Back in the days when I was a carefree single bloke, I was invited by my American cousin living in New York to join her on a luxury yacht sailing to the island of Mustique in the Caribbean. It was all apparently part of a publicity drive for a luxury holiday company, and yes, you've guessed it, my cousin was in PR and this was one of her clients. The opportunity was too good to miss, so before you could blink, I had started to look at the car hire comparison sites for a good deal from JFK and was on the next plane to the Big Apple. Of course, the whole thing was too good to be true. By the time I turned up at my cousin's apartment in Queens, she greeted me with a long face. The whole thing was off, for us at least. 'Those frigging press guys are taking priority over us,' she said, as if it was just a minor hiccup. 'But hey, don't worry,' she said cheerfully, 'we can always go to Mexico; the Mexico Tourist Board is one of my clients.' And that, to cut a rather long story short, is precisely what we did.