It is four o’clock in the afternoon in Greece and I am at the Lohan Beach House, waiting for Lindsay Lohan. The bar that takes her name is a curious place to loiter unaccompanied. Above an ­Aegean-facing, open-air, horseshoe-shaped bar, a woman dressed in a bikini is DJing. She has a mane of cobalt blue hair, copious tattoos and alien-eyes contact lenses. It is as if Neytiri from Avatar has taken to the decks. Groups of young people stand around waving their drinks in the air in time to the music. It’s loud.At 5pm Lohan arrives in a white Mini ­convertible. She glances over at my table, flirts and laughs with a couple of handsome local policemen in the car park (“Greek cops are so hot,” she says to a friend), then heads off to her designated Lohan Beach House cabana to join her mum, Dina Lohan, and a few hangers-on.