Rambling about on the rocky landscape of north east Crete, Jean and her son discovered a road which they hoped would take them back to the beach. As they approached the road, they were fascinated by an enormous rocky crag rearing up from the roadside.

They then noticed that a house was being built close to the rock. "At that time the house was just a grey concrete shell, but it was a marvellous spot to build it. I was so taken with the house, that I 'took it over'- mentally."

On sleepless nights Jean would summon 'her' house to mind, and drift off there in her imagination, "In my mind I lived there, I took my favourite books and music there, imagining myself sitting on the terrace in the setting sun. I even decorated and furnished it with the traditional dark wood furniture you find in Crete. I'd thoroughly enjoy myself and pretty soon drop off to sleep!"

This was a private place for Jean. She didn't talk to her family about her house, "I've only just let them in on the secret. It was a place of my own, and it seemed disloyal to the family that I should need a place to go to and be completely my own."

Year after year, Jean dragged the family back to Crete so she could visit her house. Every time she returned, something would have been added or would have been changed. The funny thing was, that Jean had usually imagined these changes before she saw they'd been carried out, "I'd think," she says, "'It needs to be painted white,' and I'd go back and it had been painted white. I'd imagine lilies and geraniums in the garden; I'd go back and there they were! I really felt that my spirit was having an influence on the owner and the house. This went on for years. Then, one year I returned, and I was flabbergasted. They added a red pantile roof on it. Instead of the little flat-roofed Cretan house, it looked like a suburban bungalow. I never did quite feel the same about it."

Whether through shyness or a reluctance to disturb her imaginary sanctuary, Jean never knocked on the door. She did learn it was owned by an English person, but that was all. Then one year, whilst wandering up to see her house alone, she saw a man in the garden. Jean told him about how she'd watched the house develop over the years, "He asked me in for a coffee, but I thought, well, I don't really want to go inside in case it wasn't as I imagined it!"

Jean's husband is now too ill to travel. She last saw 'her' house in Crete three years ago, and thinks of it now as lovely memory.