Be warned: if you arrive in Mykonos searching for the archetypal laid-back family beach holiday, you may wish you'd done your homework. 'Stylish' I can just about pull off, but 'Drop-dead Euro-Trash Glamour' will always be a challenge.
Psarou Beach, a 15-minute drive from our villa, had, we were told, a slim arc of golden sand and a hip bunch of bums - although it was immediately obvious that my spray tan and vintage 1990s sundress couldn't compete with the lithe lovelies of both sexes in their white thong bikinis, sipping cocktails at the N'Ammos taverna.
Here the clientele kept one eye on their Da Vinci Codes and the other on the boats waiting to convey them back to the bling gin palaces lined up offshore. Quite apart from the atmosphere of dauntingly louche glamour - more P Diddy than mummy and daddy - it didn't help that, in our enthusiasm to get out of the door on day one, we'd forgotten to bring towels. After half an hour spent hovering like uninvited guests on the perimeter we bailed out, certain that somewhere else in Mykonos there was a beach for us.
Back to base camp then for an unreality check. La Voile Rouge is a sprawling, whitewashed villa on Agios Ioannis, the most westerly promontory on Mykonos (the smallest island of the Cyclades - a mere 150km and 20 minutes' flying time east of Athens). There's a ban on new building on the island and the demand for property far outstrips supply, which explains why this pretty but far from swanky house would, according to our rep, probably sell for in excess of £1 million.
Still, what turns La Voile Rouge into a truly glamorous five-star villa is the view. It is priceless, a collision of two shades of blue - turquoise sea and Yves Klein sky - interrupted by two bald islands: mythological Delos, where the goddess Leto gave birth to Zeus's son, and which became the most important port in the eastern Mediterranean after Carthage and Corinth had been razed in the second century BC; and its bigger but less archaeologically important sister, Rhenia.
There is a good reason why Mykonos is known as 'the island of windmills', and boy, can it whip up a storm. But when the wind eventually dropped, we were determined to reinvestigate the beach life. And what we found over the next few days is that every beach has a distinct identity and attracts its own crowd. Closest to the villa was Ai Yiannis, where Shirley Valentine was filmed, while not much further was big, touristy Ornos - lots of restaurants and, blessedly, no designer dress code.
Further east still, past Psarou, was busy, narrow, Platys Gialos, which is perfect for families - even pale, freckled, Celtic-looking families who are no strangers to wearing fleeces - and replete with a wide selection of beach vendors. Here, inspired by the crowd at Psarou, I bought a fabulous pair of knock-off Dior shades for €15.
Further still, as the fine golden sands gave way to stuff the texture of cat litter, we spent a morning at windswept Agrari, which is divided into two halves: if, on arrival, you turn right, it's pretty much social death. I worked this out for myself, though, long before I read it in an upscale guide. So deserted was it that the right-hand side of Agrari might have been a leper colony.
No surprise to learn that we didn't make it to groovy, new-agey Paranga Beach, or disco-licious Super Paradise, where we would have been the only non-gays in the village. On our last day, however, fully tooled-up with my snide Dior glasses, real Dior sandals and freshly painted toes, we plucked up courage to return to Psarou, which didn't seem quite as daunting - or as packed with wealthy weekending Athenians - on a Thursday as it had the previous Sunday.
I didn't fall in love straight away - Mykonos seduced me slowly. This is not an obviously beautiful island, but the barren landscape grows on you even if nothing much grows on it. And there are spectacular views almost everywhere.
Hora, the pretty whitewashed 'capital' otherwise known as Mykonos Town, famously has more gay fans than Kylie and there isn't a single major designer name missing from the rails of the chic boutiques. It is also ideal for indulging in my fourth-favourite holiday pastime after sleeping and eating and getting gently burned: people-watching.
During a quiet afternoon trawl around the shops in the higgledy-piggledy lanes of Hora's Matoyannia district, we were confronted by the sight of two deeply tanned, exceptionally handsome, young, blond Germans wearing immaculate matching white shorts and T-shirts, holding hands and poring over a carousel of postcards. After squeals of delight, the pair bought half a dozen postcards of kittens bearing the immortal legend 'Kitty-cats of Mykonos'.
Other than the terrace at our villa, the best (and busiest) place to watch a sunset, not to mention the people-watching, turned out to be at the sensationally photogenic Little Venice —the little bit of Mykonos that is instantly recognisable even if you can't tell your Ornos from your Elia.
On the right-hand side of Alefkandra Bay, Little Venice's couple of hundred yards of water frontage is mostly given over to cocktail bars and restaurants, heaving with shiny couples and singles of all conceivable orientations (Friends of Dorothy, fans of cats...) on pitstops prior to a long night of partying. It's glam and gorgeous and, given that the surf beats the foundations of the buildings and the narrow waterfront path, entirely unsuitable for small children and wearers of vertiginous heels.
Mykonos gives good restaurant - at a price. There is even a summer outpost of Nobuyuki Matsuhisa's international sushi empire, Nobu, at Hora's Belvedere Hotel, while Sea Satin Market, a stone-skim from Little Venice, is the current coolest dining experience.
But unless you want to spend around €45 a head, I'd recommend somewhere a little more low-key, like Nikos, a busy and efficient taverna which spills out into the square behind the town hall.
On the night we visited, the contents of a vast cruise ship were making their presence felt all over town and we were lucky to get a table, but though the food has been described as average-at-best when the place is busy, I was delighted by my kleftiko, which arrived foil-wrapped and oozing spiciness.
Nikos also boasted the most diverse clientele I can recall seeing in one restaurant: singles and families and pretty boys and girls sitting pierced-cheek-by-pendulous-jowl with the Americans from the ship, all enjoying an Atkins-friendly menu of Greek staples. Incidentally, seafood is pricey here because the waters around Mykonos are all but fished-out and the 'fresh' stuff is mostly imported.
Five days turned out to be not quite long enough to get intimate with Mykonos, but it was long enough for the weather to do a complete volte-face and allow us to see the island in all its shimmering glory. I'd love to return, but the problem I always have with Greece - though it hardly qualifies as such - is that there are so many islands, so little time.
Thanks, however, must go to the owner of La Voile Rouge for his pile of glossy and seductive coffee-table books: I've now got the hots for Santorini.
Factfile
Kathryn Flett flew to Mykonos with Olympic Airlines (0870 606 0460; www.olympicairlines.com) prices start from £209pp return inclusive of taxes to any Greek island throughout the summer.
A seven-night stay at La Voile Rouge is from £3,480 per week with Wimco (0870 850 1144; www.wimco.co.uk) This price includes accommodation and daily maid service. Wimco has villas on Mykonos from £2,736 per week. Flights are not included.
