After three weeks of packing up twelve years of stuff and moving over 200 boxes into our forever home it was time for a break. We need sunshine! I declared. ‘But what about all the boxes?’ husband asked. ‘Sod the boxes,’ I said – not wanting to see a box for at least two weeks.

So off we went. The first time we’d gone on a plane since before covid hit. Very quickly I remembered why I don’t like to fly. All that hassle queuing to get through security and passport control. It didn’t help that I inadvertently managed to smuggle four bottles of liquid through security – they were at the bottom of my giant handbag – and I didn’t realise until I got called over by a stern looking officer at the x-ray machine.

All the stress of moving house and travelling drained away as the plane circled the island of Lesvos, the sun-drenched piece of heaven that was to be our home for the next two weeks – with not a moving box in sight.

Ah, the wonder of opening the curtains to blinding sunshine after weeks of sodden grey clouds in England. The food! The crystal-clear waters of the Aegean! The lovely smiling people!

It was bliss. Everyone else in the small hotel we’d booked was Dutch and it was lovely to go out on non-beach days to relax by the pool and order cocktails from the bar. No worries about anyone bagging beds with towels – everything was very civilised until the third day …

On the third day we woke up unexpectedly early and thought we’d spend the morning by the pool. A bonus to getting up before nine being we’d be early enough to get the extra-special four poster sunbeds. There were only two of them and they were highly prized. Our hearts lifted as we approached the pool area. It was empty – the sun was barely up, and it looked like the day was going to be a hot one. Perfect weather to lounge on the four poster beds with their hanging muslin curtains.

But wait! For the first time in the holiday, I saw the empty beds were strewn with towels, We stopped. Looked around. Nobody in the pool. Nobody in the little restaurant eating breakfast. Nobody walking about. Had somebody got up early and … bagged the beds!?

But that didn’t happen here! We were all very civilised and courteous with each other. The Dutch guests were beautifully mannered, and us British were far too honourable to indulge in the distasteful practice of bagging beds with towels. Wasn’t it the Germans who did that?

We found alternative seats and I sat fuming, checking my watch as the hours ticked by. Nine, ten, eleven … we got to two pm and the be-towelled beds remained empty. ‘This is a bit annoying!’ I said to the hotel owner. ‘Are people allowed to reserve beds and then not use them?’

He shrugged and smiled. ‘It happens everywhere,’ he said. ‘You could move them.’

But being too polite (or you could just say a coward who didn’t want a fight) to move the towels I just sat and fumed instead. My mum, brother and friends on Instagram urged me to throw the towels aside but I just couldn’t do it. When the (BRITISH!) family finally turned up to claim the beds at 2.30 in the afternoon I settled for giving them a Hard Stare and moaning about it on social media.

The next day we decided on a trip to a local town on the tourist train that travelled along the coast. We got up bright and early and walked down to the stop. ‘I don’t believe it,’ said husband as we crossed the road. ‘What?’ I said. ‘It’s them!’ he hissed. ‘The towel people!’

And sure enough, there they were. The British family, right at the front of the queue perfectly placed to nab the best four seats up at the front. ‘I bet they’ve left their towels on those nice beds,’ I muttered. ‘Even though they’ve gone off on a day trip.’ (We later found out that’s exactly what they’d done).

For days the towel family haunted every trip. In front of us on a boat trip so we couldn’t see the view. At the front of the ice cream desk where they took the last of the caramel crunch ice cream I had my eye on, and finally on the air plane home where they got their hand luggage into the bins right above our seats so we couldn’t store our bags there. Infuriating!

We didn’t let them spoil our holiday though. My family was united by moaning about the towel people for many hours over long dinners – a sense of unity you don’t experience often with moody teenagers.

Most importantly I rediscovered my love of Greece. We hadn’t been since the children were born and I’d forgotten how wonderful the food was, how beautiful the sea and how warm the Greek people were. They kept telling us off for walking around in the midday sun and offering water and sun cream.

I loved that on our first taxi journey the driver stopped, got out of the car, and walked off. We looked at each other puzzled and a bit worried before a big, bearded guy with a striking resemblance to Zeus appeared and got behind the wheel. ‘My father!’ the retreating taxi driver explained before disappearing into a nearby bar. We arrived at our destination safely and the fare was two euro less than quoted – result!

I spent days lazing in the sun not bothering with make-up and barely moving out of my sarong and swimming costume. I lost my comb on the first day so was forced to let my hair just nest into a mad frizz of salty curls. Every day I faced the wild woman of Borneo in the mirror and didn’t care.

Eating out was a dream – halloumi, feta, prawns, souvlaki – we managed a Greek salad every day and would score restaurants on the quality of their feta cheese. Every restaurant prided themselves on making their own feta from the goats that wandered about bells clinking. If you’re interested, Nikos’s restaurant in Petra won first place for their feta which was crumbly, creamy, and delicious.

We went to beach bars and pretended to be young, drinking overpriced pina coladas and watching the sea crash against the rocks. I even ticked something off my bucket list by jumping into the Aegean from a boat. I will never forget the joy of leaping into the hot blue air and diving into the water so clear I could see fish flickering across the sand fifteen feet beneath me.

One thing I did notice was this new fashion in young women to hoick their bikini bottoms right up to form uncomfortable looking wedgies. Can anyone explain why they do this when they could just buy a thong? My family think I am ridiculous for wondering about it so obsessively, but I find it really annoying! I champion any woman’s right to bare bottom cheeks but why not buy a bikini designed for that purpose? Then they won’t have all that extra cloth!

Anyway. We returned relaxed and refreshed ready to face the challenge of finding places to put all our mountains of stuff. The only fly in the ointment was the day after we flew back the skip we ordered arrived. As the delivery man was leaving, he managed to knock over a walnut tree with his big, skip-carrying truck. Before we could do anything, the tree toppled over and landed on our car.

Stress levels are back to normal. I’m going to need another holiday.