GERRY DURRELL: born San Luca

Charming tour guide Sophia calls up, apologising for interrupting our day but she is leading a flock from the UK including a gentleman who works as a Zoo Keeper on Guernsey.

He comes with greetings from Lee Durrell and hopes to look round Gerald's birth home and take back a sod from the sacred ground to place before Lee as an offering.

I can think of quite a few sods he can remove from the island but that is not the point.

I ask Sophia to have the pilgrim call me direct so that we can clarify any misunderstanding.

He does and we spend a few comic minutes in confused convo as I try to convince him that the house my parents built 40 years ago is not the Durrellian shrine to which he craves to pay homage.

But still ... bubble bubble light bulb ideé - marketed right, there might be a buck in it.

Holmes Le Guide:

"Yes, madam, over by the Justine bower is indeed the great-grandson of the very same Sam mentioned in 'My Family' ~ opah! and there in traditional costume is Tassia, direct descendant of ... ah yes, the ancient folksongs the family sang around the campfire ... please don't touch.

It's not that Tassia hasn't got round to dusting the Donkey Rustlers Rumpus Room ~ those scattered CDs of Dimitri Potts are exactly as they fell, dashed from Gerald's hand when he was discovered listening to 'the devil's own music'.

Now, if you'll follow me through to the Specimen Room you'll see all the jars - now empty of their exotica - Jim Beam, Makers Mark, Absolut, Gevrey-Chambertin, Woodpecker and Strongbow - a reminder of when times were hard and it was only one chilled Fino before luncheon."

Poh poh, giggle, twirl of twiddling fingers - bags of material for the marketing boys to play with.