Barbados

Unusually, I didn’t leave the British Isles until I was 35, when I went to the Maldives for a fortnight. (You bet it was a culture shock, considering that the most exotic place I’d been until then was the Bognor Regis branch of Butlins.) But I’ve globetrotted like a footloose fiend since then, and on my travels I’ve observed that the pricier the watering hole, the less likely vacationers are to look happy.

The Crane is one of the most beautiful hotels in Barbados, but plagued by sour-faced English types complaining about there being no skimmed milk or a cloudy swimming pool (‘quite troubling’). There were groups of good-natured Americans scattered about, whose parade the Englishers appeared to take some pleasure in raining on with the intensity of a tropical shower. No wonder they make us the villains in their films. After five nights we moved on to a cheaper hotel, the Southwinds — a bit down at heel, but the guests were having the time of their lives.