As a week-long holiday destination, the Cook Islands rates very highly. It’s the sort of place that might be featured photogenically in the colour travel section of the Evening Standard on a dreary Monday morning, designed to make the luckless commuter wish they were half a world away sitting on a this tropical island rather than a chewing gum-riddled seat on the London Underground.

We spent our time exclusively on Rarotonga, the largest and busiest of the fifteen no-doubt beautiful Cook Islands. This was deliberate: we had certainly had our fill of raw, wilderness experiences over the last twenty-two months and wanted to be somewhere far away, but not too far to get a latte. And on this basis, Rarotonga fitted the bill quite nicely. At least, when we could get the bill. Or a coffee. Or a meal.

Grumbles aside, we had a really enjoyable time on the island. The waters are pristine, making for great snorkelling and diving. The scenery is little short of spectacular and the island shirts are, well, loud (see photo).

Thanks to the Cook Islands–self-proclaimed as the recession-free country–we enjoyed you very much.