Got to be Bali, if you ask me. Nothing against British retreats – I did this brilliant one in Wales, total silence for six days; it helps there’s no phone signal. They’ve got this incredibly nurturing space going on, even with the M4, but if you want proper stillness, you have to travel. Italy is great, all those monks, but in Bali silence is in their being: the locals have this ceremonial day every week, when they place their iPads under a sacred coconut palm – or it might be every year.

If you’re being silent, you can’t ask, can you? Plus, for true healing, the setting is so meaningful. I’d never have survived without the sunsets at that Californian place. I’d had this nightmare haircut, the buy-to-let had fallen through, tense does not begin to cover it. Well, within five days of silence and beach meditation, I’d woken up to a whole new vibration. Don’t get me wrong, it’s incredibly tough. By bedtime you’re shattered, so you need to know the food will be amazing.

It’s all raw at the Hawaii one, grown by Dharma experts – you can literally taste the love. And there are brilliant programmes – have you tried mindful hopping? It’s quite complicated. Obviously the teachers have to talk, and the manicurists. You just silently indicate what colour, though when you’re on a spiritual voyage, it’s amazing how you stop caring about material stuff. I’ll never forget the bespoke retreat in Turkey after Olivia had failed her retakes: by the time I’d finished the authentic forest hermit experience, I was so deep inside myself, it was, like, who is Olivia anyway?

You heard I saw this incredibly famous retreatant at the grazing table? She’s this famous model, quite meh, to be honest. Her boyfriend dumped her? Well, of course people talk on the way back. If everyone was silent normally, there wouldn’t be a retreat industry, but you never stop learning and listening. So I might be talking to you, but my inner voice is saying, how about an intimate Zulu retreat this year – those early-bird discounts won’t last for ever.