We flew in to Ibiza (via Barcelona, no direct flights this late in the season), and our driver, instead of heading to the fleshpots of Ibiza town, San Antonio or San Josep headed straight to the Hotel Hacienda on the untouched north east coast for some serious r 'n r and, ehem, work.

Cascading down a precipitous cliff face, the hotel is a series of huge suites with sea views and sunken baths set in front of floor to ceiling windows to drink in the views. It also boasts a series of outdoor sea water jacuzzis that pummel and jiggle your saggy bits before being recuperated in fluffy bathrobes with berry juices and slices of water melon. This was about as far from the sweat-fest of Space's terrace as you could imagine. Impossible to believe we were on the same island. I felt disorientated and confused. But my body tingled.

Where were the frantic calls from friends about guest lists and hooking up? Urgent rumours of parties in villas and panics over outfits, scuffed trainers and our intoxicants of choice? It was all so different. Instead of meeting at Croissant Show for 3pm breakfast in Ibiza town, we were swimming in the pool at 8am before our breakfast of local yoghurt and fruits at 10am; I would normally be setting off for Space right now.

For the island that put boho into aristo and lobbed rave onto an unsuspecting world, Ibiza has come a long way. With fashion spreads based on its psychedelic fashions in Vogue each summer, yachts the size of small villages clustering in its harbours and a determined effort on the part of the island's policy makers to attract the jet set, moneyed and lavish over the past few years, its perhaps no surprise that upmarket brands are using the island's new image as a suitable context to reflect their image. Cool, but not excessive. Rich, but with an edge.