I’m sufficiently insane that I think: If I take a photograph, it will make for some serious bragging rights. Oh, yeah, you know what I saw on a dive near Athos? Like close enough to touch? Great white. No, I’m serious. Swam with it for a while. Then it left. Well, I thought you might say that, so suck on this unphotoshopped image of me petting the seven-metre torpedo of bikini-chomping death like my grandmother’s puppy. Balls of steel? Steel is for shit. You know what Zeus has, my friend? You know what he tells his girls when he comes to them in the shape of a swan? He doesn’t say he’s got balls of steel. He throws back his head, spreads his arms, and he says: "I am the king of the gods, the son of Kronos and Rhea and the master of lightning! I am palaces and power and pleasure and treasure and appetite walking around in tight pants, and better than any of that crap, you know what I got? I got balls like Constantine Kyriakos!"