Let’s not beat around the bush here. I’m old. I’m an old person with bones that creak and want to frustrate me first thing in the morning, a once-great posture that’s been ground down by decades of carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders, and a bad hip from that one time I tripped on the pavement. When it’s cold, I feel it, when it’s hot, I feel it, I pretty much always feel it. While my body may be decaying around me into the shell of what it once was, my mind is as agile as ever. I still want to travel, to experience new things, to see the world before I die, and I have the money to do it.

So when there’s no way I’m going to stay anywhere even halfway budget. I’ve earned my stay in luxury accommodation on the Great Ocean Road and I’m going to take it. I want to wake up on high thread count-sheets, get into an enormous bath and start the morning in silent peace. I want to stay somewhere that’s actually got the facilities needed to help the elderly navigate a space, like ramps and an elevator. I realise that I’m no longer a spring chicken, and I’m completely okay with that. In any case, I don’t want to have to trudge up flights of stairs every time I want to go down to the shops. I want to find accommodation in Lorne, Apollo Bay, Torquay, and anywhere else I decide to stay, to look after me. I don’t want to have to fit in with whatever they think they’re doing, I want them to fit in around me. Just because I want to see a little bit more of the world, doesn’t mean I’m ready to compromise on my living standards. I want to live a life of luxury for however long I have left, and gosh darnit I intend to.