What a treat it was to escape to Cyprus for some sun and a last-minute mini-break.

I left the builder boyfriend and the cleaner with strict instructions about a booking for a honeymooning couple, and they promised to put flowers in the room. ‘Go, get some sun,’ said the BB, for I was becoming peevish in the Irish rain.

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I chose Northern Cyprus because it was cheap and because all good holidays surely start with a border checkpoint. It was an hour’s drive from Larnaca, but I sailed into the Turkish republic no problem, in a taxi with disco lights on the ceiling.

The hotel was just my thing, not too luxurious because luxury makes me nervous. A plain, comfortable room, a shower that spat some hot water out in a jaunty fashion, and a little balcony with plastic chairs overlooking a mountain range and a swimming pool.

The hotel was nearly empty and I settled around the pool each day to tan myself silly while reading books and doing crosswords.

Because it was slightly out of season, they were building a new pool bar, but I was so glad to be in the sun with no crowds that I put the drilling and hammering down as a bearable side-effect.

This pool bar, by the way, was clearly the idea of the elderly hotel owner’s young son, who strolled about in sportif wear looking like he was taking over the business, and his first trick was obliterating........

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