Ahmet seems to have a problem comprehending our “Turklish” shorthand or possibly just with his hearing, continues to register, whilst “his friend” carries my luggage to the room.  It appears that my shiny new life is having a bit of a tarnished start as the apartment that we booked seems to no longer be available as the Turkish landlord has rented it to someone else – this again seems to be a common occurrence in Turkey.  I had spent the last few weeks excitedly showing pictures of the new apartment, that Ahmet had emailed me, to all the folks back home. When further questioned Ahmet shrugs his shoulders and says “sokey it’sTurkey”.

 Deprived of sleep and having had my nerves stretched finer than Anne Diamond’s gastric band, I debate whether I am about to (a) throw myself on the floor of the hotel and have a tantrum to end all tantrums (b) consume all the duty-free alcohol which I have purchased en route or (c) sever all of Ahmet’s marriage prospects and wear as jewellery.  Having watched the film “Midnight Express” several times on DVD, I opt for the safest option and ask the receptionist to send some orange juice to the room to accompany the copious amounts of vodka I intend to imbibe.

 To be fair the hotel room is more than adequate although the twin beds were not quite what I expected for our big reunion night.  The television only receives Turkish programmes and I am quite shocked by the amount of Turkish porn channels but at the same time envious of the flexibility of some of the actors. The room is quite cold owing to the recent storms and there is no heating other than the solar-powered system which is obviously not firing on all cylinders.   Clearly this is going to make showering a sub-zero and brief experience!

 After my brisk shower, when sensation had returned to my extremities and frostbite had been ruled out.  I downed the large vodka and orange that Ahmet had waiting for me and within minutes fell into a deep slumber.  Blissfully unaware that the hotel was fully booked the following night and we would need to find alternative accommodation ……………………

It’s funny how one brief moment can change your life for ever, one minute you you’re planning your next visit to Slimming World, whilst munching on a Mars bar, flicking through OK magazine and wondering if it’ll show on the weigh in, and the next you are waiting for your connecting flight at Istanbul airport when Kevin Costner zooms past you on a golf buggy. Always wanted to be a jet setting celebrity, but the truth of the matter was he was filming an advert for Turkish Airlines so sadly on this occasion, we didn’t exchange phone numbers. That and the fact, that he was accompanied by his gorgeous and stick insect thin model wife.

So destination Bodrum here I am and where is my beloved? As I push my luggage laden down with all my summer Primarni buys and duty frees through the crowds and the hoards of transfer drivers waiting to pick up their passengers, there doesn’t seem to be anyone waiting for me. Tears burn the back of my throat at the thought of having come all this way for nothing. It seems I may have burned all my bridges and travelled all this way to be stood up at the airport. The question is do I get into a dodgy looking taxi, with the obligatory prayer beads hanging from the mirror and equally dodgy Turkish music blaring from the stereo, and get to the nearest hotel or do I catch the next flight back to the UK to a chorus of “I told you so’s”? As my misery deepens all of a sudden, Ahmed appears from behind a pillar carrying the tackiest bunch of flowers ever; the kind that you would buy in an Esso garage back in the UK. In my head I hear the line from the song “My funny Valentine”, the one that goes “you make me smile with my heart”? My heart sings along and I know now that everything is going to be okay. At least for today I am where I am supposed to be after all.