As I sat there tapping away on my battered manual olivetti in the dying moments of winter on Andros, I had no idea that some three years later I would be trying to get a Word Processor into Northern Greece.

September 1992, and I had found a job as a TEFL teacher in Northern Greece. I was attending a week-long training seminar in Thessaloniki, so I decided to try and ship over my word processor from London. It was very carefully packed by experts, and my side of the bargain was simply to go and collect the computer at the other end - the Cargo division of Thessaloniki airport. And so my journey into the Greek equivelant of Kafka began.
I arrived at the airport and hummed a rather bad tune from a rather bad song as I made my way to the 'registration' section of the Cargo Building.
I explained what I was doing there to the woman behind the glass panel. "Computer? Ah! Computer!" She handed me a small form to fill in. I did so, and got a slip of paper with 300 drachmas written on it. I paid the appropriate money, and was told to go to room 12.
I went to room 12, and knocked on the door. A person was already in there, telling the woman at the desk a hair-raising story about being a legal au pair, how she needed whatever she could to get whatever it was that she wanted. The woman nodded sympathetically and told her to go to room 52. She exited triumphantly, as if she had just won a major battle. It was not a good omen. I showed the woman my slip of paper.
She peered at me: "A computer?" She made it sound as if such a machine was obviously from Alpha Centauri A and contained a death ray.
"Yes, well, a word processor (I used the English word) to be exact, but-"
"And who are you working for?" This time, I could have told her that I worked for MI6 and she wouldn't have batted an eyelid.
"Svarna Schools."
"Not the British Council, then."
"No."
"So, why are you bringing this computer into the country, and where do you intend to take it?"
"To help me with my teaching - you know, materials for students, that sort of thing - and I'm taking it to Kastoria."
"Kastoria, hum. That's near the border." She scribbled some things down on a piece of paper and gave it to me. " Well, you must go to room 17 and speak to Mr. P-"
I took the piece of paper gratefully, and strolled off in the direction of room 17. I knocked.
"Come in, come in, come in!" growled the voice from behind the door.
I walked in. A man was sitting behind his desk. He gave me a look over his glasses as if he was a schoolteacher with a cane. "And why are you here?"
I gave him the piece of paper.
"Aha! It says you speak Greek with an accent. Can I see your passport please?"
I passed him the document.
"British, huh. Computer, huh. Kastoria, huh. Where did you learn your Greek?"
"Most of it here, in Greece."
"I see... So why aren't you using the computer in Thessaloniki?"
"Because I'm teaching up in Kastoria."
He gave me a warning look. "Don't sell the computer to the Albanians."
"I have no intention of selling the computer to anyone."
"Especially to them. Give me your word that you won't sell your computer to the Albanians."
"I won't, I swear!"
"Okay." He signed the piece of paper. He then said: "Take this to room 28. Mrs. L- will speak to you."
I walked to room 28. Mrs. L- turned out to be a cheerful lady with a rotund countenance.
"Aha, so you're the computer man! " Word had obviously flown around like mosquitoes in a swamp. "Come with me, and we will take a look at your computer ." She led me out of the office and down some steps, and we went into the cargo area. A young lad was dispatched, and sure enough, the word processor and its printer had arrived, and was now laid out on the floor in its two boxes.
"So, now, open that box." She commanded. I opened the first one.
"What is in it?"
"A computer monitor and keyboard."
"Show it, please."
I took it out.
She licked the end of her pencil, and then wrote on a scrappy piece of paper, "Computer."
"And what's the number?"
"It's on the side of the box."
She looked and wrote.
"And the number of the keyboard?"
"It's the same number."
"Return the computer to the box."
So I did.
'Open the other box."
I took out the printer. She looked at it with fear, as if it were a wild Northern Greek dog.
"Number?"
"The same as the others, look, it's on the side of the box."
She wrote it down painstakingly, without using ditto marks.
I put it back before she had a chance to command me to do so.
"Leave it here, don't worry, you will have a chance to pick it up later."
My heart sank. I thought this stage was the last one; I was nearly patting my back for having got this far, and now-
"Go to room no. 36," she said. "And take this piece of paper with you." She signed the earlier piece of paper that had already been signed twice, and gave it to me.