That’s what I call Down Under

NINETY minutes out from Brisbane, we touched down on the tiny tropical Hamilton Island, the southernmost of the 74 Whitsundays islands.

I stepped off the plane and on to a luxurious speedboat — and a gin and tonic was placed in my hand. Our resort destination was the northernmost Whitsundays island, called Hayman.

Halfway down the second gin, I realised that the Whitsundays had been devastated by a hurricane. The sea was invitingly pellucid and wide white beaches dazzled in the sunshine.

Then we headed to our luxury island resort. There, somebody insane with friendliness led us to our beach-front villa with its indoor and outdoor pool — and very nice they were, too.

From here, we flew north again to the town of Airlie Beach and then bounced for two hours across the Pacific Ocean in a ferry to a sea platform above the famous Great Barrier Reef, where I checked into Reef Suites. I was led down into an underwater bedroom ( pictured above) with glass walls for the night. You could lie on the bed and watch the fish watching you.

Wonderful. After two fallow, tourist-free years, the coral has perked up. Those clever marine biologists have encouraged it by playing Pink Floyd, Beethoven and Crowded House. That must be music to the ears of anyone who cares about this beautifully important part of the world.