Loath as I am to move, it seems a shame not even to venture as far as Porto Cervo. The wide marina packed with superyachts points the way, and soon the typical local houses — all soft arches and pastel sandstone — are decked with discreet signs: Pucci, Gucci, Hermès, Cartier… At first I’m surprised by the lack of a town centre, until I remember that Porto Cervo was only created in the 1960s, when a consortium led by the Aga Khan bought a 50km stretch of coast, and it is in fact simply a seriously glorified yacht stop. Kate Moss and Naomi Campbell are regulars; Berlusconi used to host his bunga bunga parties in one of the mega-houses in the hills. I sit in the Ferrari bar in the piazzetta and enjoy the early evening parade of tight white jeans, big hair and bigger jewels.