In sleepy Lakka, on the northern tip of Paxos, where the bay is a turquoise blue and the cicadas incessant buzzing is deafening, a person in the house on the hill practises the tuba. The mournful high notes penetrate this peaceful place as we bob around at anchor watching others prepare themselves for a day's sailing.
Yesterday, we picked up a couple of hitchhikers after Mr Grigg, always the entertainer, had a Maddie moment and invited two complete strangers on the taverna table next to us at for a day out on the good ship Nestor.
We pootled up from Gaois, enjoying the company of our new-found friends, Pat and Ned, after almost a week of being in splendid isolation. We lunched on board on chef's salad, bread, wine and beer after swimming around the boat in the clear, warm waters.
But I am very nosy and the burning question I had was what did they do for a living. They hesitated before looking aghast at each other.
'We're having such a lovely time. We weren't going to tell you this,' they said in unison.
A coldness swept through our veins. The Serial Killers of the High Seas, British National Party canvassers or septic tank emptiers (the last two are interchangeable but at least the latter is honest and necessary). Or maybe, heaven forbid as far as Mr Grigg is concerned, divorce lawyers?
There was a deep intake of breath as they said: 'We worked for the Inland Revenue as tax inspectors.'
You could hear a pine needle drop, just above the sound of Mr Grigg's brain whirring as he thought back to the last hour's conversation. Had he said anything incriminating?
Pat said: 'But we've both taken early retirement and we don't care.'
'Well, it's a job and somebody's got to do it,' I said, breaking the ice that had suddely frozen over the Ionian. As a tax saint due for a rebate, it was the least I could do.
At the end of the afternoon, we took them by dinghy across to the Quayside for a goodbye beer.
'You've really made our day,' Pat said. 'It's been the highlight of our holiday, thank you so much. My son will be so jealous.'
That night, we enjoyed a meal at Nionios in Lakka square, finished off with the ubiquitous small glass of brown stuff 'on the house' that tasted distinctly like Obridges cough mixture.
It's a hard life. But somebody's got to do it.
That's about it
Love Maddie x