The guns have fallen silent on the eastern front. The constant heated arguments between our neighbours have mercifully abated. Whatever they were rowing about appears to have been resolved, for the time being at least. Lazy days on their side of the proverbial fence have become one long languid banquet. They eat constantly. I appreciate freshly prepared Turkish cuisine is less calorific and much healthier than most Blighty fare, particularly the convenience variety. Even so, if I shoved that much food into my mouth I’d be as big as the house. Perhaps this is why those pretty, slim young things with impossibly tiny waists and bums like two plump puppies in a sack develop into wide-bodied wrestlers. Not the steroid enhanced Yankee WWF kind. I mean the saturday afternoon grab and grunt kind that I used to watch on ITV’s World of Sport in the 1970s, brought to you by Dickie Davies. I realise this analogy will fly right over the heads of my non-Blighty readers.