Leo has been called away on Monday morning. He thought to delay the olive-picking until next weekend and the following week. There is a cultural gap. The olive-pickers are flying in and being collected from the local station even as I type.
A quick check round has established that the only person amongst us who has ever laid hands on an olive in anger is me. Even Mr HG has only regarded the labours benignly, over all these years, and carved for the festivities. So the entire crew are going to harvest in English. With the caposquadra being me. Gulp.
Slave driver is my middle name.
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