Perhaps it's the fact that I look more like a ventriloquist's dummy than an international man of mystery when wearing a tuxedo or that my gambling prowess is limited to alternating between red and black at a dodgy Blackpool casino, but I concluded long ago that I was never going to be live the James Bond lifestyle.

That was before my recent trip to the Cayman Islands, however.

The Caribbean islands' status as an overseas British territory means that, rather than the beating sun or the vibrant colours, it is the incongruity of familiar sights such as suited London gentlemen reading the English newspapers or cutting business deals set against the perfect tropical backdrop which first caught my eye.

Sitting back unwinding after my long flight in a beachside bar, complete with exotic beauties and over-priced cocktails, I realised it couldn't get any better – apart from the promise of tea and cricket later that afternoon.

However, after a few hours lazing around I felt I should get out and make the most of week-long stay.

This is a place, after all, where the main tourist attraction is the world-famous Seven Mile Beach.

Indeed, a dictionary search for the term 'tropical paradise' would no doubt come up with a picture of the three islands of Grand Cayman, Cayman Brac and Little Cayman and the azure Caribbean Sea which separates them.

Tempting though it was to find a spot on the Seven Mile Beach - seen by many as the finest in the world - and continue my lazing around, the unparalleled scuba diving opportunities the Cayman Islands offers made even this seem relatively unappealing.

With a day's lessons from one of the Cayman Island's many fully-endorsed Scuba schools under my weighted belt and my travel insurance covering all manner of shark-related eventualities, I was soon deep in the crystal –clear warm waters, discovering Stingray city and simply floating through the brightly coloured shoals and coral reefs, and watching on with envy as the more experienced divers headed down with a guide to one of the numerous shipwrecks from across the years sulking in the depths.

Not only does a day's scuba diving let visitors stay out of the midday sun but when I emerged above water in the late afternoon I was pleased to discover that the throngs of tourists fresh off the cruise liners who earlier were clogging up the narrow streets and making me queue for my rum punch at the beachside bar had hopped back on their boat and were safely on their way to whatever island was next on their hectic schedule.

Drawn in by the laid-back grooves of the same old reggae tunes which are almost constantly played anywhere south of Florida, I soon reclaimed my trusty bamboo stool and settled down to plate of turtle, a local beer and a trashy spy novel.