Just about the worst place in the world? Quite possibly given last night's television documentary; ostensibly a promo for Richard Branson's island paradise; once his, now yours by the hour. Typical Branson; ever a man of the people.
Luxury suddenly looked so annoying. Since it's whatever you want whenever you want it, being stuck on Necker must be extremely tiresome. Officially 'letting your hair down' you'd actually sulk in your room feeling bad noting the bill ticking hankering for cheese on toast instead of caviar: Like all 'all you can eat' buffets; the situation is crass (but fun at first) and always profitable to the house.
What do people do there? Well they Kite fly (see above) that's for sure, and drink cocktails and don formula 'dress up' items (thoughtfully supplied) to go to disco night (as all this has never happened before) and wonder if the bar staff are lonely enough to give them a sympathy shag. Said staff are well aware of the deal, and they think it's fun. I have no problem with prostitution or 'just a bit of fun' if only people (and this awful program) weren't so coy about it. The scenarios; including eating sushi off the 'hot' accountant (another bit of fun) were really quite off putting.
The guests might exercise a peculiar desire to share breakfast with Richard (his wife stayed well out of it) oggle at him actually eating a burger over lunch, and then pitch some dreadful idea to him; such as installing a lift so that other pitchers might do the lift pitch. How does RB survive this crap? Well because that's exactly what he's like. He thrives on shit like this. To the camera's he's running his empire from the pool side, with his chief PA an ex stewardess. The orchestration! The artifice! The rustics in paradise! Give me a fucking break. In the old days multinationals craved conspicuous respectability; the Seagram Building; Branson swings the other way; flip flops. His accountant's tummy is presently laden with sushi. If I were in the mind for such a high flying experience, I'd prefer a good suit and dinner in the Four Seasons anytime; it's called class. Perhaps the real accountant was out of sight crying.