The Car...

Me and the Missus are in Greece and her Jet-setting Photographer Brother has joined us for a few days so he decides to hire a car.

I cannot drive and the Missus hasn't driven for years but having seen what passes for road safety in Greece we're confident we could have a go and get away with it.

In short Greek drivers are nutcase-on-crack dangerous behind a wheel. Fortunately the Jet-setting Photographer Brother is a seasoned driver on several continents so we decide we are in safe hands.

So we head off to pick the car up but when we arrive at the car hire place one very grumpy woman takes a look at his driving licence and tells him it is no good. The licence is Australian and she will not accept it as proof of his driving credentials. He has driven on all continents and never crashed. From what we've seen if he was blind he would still be the safest driver on this island. But she is not having it and we walk away without a car.

To add insult to injury we then get a cab home home driven by a lunatic whose idea of customer service is to drive with Guns 'n' Roses blaring out as he narrowly avoids oncoming traffic.

As we get out of the cab the Missus turns to her brother and smiles before adding:
'He's allowed to drive here.'
Her brother smirks.

We arrive at the hotel bar and order drinks. As we sit down a father arrives clutching his two-year-old daughter who in her hands has a set of car keys keys she is fiddling with.

I lean over to the Jet-setting Photographer Brother and join in.
'She's allowed to drive here, too...'

The gag runs for the rest of the evening.