Dinner at Vlachos - first time this season, with Aylsa and Harry and also an Irish friend of J and B from marina days. Vlachos's usual, with starters that would have been enough for a whole meal.
Arrive home and realise I must have dropped mobile at Vlachos. Call and speak to Constantinos, the owner's son. He sensibly asks for its phone number to call it. From there it gets weird. C calls back with the news that, within less than an hour the mobile has been taken from Vlachos, discarded in a cemetery, and taken to a police station. (Its small black leather case probably was initially taken for a money purse and then, when the contents were neither cash nor a recent and sophisticated phone, it was not simply tossed away but stamped on). The police return it to me at the Sunflower, noting, accurately, that it is broken, and saying, a little callously I feel, that it isn't expensive anyway. It clearly rang when called, and the battery - which must be about eight years old - lights it up, but nothing registers on the screen, which is cracked, as, actually, is the electronic board inside.