So there we were on a beach in Crete on a blazing hot day. At lunch time we sought refuge at a busy shaded beachside taverna. There was plenty of choice in the chilled cabinets but the fish kebabs looked particularly good so that’s what I ordered.
We relaxed with our drinks while we awaited our food, and enjoyed watching the ubiquitous cats scavenging for scraps. We were also amused by a small French girl crawling under chairs while exclaiming “Oh! Le petit chat!”.
Before long our food arrived and we set to eating it. Or rather the huge wasps that appeared from nowhere set to my fish kebab. Instinctively I picked up my kebab stick and tried to wave the wasps (or maybe they were hornets) away, to absolutely no effect. Then the top piece of fish flew off in the paperback of a man nearby (a Wilbur Smith if I remember correctly after all these years); he was remarkably sanguine about it.
Now I understood why nobody else was ordering the fish kebabs.