It’s interesting that 18-30s holidays have gone out of fashion, just as we’ve seen the emergence of the Club Condescenti holiday as exemplified by Oxfam’s tours to Haiti.

Another avenue of pleasure for the lower orders is closed down, then privatised and re-opened for the bien pensants and the condescenti.

Sun, sanctimony and sex are now available to the ordinary Common Purposer who wants to let their hair down and spend their hard-ly earned money.

OK, so their antics may have been a bit gamey for some.

But that’s just envy. And small ‘c’ conservative curtain-twitching. And anti-intellectual.

If you’re offended by the sight of a charity executive doing the smokey-cokey around a luxury hotel pool, you have a simple choice. Don’t give your old clothes to the charity shop. And don’t send a text next time you’re asked to sponsor a goat for a village or buy clean water.

Honestly, these moaning minnies must have known some of the money would be used for recreational purposes. The CEO of a charity is only human. Yes, he wants to feed the poor, but he’s entitled to feed the geese.

Anyone who objects to that is just a racist. A robot could tell you that – but for the moment they are using Jeremy Hardy on Radio 4, because it’s their licence fee money and if they want to spend it on their friends they bloody well can.

In the meantime, if you all give just £3 a day, the charity CEO can rent a camel to take him to the nearest brothel. And feed the news-hungry BBC with press releases. And go to war with the Alt-Right, the Far Right, the Aunt.Sallies, the Spud-U-Like, Wetherspoons and the entire imaginary invading force of Strawmen that the media is in a constant state of paranoia about.

To paraphrase a popular package holiday song: Une ex-Chequer Blanca, I’m drinking all of the day!