supportive if terrifying way.  But the police were their usual unconcerned selves.  I had to take my ticket to the post office in Nidri to pay the fine (20 euros) and then come back, so I did all that.

They looked at the receipt, shrugged a bit, asked for the registration document, asked why it wasn't in my name - I pointed out that it was, they shrugged a bit more, looked at each other in a 'phf, computers!' sort of way, didn't ask for my passport to see if it was my name, gave me back the number plates, and pointed out that I should be careful not to lose the screws, shrugged a final time and went back to what they were doing before. 

I emerged into the fresh air of Vlicho high street, grateful indeed that only my number plates had spent the night in police custody.