Greek tomatoes with eggs

I thought I had taken on a lot of new responsibilities this week... that was before I heard of the kind of thing Owenov is expected to do in his new job.
My former colleague was employed to be the new design guru of our sister paper the Western Snail, but it appears he failed to read the small print.
Apparently his new boss, the Notorious Greek, demands quite a bit more than 100 per cent from his staff. In fact it is fair to say they are expected to get down and dirty for the tyrant with the rapidly disappearing curly perm.
This week Owenov turned up for work to be confronted by a particularly anxious looking Greek. "I need you to help me out," he ordered, with the smile of an assassin. Poor old Owenov should have known better than to answer in his usual convivial "glad to help in any way I can" response.
"Well, it's my toilet," the Greek announced, stepping through the opening at roughly the same breakneck speed he approaches someone with loose change near the coffee machine or a person about to buy a round at the bar. "The flush has stopped working and the Mrs is going to kill me if I can't find someone to fix it."
Most of us would venture the helpful suggestion "Get a plumber then, you knob."
But not good old Owenov. The gentle-natured one asked his superior exactly what the symptoms were of his toilet's disease. Then, having fixed plenty of similar faults in the past, he proceeded to tell the Greek exactly what he had to do to fix the problem himself.
Next day, though, the Greek was looking even more downtrodden, and not a little soggy around the edges.
"What's wrong?" asked the sympathetic Owenov.
"It's terrible! I thought I'd fixed the problem but I've flooded the bathroom and the entire upstairs. Pleeeze, you've got to help me. Get your coat on, we're going to my house."
Design guru? I expect Owenov to be charging by the hour soon and adding on extra for parts.
Rather than tell the exalted one where to stick his plunger, however, Owenov went back with him to his house in one of the posher suburbs of Cardiff and fixed the problem. The Greek stood there, like the foreman he is, giving extremely unhelpful suggestions while Owenov plunged his hands into the depth of his cistern.
Watch out, Owenov. He will be handing you the bogroll and asking you to perform other menial tasks before long. Yuck!

Withers, meanwhile, has found an interesting way to impress his new female flatmate. Returning from drinkies in the Yard the other day, Withers stumbled in on his new house companion moving her stuff in with a mate of hers.
Having introduced himself and welcomed her to Chez Withers, the new arrival had just one question for him: "Are you drunk?"
Having denied the accusation vehemently and excused himself on the basis he was "a bit tired", he then managed to fall down the stairs, landing embarrassingly at the feet of the new acquaintaince.
Brilliant.

Back to my busy week. I have finally stepped into Kempy's shoes and have switched my allegiance from sport to news. It's been a really hectic schedule, involving some late finishes, but I've enjoyed the first week very much.
Haven't really had much time to myself, though. The week started well with Wren and I watching Wales lose another rugby game heavily, joining Smashy, Withers and Danny Boy in my local boozer in Roath.
Then on Tuesday I caught up with my chores, had a good swim and later went to see the Gas lose a good Carling Cup game against West Ham 2-1. After that it was work, work, work - not helped by the fact my first introduction to the news desk was interrupted by two fire alarms, meaning we got about half an hour's work done before lunch. Apparently someone kept burning the toast in the canteen.

Nicey and his band were off to a festival called Glustenbury in Leicestershire this weekend, but they joined us for a quick pint on Friday night. We were discussing the latest news that a budding young female TV presenter was replacing one of the more experienced members of the BBC news team.
"It's a shame, I really fancied her," admitted Nicey, talking about the former darling of the regional news. Then he thought about it a bit more. "Mind you, I wouldn't turn down a threesome with them both."
The man is ALL charm.

The other day I cooked a really quick and interesting meal that is apparently very popular in Greece. It's called, quite simply, tomatoes with eggs, and is a terrific quick snack.
YOU NEED: 3 tablespoons of olive oil; 50 grams of butter, four ripe tomatoes, peeled and chopped; sugar, salt, pepper and a good sprinkling of oregano; three or four eggs, lightly beaten.
TO DO:
To make peeling a bit easier, pour boiling water over the tomatoes and let them stand for a short time. Then peel and chop them.
Put the olive oil and butter into a large frying pan.
Add tomatoes and all the seasoning, including a spoonful of sugar, and cook slowly until the mix becomes a thick sauce.
Beat the eggs lightly with a pinch of salt and pepper. Stir into the saucepan and use a fork to drag the egg through the tomatoes. When it starts to curd remove from the heat and dip fresh, crusty bread into the pan, eating it in a peasant way. Either that or serve on a bed of wholemeal pasta (I used penne). Gorgeous.