Ask a resident of Ikaria, the verdant, mountainous northeastern Aegean Greek island that happens to be this author’s ancestral home, the time of day and he is likely to crack a wry smile and answer, in the slow, melodious local dialect, “arga-misi”. The phrase is a play on words that roughly translates to “late-thirty”.

It's a telling insider's joke about the carefree attitude most Ikarians have towards the pressures of the clock. In this age of adrenalin-inducing financial headlines, with Greece at the epicentre, Ikarians seem blithely unconcerned about the machinations of their own scandalous politicians, the IMF, ECB, or any other list of acronyms that could easily have been part of a 1960s Beatles' tune.