As is customary in all hotels the night time entertainment is not only provided but generally shunned as well. Maybe us Brits have come to expect too much on the entertainment front or maybe cabaret acts have all but had their day.
Last night we were lucky enough to witness our third Greek dancing act. Mum and I had previously seen the dancers earlier in the week, and after an embarrassing dragging on stage and horrific attempt at their national dancers we thought we were safe.
The dancers were not bad- I like to think that with my history of dancing I can distinguish between talent and the cause of Simon Cowell's next culinary heart attack.
It was probably the lead male dancer coming up to Mum and I after the show on the first night and attempting to Chat us up that was a tad unprofessional. I think it was his repetition of the words "I like rich woman" (his english wasn't the Queen's) whilst contently ogling Mums boobs that almost made me fall off the stall in a fit of giggles.
But like all females we managed to get control of the situation and our plan of escape was flawless: "We're lovers" we told him. The response we were after was a nod, him walking off, accepting defeat and understanding he had no chance.
Sadly the response we got was a colossal grin, further more ogling and a serious invasion of personal space. He also put his stool leg on my foot, but having already stood on my foot twice whilst dancing I was able to overlook this!
So when last night rolled up and the dancers took centre stage you can imagine Mum and my excitement- I knew I should have worn boots on my feet.
It was a lovely evening a BBQ by the sea, fairy lights, bunting (Another British trait. Why do we love bunting?) Ouzo and Greek dancing.
I was half way through a glass of white wine and mid conversation when I felt my hand tugged, and before I knew it I was on stage forcefully demonstrating my natural flare for all things Greek, again. I think this is called victimisation?!
The only difference was this time my participation involved dancing around fire and happy holiday goers throwing plates at the dancers. I was going to die!
Thankfully it was around this time that our camera ran out of battery, there clearly is a higher power.
After I had played with fire, literally, and retrieved my dignity (thankfully with my feet still intact) we were able to sit back and enjoy the rest of our night.
Maybe next time we should venture to a destination where they don't dance...
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