We rushed Clive around the peninsula to provide a tasty titbit of our foster home. He took to Bodrum even in mid makeover mode and adored the castle, camera-clicking like a man possessed. Unhappily, despite the glorious, cloudless skies, the rest of the midwinter yarımada is distinctly unprepossessing – scruffy, neglected and vacant. I think he finds Turkey’s rough, ramshackle patina rather unappealing. As man of certain age, cultivated habits and mature sensibilities, Clive is more drawn to the coiffured charm of the Home Counties.
It wasn’t always so. Clive’s salad days were filled with audacious spirit as he criss-crossed the globe in search of adventure and discovery; even floating up the Irrawaddy on a Sampan to smoke opium in the jungle with the natives (I know a sampan is a Chinese flat bottom boat so highly unlikely to be found in Burmese waters, but no matter). Alas, we must all grow up eventually and get a sensible job in sensible shoes. These days Clive’s favourite holiday destination is refined Madeira – Surrey with a little more sun.