‘Isn’t it great?’ I say enthusiastically. ‘There are brilliant groups, and yoga, and they serve brownies …’ I pause at a paved area with bronze bells set into small stone pillars all around. ‘These are Paths of Serenity, by the way,’ I add. ‘You can ring the bells if you need clarity.’

‘Clarity?’ Suze raises an eyebrow.

‘Yes. You know. Clarity in your life.’

‘You get clarity in your life from ringing a bell?’ She snorts with laughter as she pings one of the bells.

‘Yes!’ I say defensively. ‘You need to keep an open mind, Suze. It’s like, a vibration thing. The chiming of the bell changes the rhythm of your inner ear, promoting understanding and resolution and … er …’ Oh God, I’ve forgotten the rest. ‘Anyway, they sound nice,’ I finish lamely.

It was Bryce, the Personal Growth Leader, who explained to me about vibrations and clarity, during my induction session, and I totally understood at the time. I’ll have to ask him to explain again.

There’s a sudden violent clanging all around us. Suze’s children have decided to have a go at bashing the bells. Ernest, who is my godson, is actually kick-boxing his, and it’s nearly coming off its pillar.

‘Stop!’ Suze says, dragging them away. ‘Too much clarity! Can we get a cup of—’ She stops herself. ‘A smoothie?’

Ha. She was going to say ‘cup of tea’. I know she was.

‘D’you want a cup of tea, Suze?’ I say, to tease her. ‘And a nice digestive biscuit?’

‘No thanks,’ she says at once. ‘I’d far rather have a fresh juice. With a wheatgrass shot.’

‘No you wouldn’t.’

‘I would,’ she says obstinately.

She so wants a cup of tea. But I won’t wind her up any more. She can have one when we get home. I’ve bought English tea bags especially, and Cooper’s Oxford Marmalade and Branston Pickle.

I lead them all to the leisure area, where there’s a café and a children’s playground. Nearby some guys are playing volleyball and about a hundred yards away there’s a t’ai chi class going on under the trees.

‘How come they have a playground?’ says Suze, as the children all run off to the swings and we sit down at a café table. ‘They don’t have children here, do they?’

‘Oh no,’ I say knowledgeably. ‘But the residents often have their families to visit.’

‘Residents?’

‘You know. The burnt-out drug-addict rehab ones. They live over there.’ I gesture at a gated enclosure within the resort. ‘Apparently there’s some major, major A-list star in residence at the moment. But no one will say who.’

‘Damn!’

‘I know.’

‘Shall we walk past and casually peek?’

‘I’ve tried,’ I say regretfully. ‘The security people shoo you away.’

‘But there are other celebs here, aren’t there?’

‘Yes! Loads!’ I’m about to elaborate when I notice a staff member walking nearby. ‘But of course that’s all really hush-hush so I can’t tell you anything,’ I add hastily.

Actually the truth is, I’ve only seen a couple of celebs in groups, and they weren’t much to speak of. One was a Victoria’s Secret model, and held up our entire self-esteem group by making us sign individual confidentiality agreements. Then she’d spelled her name wrong and we all had to change ‘Brandie’ to ‘Brandee’ and initial it. And then she didn’t say anything remotely interesting, anyway. I mean, honestly.