We’re talking about the kind of holiday that makes your regular getaway feel like a slightly damp weekend in Bognor Regis. I've just returned from an utterly ridiculous, outrageously luxurious seven day fly in safari from the Okavango Delta to Victoria Falls, and let me tell you, my perspective on ‘roughing it’ has been fundamentally and hilariously altered. First off, forget cramped jeeps and questionable camp food. This was a fly in operation. We’re talking tiny, state of the art planes that land on dusty airstrips carved out of the wilderness. Each flight felt like a personal charter, the pilot pointing out herds of elephants that looked like tiny ant-like creatures from above. My luggage? Handled. My champagne? Chilled. My sanity? Mostly intact, though I did have a brief existential crisis wondering if I'd ever be able to go back to supermarket shopping. The Okavango Delta itself is pure magic. Our lodge was less a lodge and more a palatial hideaway. Think polished wooden floors, four poster beds draped in mosquito nets that looked more like regal canopies, and plunge pools with views that could make a grumpy badger weep with joy. Mornings were spent gliding through the delta in a mokoro, a dug out canoe, with a silent, expert guide poling us along. It’s so peaceful you can hear your own thoughts, which, in my case, mostly revolved around whether it was acceptable to have a second breakfast. And the answer, by the way, was a resounding yes. The wildlife encounters were, predictably, spectacular. We saw lions lounging in the shade like they owned the place (which, let’s be honest, they do), giraffes elegantly munching on acacia trees, and a herd of buffalo so immense it felt like the ground was vibrating. Our guides were phenomenal, not just knowledgeable but also possessing an uncanny ability to spot a leopard camouflage against a tree trunk from fifty metres away. It made me feel rather pathetic about my own observational skills, which are usually best applied to finding the remote control. After the delta, we hopped back in our little plane and flew to the Zambezi River, the gateway to Victoria Falls. And oh. My. Goodness. Victoria Falls is not just a waterfall; it’s a thundering, roaring, mist spitting behemoth that redefines ‘spectacle’. We stayed at a hotel that was so fancy it had a resident giraffe who was apparently quite fond of cucumber sandwiches. From our balcony, we could actually feel the spray from the falls, and the sheer power of it was breathtaking. Activities here ranged from a sunset cruise where we spotted hippos and crocodiles (keeping a respectful, luxurious distance, of course) to a helicopter ride over the falls. Seeing the sheer scale of it from above is something I’ll never forget. It made all my worries about the Wi-Fi signal seem utterly trivial. This safari wasn't just about seeing animals; it was about being immersed in an environment that feels utterly untamed, yet being cocooned in comfort and service that’s second to none. Every meal was a gourmet affair, the staff anticipated your every need before you even knew you had it, and the sunsets? Well, they were worth the flight alone. It’s the kind of trip that ruins you for ordinary travel in the most wonderful way. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go stare longingly at my bank balance and plan my next ridiculously indulgent adventure.