Bodrum has arrived and acquired a laid-back sophisticated buzz you can feel. Unlike many of her Aegean sisters, Bohemian Bodrum is chock-a-block with holidaying Turks. This is where the well-heeled come to get well-oiled. I wonder what the urbane Turkish social elite sporting Lacoste polo shirts, M&S Blue Harbour cotton pants and loafers make of the half-naked pot-bellied Brits who waddle along the smart Marina promenade in Nike trainers and extra-large synthetic shorts from JD Sports? I observed a family of tattooed honey monsters looking lost and disoriented in animated conversation. It was almost as if they’d been beamed in from Benidorm. Virtually every second word was an expletive. I have nothing against the occasional curse. I’ve been known to use the odd ripe Anglo-Saxon profanity myself from time to time. However, I swear with care. They cussed because of a limited vocabulary.