Markos was ruing a bad day. Sales were miserable but George, a passing acoustic guitarist from Liverpool was persuaded to hold an impromptu street concert. A huge crowd gathered as our fledgling band belted out ‘Yellow Submarine’, our favourite marching song, amidst other Beatle’s classics. Magically the display of combs vanished like sand in an hour glass. Markos looked like the Greek cousin of the Cheshire Cat. Our begging tin overflowed with drachmas, enough to sponsor a hostel in the Plaka - bed on the roof, of course, blessed with a view of the Parthenon through a thicket of television aerials.