Sunday morning is newspaper day, so next door to the periptero to get the Sunday Cyprus Mail. I’m not first in line. Well, maybe am for the Cyprus Mail, which is English. There are a lot of newspapers and most of them are Greek. The access to the newspaper stand is via a very narrow walkway through a maze of cases of water, Heineken and Carlsberg, piled nearly to my height. Walkway definitely not more than one person wide. At the newspaper end is a man examining the Greek newspapers and taking his time - reading the back page as well as the front before he chooses one. I’m really mostly amused. He’s totally absorbed. And besides, I recognise the bloke. He’s a friend of the hotel - occasionally in a pinch on the desk, though no language other than Greek. And I’m struggling to remember how to say good morning in Greek, though what comes is the Turkish, which would be really unhelpful, or more probably simply not understood. Can also, no more usefully, think of the French and Polish. Mr Friend of the Hotel spreads out his paper on a crate of beer to peruse it more effectively and looks up. Big smile, and hello in English, probably about the extent of his English vocabulary. But we’ve known each other - sort of - for ten years, and the smile is genuine, as is the old guy’s total lack of embarrassment at monopolising the news stand. And I’m happy. There’s nowhere I have to be in the next two hours, let alone two minutes. It’s part of what we like about this place.