Apart from some vivid dreams of strange, dark-skinned men with angular-shaped features and utterances entirely composed around an "Urr" sound, and dreams of dwarf-like women dressed all in black wearing huge turbans, squealing and scurrying around me as I walked, I don't think I moved once. I woke in the early hours with the words of one phrase running through my head, "The captain's assessment", yet I had nothing at all to relate it to. But then nothing could upset me. By then I was overwhelmed with happiness.

  I stretched my toes to the bottom of the bag and dozed until the sun came over the cliffs to warm planet Finiki with its friendly smile. From where I lay in my comfort, the road seemed quiet. Standing a little higher than most other buildings on the line towards Arkassa stands a basilica that might be worth a visit. Also, I can clearly see 'the water for drinking' fountain on the side of the road where perhaps I could perform my ablutions when I got up. First, a walk, a wash and shave, a brush of the teeth - very healthy - but no hurry, plenty of time.

During the ceremonial shaving and washing I had the feeling I was being watched. So using the mirror for a rear view over my shoulder, I was amazed to see, standing amongst the shrubbery on the hillside across the road, a herd of about thirty goats and rams, in a variety of colours from black to gold, chewing their breakfast and blatantly watching my every move.

I knew exactly what to do. I started singing to them and that made them even more confused. They became cautious, stopped chewing, and stood and stared in silent awe. Then, once I'd finished my crooning, they began bleating noisily again and clanging their bells in wild appreciation. By now, cars and trucks and mopeds were slowing down to see the mad, reborn Pan, stripped to the waist in the middle of nowhere, and entertaining an audience of goats. Modestly, I took a couple of bows, waved the beasts farewell with, "Same time tomorrow, everyone!", then returned for my day bag before setting off for yoghurt and honey at Biktoria's - or Bikkie's as we locals call it.

I was just about to set off, humming something light and jolly, when I happened to notice the door lock to the old house was not quite clipped shut. So in I went for a snoop around. The rooms were in an advanced stage of dereliction and the house must have been deserted for  years. There were several abandoned suitcases in one corner spilling clothes and suddenly I had a choice of two hats. I rejected the baseball cap and chose instead the Disneyland red and white embroidered with the name Kosmas. I washed it inside and out and wore it all day except when I went swimming.

At Bikkie's I took my yoghurt and honey into her yard where she kept a donkey and ate my breakfast standing up watching the wind blow the grass like waves across the field. Old stone walls, gnarled old trees and footpaths dry and dusty; poppies and pippins were flying like swallows all over the place. Before finishing my yoghurt, I plucked a few figs from a handy tree and even fed some to Bikkie's donkey. He thought they were delicious and ate them from my hand. He even let me take his photograph.

I hit the beach and tried to snorkel but my mouthpiece was leaking and I couldn't see anything anyway because the wind was churning up the waves and the sand and those brown strips of seaweed that grow on the seabed and end up scattered along the shoreline. But I did get some more sun and by 5 o'clock I was burning.

I ran back to Biktoria's. Biktoria didn't show me the menu; she simple placed before me a plate of Feta with tomatoes and olives and a couple of portions of chicken. I ordered a bottle of Retsina because the local stuff has quite a remarkable after-taste. I asked the daughter, Lena, where I might find a toualetta and she showed me down to the cellar. When I was ready to leave the loo, I realised she'd accidentally locked me in by taking the door handle with her. I had to get a broom, walk the number of paces to where I figured she sat above then thump on the ceiling. At first no response then a sudden explosion of laughter told me they'd realised what had happened to me. But it was all good fun and in my memory is a lovely summer's afternoon with absolute strangers happily relaxed.

My lemonada is iced. Two pensioners play patience or solo, and the TV shows music videos of Hellenic pop. I'm covered in sand. It's very hot and windy. There's a fly on my foot and one on the table and for a change, I'm indoors. There's a breeze coming through the window and it's more than welcome. I might even buy it a drink.

After my lemonada, I just stroll around the town saying, "Kalimera", to anyone I pass. I feel a new calm. I wander round to my sanctuary - the empty basilica and luckily the door is open so I climb its tower and from there can just make out the track to the beach. On my way to try another swim I drop in on a beauty of a fragrant minimarket packed with all sorts of goodies and buy a tube of chocolate cream biscuits to revive me. I seem to buy them on every trip to Greece and they never let me down. They are like the 'Way Bread' in Lord of the Rings. I munch and crunch as I sing and wave and blink to goats, donkeys, cats and dogs. There are quite a few spring fountains all over this town so you can save quite a few euros in quenching your thirst.

  My interest in ancient buildings is amateur but I always feel ruins allow you to touch the past and take you to places you might never have dreamed of and so I began striding towards the chapel that I'd seen from my bed. In between, next to the road, is what looks like a football court and this is my landmark to take the most direct route to and from town.

  Then across an ancient plateia, glaring in the heat and silent except for the creak of a solitary cicada; yet more evidence of mosaic design, and an arch with three archways which may have been part of a chapel or crypt or even erected as a commemoration to something distant past. Christian motifs overplayed all traces of any rival relationship between the ancient Greeks and their gods. And there, in the 3000 BCE perimeter white stone wall, I ran my fingers across a cross, finely etched within a perfect circle. You could clearly see the blade marks of the artist. And age-old column rounds and broken stone reused in all sorts of ways with odd-shaped bricks to make up the long white wall. 

As I walk past The Petaluda on my way to my village, I wave to the chef, who comes over to me and we slap hands and I compliment him on his beautiful daughters and so he shouts for an ouzo for the English gentleman. And it arrives on a tray with a few olives, some beans, a piece of dried crusty bread and lots of smiles and we all grin and share the moment and feeling good.

 Next was Monday...