I’d like to say something to those people who say that money can’t buy you happiness ...
I wholeheartedly agree - but not this week.
This week I’m in heaven, because I’m doing so many things that I normally can’t afford to do.
For irregular readers of my column, this week’s entry is coming from Cuba where I’m enjoying a free holiday which has been a tonic in so many ways.
Before I make you pea green with jealously, I’ll start with the low-points of my trip - it’s blisteringly hot, it took me two hours to get to Havana to buy a cigar for my boss, and there’s a tropical storm on the way after a Biblical downpour a day or so ago.
I also missed the last set of the men’s final at Wimbledon because of dodgy wi-fi, and my daughter informs me I could be getting the best tan of my life just by sitting in my back garden in Falkirk.
But I couldn’t be happier.
I have spent the past week lounging, reading, laughing, drinking and eating just for the sake of it.
When I return to my room after a hard day at the pool bar and reading a few Phillipa Gregory books, my ‘maid’ has tidied, changed the sheets, and arranged my towels so they look like swans.
And wait until I tell you about the flight to get here.
We flew first class and, to be honest, I doubt I can ever go back to bog-standard class.
The champagne was flowing, the food was the best I have ever eaten, I had a seat that could go in every position and there was an adjustable TV.
The group I’m with are lovely, and we spend most nights gabbing and giggling into the early hours about familiar things - grandparenthood, work and family life.
We also mull over whatever scandal is occurring at the hotel, like the shameless flirting of English girls with Cuban bar staff.
And there’s also a bunch from Glasgow who love the all-inclusive nature of the hotel way too much and get into alcohol-fuelled fights most evenings.
Ah, a reminder of home.