This is going to be a difficult piece to write. When I referred to the notebook I take when I travel anywhere, the section on Chiva-Som began boldly enough with statistics jotted down from the guest information pack ('seven acres of beachside land ... at Hua Hin, 210 kilometres south of Bangkok ... US$26 [HK$202] million investment'), then veered into timetable jostling (I'd scribbled such probing questions as 'Hydrotherapy - Thursday?' and 'Aqua aerobics - Friday??' in a couple of margins), before petering into contented vacuousness ('Herbal tea 11am'). The rest is silence.
In my defence, I'd like to say no one should do any work at Chiva-Som: that's the whole point. Although not, of course, for the staff, who outnumber the guests by about four to one and are effortlessly available to attend to guests' whims. If they can't satisfy those needs, they look faintly agonised, as if they've failed on some vital mission of trust.
I know this because my single complaint about the place is that when I was there the wind came blowing off the Gulf of Siam so bracingly the umbrellas by the pool had to be folded away. As a result, I was in continuous transit, trying to find a shady nook (it seemed silly to go to a health resort and come back burned to a crisp, though none of the other guests grilling themselves seemed to share this point of view), so I often ended up sitting on the tree-lined sea wall which divides the property from the beach.
To the delightful guys in charge of the pool area, this was incomprehensible behaviour. They kept skipping down the steps with water and chilled towels as if I'd gone on some exotic expedition and needed sustenance. In a way, they were right. Perched on that wall, watching the local children pick their path home along the narrow strand (do not visit this coast if you're passionate about swimming in the sea - the water is extremely shallow and the beach disappears at high-tide) was the closest I got to life beyond my sheltered paradise.
What heightened the air of unreality about the whole experience was the fact that a famous celebrity pair - who have just, I read as I'm writing this, split up - were also in residence. Far be it from me to intrude on their privacy, except to say he has made a career out of being floppy-haired and English, and she has made a career out of having the sort of figure which would make any sane woman hesitate to disrobe within 500 metres of her physical perfection.
My companion, on glimpsing this apparition as we were being given the introductory guest tour, immediately announced we were leaving. The purpose of Chiva-Som, she argued, was to reduce stress levels, and having world-class, cosmetic-company-contracted pulchritude wafting about was not helpful. We stayed, however, and such is the restful influence of the place we soon agreed the celebrity presence had added a frisson of pleasure to daily proceedings. It is, by the way, a good idea to take a companion to a health resort. I know people who've been to Chiva-Som alone and revelled in it, but there are so many varied treatments it's useful to compare the extensive range with someone else. Lots of couples go, but I feel a female friend is essential for exact calibration of celebrity cellulite. ('There is a God!' cried my companion one morning as she detected the minutest wobble of flesh when the Famous One strolled by in a teeny-weeny leopardskin bikini.) We were, naturally, aware of our own physical shortcomings. Chiva-Som insists all guests go for a check-up on their first day, which isn't onerous: they check height, weight and blood pressure, and gently discuss your lifestyle. I've never drunk alcohol or smoked, and while I'd like to preen myself on such purity of existence, I regret to say I live, almost exclusively, on Pringles and cups of tea (and occasional canapes at Hong Kong social functions). In order to break this awful habit, therefore, I chose the three-day cleansing diet.