Why I chose virtue over vice

A funny thing happened on my way to this beautiful place, an island without druggies, nightclub creeps, clip joints or hookers. I stopped in Athens for about five hours in order to look over old haunts and just walk around places I’d known as a youth, when I

noticed something incredible: none of the youngsters I encountered were texting, nor were they glued to their mobiles and bumping into people. Sure, some were on their phones, but the majority of them were talking and gesticulating like normal humans used to do before the technology curse rained down on us.

Well, as they say, nothing lasts for ever, and once I was on Patmos friends informed me that what I had noticed in Athens was Alice in Wonderland stuff. Still, Patmos is wonderful, with very polite and friendly natives and no left-wing virtue signalling, as the place is full of ovens and gas hobs. The only thing missing is crime. Just Stop Oil cretins would be as welcome here as an atheist in a foxhole, but I’d love to see them come, as the solitary jail in Skala is empty, and the cops are feeling underemployed.

If you’re looking for action, however, head 85 miles to the southwest and you’ll find the biggest brothel this side of Las Vegas. It’s called Mykonos, and I used to love the place almost as much as I adored my mother. No longer. Even the magical embroidery of memory – the aching pathos of youthful romances and all-night partying – cannot erase the present horror of the place. Rich Gulf playboys, whose inability to attract women is known even in the cheapest dives of Ibiza, bring their own hookers on board their horror boats. There are non-stop vomit-inducing displays of wealth by unknown ‘billionaires’ and, worst of all, once proud Mykonians take in the freak show and do nothing about it.