Following the short, local jaunt to Bransgore Beer Festival using the van, it feels like time to go off and get some autumn sunshine. Theres a window of opportunity between engagements at home so we book ourselves a package…to Crete.

Many, many years ago [in the 1970s] I stopped off at Crete on a ferry bound for Alexandria [Egypt] but had no opportunity to see anything. Since then I have visited a fair number of Greek islands as well as the mainland and never had an unpleasant time. The forecast for Crete this October is for temperatures in the mid twenties- which will do nicely, given that we’ve been subjected to relentless rain and gloomy skies here in the UK.

The package deal uses yet another budget airline, which feels rash after the last experience, although there isn’t much choice.

We do our routine for Gatwick Airport- train to airport the day before the flight, hotel at the terminal and plenty of time to do all the flight things.

I’m never unhappy at the idea of an evening lolling around in the airport hotel. Next morning there’s more lolling before we meander across to the terminal. All the pre flight chores have become so automated that you wonder if we must fly the plane ourselves, too. Self check-in, self bag drop, self this, self that. Having dealt with all of that, we do security and navigate along the Ikea-style, zig-zag of what airports fondly call ‘duty-free’, which has expanded since last time.

I’m momentarily irritated to be inundated with unsolicited spray from various perfume bottles, which I consider an imposition!

We need to eat before boarding, since we won’t be offered so much as a mini-bag of pretzels on the 4-hour flight, so we get brunch, which takes some time. In the event there’s no time for anything else as we’re called to the gate, where I just have time to heave on my flight socks before we line up and file down the tunnel to the plane, where by some fluke of luck [again] we wangle ourselves seats together.

Then we wait…and wait…and taxi a bit…and wait. The internet has failed at the airport, meaning all planes are waiting- 45 minutes for us…

It’s dark and 9.30pm when we arrive to Heraklion. We stumble through passport control and collect our luggage, then out into the concourse where we’re directed to the waiting coaches and told a number which doesn’t appear to adorn any of the waiting buses. We trudge back and are guided to a bus with a dark, indistinct number and clamber on. Once everyone is on the bus, the driver decides he must go and use the facilities…

We get underway. The bus starts on the dual carriageway then turns off down a narrow, winding lane barely wide enough. It shunts and turns, drops two people off, turns back. This becomes a pattern- navigating narrow tracks that would hardly accommodate a car, reversing, swaying round impossible corners. The time ticks on. At about 11.30pm we begin to realise we won’t eat tonight and it feels a long time since brunch at Gatwick…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com