The dirty and ragged vagrant entered the City by the north gate pulling a small but burdensome hand-cart. His dishevelled hair and beard hung to a natural length just below his shoulders. Natural that is apart from the occasional hacking with a borrowed knife.

From a distance he appeared old, but in reality he was a man of barely thirty years; an intense, passionate man on a mission of profound importance.

The wooden wheels of the cart wobbled awkwardly on the worn axles, the uneven ground forcing the hubs to grind against the axle-pins. But the man showed no concern for his rickety old cart as he pulled stoically onwards, towards the market square.

In the open cart lay a collection of bizarre objects: a wooden tub large enough for two people to bathe in , if they happened to be on friendly terms, a bed roll tied with string, a wooden bowl complete with spoon, and a leather cup lined with pitch. These were his only possessions, although he resented calling them by such a name. In his mind necessities were not possessions. A point he would argue quite vehemently if the need arose. His philosophy was pure, his logic unassailable.

He repeated his mantra in his mind, and sometimes the words reflected vaguely on his cracked and swollen lips. 'Liberty is the supreme good of the soul and it can only be attained through self-sufficiency. I will never be a slave to my physical and emotional needs! I will never feel hunger, cold or solitude. I will never need sex, money, power or glory!'

The thoughts and mumbled words trailed in the wake of this wandering mendicant like torch-smoke. For Diogenes of Sinope, reality had been reduced to the simple ability to live within himself, and any preoccupation with appearance he rejected as an insupportable excess. And anyone fortunate enough to witness this strange event would clearly agree that Diogenes had succeeded in his endeavours.

Both man and cart crossed the boundary of the sacred market place without hindrance or objection, and came to rest beneath the Ten Heroes, a line of life-size statues placed on a high and linear plinth. A westering sun caused ten elongated shadows to stretch across the dusty ground and form a carpet for the unfolding drama.

Diogenes rested the arms of his cart on the ground and pulled doggedly at the heavy tub. It slid downwards, grinding on the gritty wooden surface, then fell to the ground with a crack and a thump. Several people had now gathered, at a safe distance, to watch this stranger busy about his task.

With the tub upright and open to the sky, Diogenes collected his bowl, spoon and cup and climbed into his circular home. Once settled, and this took a while of fidgeting and muttering, Diogenes gazed for the first time upon his bemused audience. He then struck his bowl vigorously with his spoon. The noise caused some to walk away, some to remain and some to step a little closer.

"Where is your hospitality, people of Athens?" he shouted after a while. "I am a visitor to this fine City, am I not entitled to some food and water?" A long standing tradition among the Hellenes meant that all strangers should be offered sustenance in exchange for a good story. But did this man of ragged appearance have a tale worthy of such a tradition? And if so, was he capable of telling it?

As the shadows of the heroes lengthened, a young man came forward with a pitcher of water. Two women, one to each handle of a large metal pot, followed close behind, their children running about, bowl and bread in hand. Diogenes reached awkwardly over the rim of his tub and placed his cup and bowl on the ground. He then watched without a word as the three citizens filled the vessels of his need.

"The water is fresh from the well," said the youth. "The broth is freshly cooked and brought directly from the fire," said one of the women. The other nodded eagerly, then ladled a little broth into their children's bowls as a way of calming them for the entertainment.

Diogenes, now retracted back into his tub, looked down at the inviting victuals and grunted in a dismissive way. "Who cares how fresh it is," he mumbled almost to himself. "I eat and drink only to live. If I abstain I grow weak! Bloody nuisance but there it is!"

"What is your name and where are you from?" asked the youth in a friendly tone. He was too young to take offence at the rudeness of this man in a tub.

"My name is Diogenes and I am from Sinope, a distant place no doubt omitted from your education. My father, under the instructions of the Oracle at Delphi, and being a Money-Exchanger, decided to mint his own coins. The people of Sinope took offence at this attempt to reform the coinage and accused him of forgery. And since I assisted in this duplicity, they exiled us both, I to wander as you see me now, my father to waste away lamenting the loss of his wife and possessions."

The youth, surprised at the sudden eloquence, smiled awkwardly and declared the story both sad and interesting. But he backed away lest an embarrassing silence should corrupt the fascinating encounter.

Diogenes watched the youth retreat to a certain distance and then called after him.

"Fetch me Antisthenes! I hear he has founded a School of Cynics, as he calls them. He preaches abstinence and simple living; a man after my own heart!"

The youth, too close to ignore the stranger, replied, "I do not know the name. What district does he come from?"

Diogenes grew irritated and danced around in his tub, his hair and beard bouncing to the rotation. "How would I know what district he comes from? You are the citizen, I am the stranger, remember that! Now go and find Antisthenes and be quick about it!"

The youth hurried off and Diogenes tucked into his food and drink.

He watched the children as he ate, several of them using only a piece of bread to eat their broth. Suddenly this philosopher from Sinope leapt into the air, his broth spilling over the ground, his spoon spinning through the air and landing the other side of the statues.

"Another possession gone," he shouted. "Oh what joy, what bliss to be free of all attachments!" His bowl took to the air in a similar fashion, then his cup, then his clothes in a wonderful display of aerobatics. Finally, and with a flourish of limbs and other appendages, he jumped out of his tub and ran across the market square, his cries of joy echoing through the streets beyond.

His audience, suddenly robbed of its performer, wandered off to tell the story of Diogenes of Sinope.

"Diogenes and the tub" by Richard Mann