Papou Insists You Also Take Some Of His Poorly-Stored Mystery Petrol For Trip Home

ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact

A public holiday luncheon ahead of Greek Easter celebration this weekend has taken a predictable turn for one local man, who said he was offered an old 2L bottle of olive oil now filled with petrol by his papou, in addition to the two trays of leftovers from his yiayia.

Yianni Tsakalidis, formerly of the Flight Path District, told our reporter this morning in the designated smoking area of the office block his office and The Advocate's newsroom occupy on Daroo Street that it's clearly a sign of the times.

"Getting a tray of leftovers is a given, every time I head over there," said the 25-year-old occupational rehab consultant.

"But getting an old plastic bottle of petrol, that's new."

Tsakalidis said he was on the way out the door when his grandfather stopped him.

"He goes, 'Wait, wait, I have this,' and he comes back with an this cloudy bottle of petrol, in what looks like's [sic] an old bottle of olive oil and tells me it's for his mower but he wants me to have it," he said, laughing.

"Which is nice but, you know, I've got a 2016 Volvo XC90. I put that mystery petrol in it and it'll have a bit Swedish tantrum I bet. But he handed it to me, and you know what the worst part was, he bloody followed me out because he wanted the empty bottle back!"

"So we've gone out there, I've got two trays of baked food and Papou's gesturing for me to open my fuel flap [laughs] I'm going, 'Nah Papou, I'll do it later, it's full already!' and he just roars at me and says 'Open!' you know it's like bloody lunch, I can't say that I'm full to the gills with moussaka and another bite would see my stomach rupture like hand grenade. Yiayia doesn't give a rats, if she could, she'd put a feeding tube down me and feed me against my will,"

"Same with the car. I relented and thought fuck, it's just a bit of petrol but he tells me after that it's already got two-stroke oil mixed in it. You should've heard this fucking car on the way home, it sounded like a fucking Sopwith Camel strafing a mob of brumbies. Blue smoke shooting out the back like a dragon running backwards. Check engine light on. Fucks sake, mate,"

Tsakalidis took one last drag and flicked his lit cigarette directly into the gutter.

"It won't be the same, I'm telling you. The spark plugs will look like a Marlboro Man's lungs they will."

More to come.