Detours were made to the many high-quality tavernas nearby where, as expected, Margot was the star attraction. At Madrakia, which became our favourite lunch spot, facing the chapel-topped islet of Vardiola St Nicholas, she made friends with the manager’s mischievous young boy, who was clearly desperate to show off his new tricycle. At the excellent Old Windmill restaurant in the village of Askos, the adorable two-year-old daughter of the owners gifted Margot one of her cinnamon sticks (though she tried to pinch Margot’s favourite toy in return). Such was the attention lavished upon Margot, we feared that other diners would feel neglected. The Greeks really do love kids.

Emboldened by seeing her playing happily with the local toddlers, we bravely booked a slot at the Peligoni crèche. What’s the worst that could happen, we wondered, as we left her with the enthusiastic young team and sought to make the most of our freedom: Mum with a massage and me with a guided bike ride into the mountains. 

The blood-curdling screams could be heard from the spa. Margot lasted 45 minutes before realising she had been cruelly abandoned, rather spoiling the zen for Mum (clever Dad was over the hills and out of sight by then). Oh well, it was worth a try. 

It would have been possible to spend the week inside the same five-mile radius – and I’m sure many do – but we did make forays, keen to take the pulse of the island. Undiscovered it is not. Zante exists for one purpose only: tourism. But that’s not to say it has lost all of its charm. The far south is for boozy antics and crippling hangovers, but there are some pleasantly sleepy villages in the mountains of the north, more ancient olive groves than you could count in a lifetime, and a beautiful coastline.

At Alykanas, where the gently shelving beach and clear, calm waters are perfect for little ones, Margot splashed in the Mediterranean for the first time, a right of passage for her and a special moment for us. The highlight, however, was a boat trip to Instagram-famous Shipwreck Bay. We motored over in the morning, the wind buffeting Margot into stunned silence, giving us time to explore the rusty wreck of the MV Panagiotis on the beach before the party boats turned it into selfie central. Our return was taken at a sedate pace, so we could explore the rock arches and caves that dot this corner of the island. At one particularly picturesque grotto, near the ruins of the monastery of Agios Andreas, my wife and Margot watched as I jumped in.