• I am in Mustique, a tiny island in the Windward Islands of the Caribbean. More specifically in my ‘writer’s cottage’, a new study-cum-library some distance from the main house, built solely for one purpose – to permit me to write whatever I damn please in peace and quiet. Which is usually poetry, by the way.

• Nor will you have to chant incantations or tie healing crystals round your neck – let’s leave that malarkey to footballers’ and politicians’ wives, shall we?

• 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.

• If it flies, floats or fornicates, always rent it – it’s cheaper in the long run.)

• Tunnel vision helps. Being a bit of a shit helps. A thick skin helps. Stamina is crucial, as is a capacity to work so hard that your best friends mock you, your lovers despair and the rest of your acquaintances watch furtively from the sidelines, half in awe and half in contempt.

• And just what is the most precious thing in life that riches can supply? Easy. For me, it’s Time.

• Time. Time to read and write poetry if I want to. Or to write a book if it takes my fancy. Time to travel on the slightest whim, to walk in the woods, to think, to commission art, to read, to drink, to hang out with friends and loved ones …