Bolt from the Blue

Or perhaps an arrow from Cupid answer to my last posting?

It was 7.30 this morning and I was up, having been awake since 4.17; knowing the binmen and recycling collectors were coming around 6.30 and would wake me up, I couldn't get back to sleep. The phone went when I was in my study, next to where Mr G sleeps with the door open. I answered in a whisper, so as not to wake him. I was expecting to hear the voice of Mr G's friend who rings him every morning. Instead, I heard a voice saying, "Hello, it is Mustafa."

"You must have a wrong number," I automatically replied. But the voice was insistent. "It is Mustafa from Fethiye."

Now, Mustafa from Fethiye is the spitting image of my favourite actor, Alan Rickman, he of the Roman nose and sexy voice; he of Truly, Madly Deeply fame, and who played the sardonic Snape in the Harry Potter movies so wonderfully. Just change the hair shade to silver and it's the Turkish carpet man. Mustafa (labelled Mustafa Shag by one of my friends who knows him and Fethiye very well) is a one-time holiday romance of mine. But what was he doing ringing me at the crack of dawn and how did he get my number?

My heart was pounding faster and all was revealed when he said, "I have your friend Mary here." I met Mary on my recent trip to Cornwall. She was looking for somewhere laid back and sunny to spend a holiday before returning for some potentially nasty medical stuff. I suggested Fethiye, gave her my number and told her that if she went, she should look up Mustafa. Now I have what I wished I had had years ago - his phone number, his email address and his website! He asked when I was coming over. September, I promised.

Tee-hee. Tee-bloody-hee! Turkish Delight is on the menu and I shan't tell Mr Grumpy.