Greek salad

IT seems my opposite number on our sister paper The Daily Snail has engulfed himself in another Greek tragedy. The curly-haired one set off for the tiny outpost of San Marino this week to cover Wales playing football. I'm not sure what he did in an earlier life to suffer such an indignity but I'm sure Glenn Hoddle would be able to tell him.
Anyway, having booked at the last minute the Greek had to travel via Amsterdam, arriving in San Marino in good time for the game. Unfortunately his suitcase remained in Holland.
Now, having regaled you already of his quick-fix solution when he was suffering a busted flush, you might expect him to ring up his right-hand man Owenov and order him: "Get on the next plane to Amsterdam, mate, pick up my suitcase and then bring it out to me."
But no. Instead the Greek, who has an almost teenage girl-like crush on the Wales football manager John Toshack, approached his fave man in the game and told him of the tragic tale. Hours later, I am reliably informed, the Greek one was walking around, pleased as punch, wearing a spare pair of jogging bottoms donated by Tosh.
Just goes to prove what most of us have believed for a long time: That the Greek has been desperately trying to get into the big man's trousers for ages.