CLINGING on for dear life as the moped hurtled through the Bangkok rush hour, I silently cursed Margaret Thatcher. Had it not been for all that 1980s nonsense about getting a job and making money, this would have been out of my system long ago. Back then, gap years were for hippies and drop-outs.

Now, here I was two days from my 40th birthday, proving that it’s not just teenagers in Faliraki who take leave of their senses abroad. The clever option, after missing the last train south, would have been to rebook for the next day. Instead, my partner Jane and I accepted an offer by a pair of enterprising moped-riders to catch it at the first stop.

It was the most terrifying and exhilarating 40 minutes of my life as we dodged queueing cars and, at one stage, swerved around barriers on a level crossing. We made it, and a bottle of Chang beer has never tasted so good.

Travelling is all about gathering experiences and that one is right up there with the best from our adult gap. Ten wonderful, carefree months with no job, no DIY chores — just the freedom to go where we wanted, when we wanted.

We watched new year fireworks explode over Sydney Opera House, saw the sun rise over Angkor Wat in Cambodia, sat with saffron-robed monks watching a World Cup football match in Laos and learned to fire blow-pipes with (former) head-hunters of Borneo.

We were worried by wild dogs in the paddy fields of Sa Pa, in north Vietnam, had close encounters with far too many cockroaches, and had a couple of blinding rows as living in one another’s pockets 24/7 occasionally took its toll. Including day trips to Burma and Mexico, we managed to pack in 14 countries. I’d do it all again tomorrow.

The adult gap is the perfect antidote to the mid-life crisis. Tony Blair should make it compulsory for anyone, like myself, who never got as far as an InterRail ticket in their youth.

Supposedly, everyone over the age of 30 is at it, but the majority of gappers we met were in their late teens and early twenties, which can become tedious. On the island of Leleuvia, in Fiji, we met a pair of twentysomethings from Jersey. Late at night, as we chewed the fat on the beach, my age cropped up. I could hear jaws dropping in the darkness before one of the lads said: “It ’s great how well you interact with young people.”

After that, we gravitated towards couples of our own age.

The generation gap became a problem only in a few hostels in Australia, where we wanted to sleep and they preferred to stage rowdy parties. In New Zealand, where the hostels are excellent, the age mix was better. At Hopewell, in the Marlborough Sounds, we were able to gather oysters from the beach and the price of a double room was £18. The price for accommodation was similar in Fiji but more expensive in the Cook Islands.

Given the huge differences in the cost of living in the countries we visited, setting a daily budget was pointless. After our first day in San Francisco, we realised we had spent more than £100 and, at that rate, would be on target to blow £36,500 if we travelled for a year. It took us a month before we got used to the idea that this was not a typical holiday, and expenditure had to be trimmed accordingly.

Fortunately, our outgoings settled down when we left the States; in New Zealand, we hired an ancient Toyota Starlet, with 60,000 miles on the clock, for £11 a day, including a one-way drop-off. It was just a shame that we picked up two speeding tickets as well.

Saving money can become an obsession. In Vietnam, to our shame, we found ourselves haggling with hilltribe children over 20p bracelets. Cold-water showers when the temperature is 30C (86F) are fine but there comes a time when it’s worth paying for a little comfort, just because you can. Our decision to leave Asia until last meant we could claw back some of our overspend from earlier in the trip. In Hanoi, a hotel room with air conditioning, cable television and hot shower cost £7 a night.