If music be the food of love...

'I've got a plan,' Mr Grigg says, when he gets back from walking Arty around the block while I work on my laptop to the beat of high-speed Italian internet on our way to Corfu.

I need some light relief. We've been driving through Europe in a heatwave these last few days. A heatwave, and with a hairy, panting dog in the back of the car.

This dog, which you would think was crossed with Muppet but is, in fact, pure pedigree, has coped well, especially in her cooling coat. Not so us, though, in traffic jams and searing heat in the busiest week we could ever have chosen in northern Europe.

'Everyone is going on their holidays,' our hostess explains, as we sign in to the latest overnight stop on our way to the ferry at Ancona.

'Anyway,' Mr Grigg says, as we bask in the cool of an air conditioned room. 'We're going to wash the dog, have a shower and then put her to bed. And then we're going out for a bite to eat and then we're cycling into town.'

I have reservations about the last part of the plan, ever since falling into a hedge late at night on a bike with no lights at Mapperton, the police close on my tail but, luckily for me, interested only in poachers.

'I haven't told you all of it,' Mr Grigg says. 'There's a band setting up in the park. Jazz funk, I think. We're going to have something to eat and then cycle there to see them perform.'

Great, I think, as I wobble on yet another bike with no lights, down unfamiliar pathways, the bike making the noise of a very loud dynamo but no illumination to guide me, only the shape of Mr Grigg in front saying: 'I just know you're going to love it.'

I curse myself being married to this epitome of bonhomie as I hit another pothole. It's tricky riding a bike in sandals and knickers not big enough to cover the whole of your bottom.

So I whinge and moan and so does the bike until we get to a small clearing in the middle of an unlit park. There are eighty people at the most, sitting around tables, drinking, listening and laughing. On a small stage, there is a nine-piece band, complete with horn section, fatback drums and a pinch of organ.

'You're going to love this,' Mr Grigg says. And the thing is, I absolutely do.

Here we are, sitting under an Italian oak tree, the glow of the Ferrera sky in the distance, listening to a funked up version of California Soul and then something by Earth Wind and Fire.

The band are called Les Maitres Chocolatiers and they're very good. The video is not great quality but you can picture the scene when you hear them play.

Last time we were in this city we accidentally chanced upon a flag throwing festival. That's the thing about travelling ad hoc. You never know what you might find.

Fingers crossed when we make our way over the Adriatic and then down to the Ionian. Our thoughts are still with Greece.

That's about it.

Love Maddie x