FROM time to time I am asked what inspired me to be a journalist. The simple answer is that it was down to two men.

I had enrolled in a journalism course in Durban, South Africa, but believed it was just a temporary measure as I really wanted to be a lawyer. That was until I discovered it would entail seven years of study. “Sod that,” I thought. “I better take this journalism gig seriously”.

On the first day I met a fellow student who is now one of South Africa’s most eminent journalists, but I won’t name him for fear of besmirching his reputation.

He was a tall, blond, surfer dude who I shall refer to as Dr Gonzo for reasons which will become apparent.

Having nodded a cursory greeting, I found myself sitting next to him in class. In a barely audible whisper, he enquired “Do you drink?”

“Yes” I retorted. He said: “In which case I have something for you”.

It was a gloriously sunny day. We strolled to a nearby park whereupon he reached deep into his rucksack and pulled out a bottle of Wild Turkey bourbon and two large beakers. He poured a large slug of whiskey into each and then rolled a large joint, firing it up and inhaling deeply.

He reached back into his rucksack. “You must read this,” he said, before tossing me a battered copy of a book entitled The Great Shark Hunt by eminent American Gonzo journalist Dr Hunter S Thompson.

It is a compendium of his work predominantly for Rolling Stone magazine and should be required reading for any would-be journalist.

Gonzo, for those not in the know, is a style of journalism where the writer puts himself at the epicentre of the story rather than merely reporting on events.

Thompson was a hard-drinking, drug-taking outlaw who flouted every rule in the book and then some, but boy could he write.

When I had finished reading it my Dr Gonzo said: “I have a plan. We must replicate some of Thompson’s misadventures.”

That involved drinking copious amounts of Wild Turkey, smoking Dunhill cigarettes (Thompson’s favourite brand) and attempting to mimic his writing style.

Thompson was also very fond of driving powerful cars very fast across the Nevada Desert with assorted lunatics in tow.

It was the mid-term break and Dr Gonzo was otherwise engaged with the latest in a long line of buxom blondes who somewhat inexplicably had fallen for his dubious charms.

I had also befriended another one of my classmates. He came from a rich family and, incredibly, his dad agreed to lend us his Porsche so we could travel to Namibia.

It was time to replicate the Nevada Road trip, Africa style.

We got to the fringes of the desert with nothing but sand for miles and a long, straight road ahead.

“Let me drive,” I said.

“Sure,” he concurred, tossing me the keys.

To cut a long story short, I soon had it up to 130mph with both of us whooping in glee. Had the engine exploded at that precise moment I would have died a happy young man.

At the ripe old age of 58 I look back on those halcyon days with considerable affection, but they can never be replicated.

Thompson ended his own life with a handgun while talking to his much younger wife on the telephone. He did it because he couldn’t abide the concept of becoming old and infirm.

South Africa’s version of Dr Gonzo is flourishing, still drinking bourbon or whatever other alcoholic beverage he can get his hands on and still courting the ladies with as much vigour as ever. Well, good for him.

We occasionally message each other on Twitter, but he has got his life and I have got mine.

Having said that, I still have a bottle of Wild Turkey in the kitchen cupboard and Dunhills remain the best cigarettes bar none.

Occasionally I light one up, inhale deeply and pour myself a double bourbon before putting The Doors on the turntable and turning the volume up to the max.

Do I wish I was still young? No.

Imagine if I were a teenager now. I can visualise it.

For kicks I would be listening to Ed Sheeran or some geezer called Dave who turned up on stage at the Mercury Music Awards in London wearing a lime green tracksuit and spouting utter gibberish while under the misguided impression he was a talented rapper.

Presumably I would also follow “influencers” such as Alfie Deyes, PewDie Pie and someone called Saffron who is on Strictly Come Dancing. Call me old fashioned but no thanks.