In a different world, pre-’97, pre-husband, when my four children were not even a smudge on my distant horizon; I lived in Hong Kong. I have not been back for 15 years but have an old friend who has moved there. She was turning 40. She was having a party. Another friend suggested we should go – for lunch.

I flew overnight (Dpt LHR 22.45 Thurs, arr HK 17.50 Fri, 11 hrs 50 mins). The journey from the new gleaming glass airport was disorientating. A new bridge, a new road, a new tunnel, mountains of new concrete. I was deposited outside the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, Connaught Road, Central. It has had a multi-million dollar re-fit. The red-capped doorman opened my car door, I had an extraordinary sense of time reeling backwards. The glass doors are the same, the low golden hanging lobby is the same, the dark entrance to the Captain’s Bar to my right is the same. I felt sick. Consistently voted one of the best hotels in the world, its refurb is astonishingly, breathtakingly, wondrously arrogant. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

The bedrooms however have had a sharp update. As discreet as the most colonial renegade could wish for, but enough gadgets to keep Daniel Craig happy. The windows look out to the most famous harbour view in the world. I could have happily stayed in my room for 48 hours but the view beckoned. Noodles in Wanchai; a scruffy green ferry across the harbour; midnight shopping in Kowloon; a nightcap in the Captain’s Bar. The advantage of travelling east is that you are a good party person – midnight is only 5pm.

The following morning (sleep quota: 6 hours – perfectly adequate), buffet breakfast is exemplary – you would have to be a die hard advocate of breakfast in bed to miss it – and I head up to the all new spa for a 2 hour ‘Imperial Jade’ massage. I am stretched/walked on/pulled apart by a guru and leave for my lunch party floating on air. Normally the first person to fade, I am still going strong at 5am the following morning. Body clock? Masseuse? Either is good. On Sunday, lunch with my god-daughter on the South side of the Island (I am not dispensing good godmotherly advice) and the night flight home: arrive LHR 04.50 - I do the Monday school run.

My carbon footprint (2.2 tonnes) was reprehensible but I missed a Friday and a weekend – not away long enough for jetlag – and I have spent February (my least favourite month) with a smile on my face. Therapy – Fragrant Harbour style. Mandarin Oriental rates from £175.

www.mandarinoriental.com.

Flights: BA/Virgin from £445 return.