It also helps that I am writing while sipping a very fine wine (a Chateau d’Yquem 1986, if you really want to know), nibbling on fresh conch tidbits, ensconced by a window with one of the most beautiful views on earth.

Across the valley, far, far below me, palm trees fringe the fishing boats and yachts nodding in the harbour. Beyond the bay to the west, a turquoise sea ripples out to a purple and pink horizon, heralding another glorious sunset.

I am in Mustique, a tiny island in the Windward Islands of the Caribbean. More specifically in my “writer’s cottage”, a study-cum-library some distance from the main house, built solely for one purpose — to permit me to write whatever I please in peace and quiet.

All of this, as if you needed me to remind you, costs money. It’s what you get, if you want, when you’re rich.

You’ll be suggesting next that it will improve my sex life.

People who grow rich almost always improve their sex life. More people want to have sex with them. That’s just the way human beings work. Money is power. Power is an aphrodisiac. Money did not make me happy. But it definitely improved my sex life.

Just how quickly can I become rich?