Virgin Islands: An island of my very own

Richard Branson's Necker resort specialises in unabashed luxury. Julia Stuart wonders if he'd do a house swap

I am sunk deep in a hammock on a veranda. It has taken me a day and a half (and three planes and a motor launch) to get to this villa in the British Virgin Islands which moans with self-indulgence, and even if I had to go home now – 30 minutes after arriving – it would have been worth it. Sweet-smelling trade winds are fluttering across my nose, and over a low wall to my right, through clumps of apricot and violet bougainvillaea, I can see a lick of Caribbean Sea, which today, as always, is turquoise. Not just any old turquoise, but God's turquoise. And the hammock isn't any old hammock, either. A large, stretchy affair with detailed braiding hanging from either side, it is more used to accommodating the bottom of its owner, one Sir Richard Branson.

Branson, who, sadly, is already married (bags me first dibs if it all goes wrong), bought Necker in 1979 for around £175,000 as a holiday retreat for his family and friends. It seems that the 74-acre island was previously uninhabited, as pre-Columbian artefacts found on neighbouring islands have never been discovered here. When European settlement took off in the area in the mid-17th-century, Necker was too dry and too small to attract much attention.

Branson spent considerably more again turning the goat-nibbled rocky outpost into a luxury resort. The main house sleeps 20, and there are three one-bedroom "Bali" houses dotted around the island. Branson spends around three months of the year here, and the rest of the time rents the place out.

Whoever said the best things in life are free has clearly never been to Necker. Bring 25 of your eternally grateful friends and relations and it will cost you £22,000 a night. You do, however, get the island to yourself, which is why the loaded (past guests include Steven Spielberg, George Michael and the late Diana, Princess of Wales), are prepared to fork out £15 a minute to spend their hols riff-raff free.

Just looking at brochure photographs of the island's main house, with its Balinese decor, had made me want to weep with joy. Seeing the place in person, I've almost forgiven Branson the late running of his trains. The vast central room, with its Brazilian hardwood roof and Yorkshire stone floor is divided into a sitting room, bar and dining area. It is open plan with no exterior walls, inviting the Caribbean winds to dance through. The sitting-room, with its overhanging plants (watch out for the crazed parrot), is filled with elegantly carved cream sofas, piled high with bright cushions. To one side is a snooker table and a piano. The veranda, which overlooks the sea on all sides, also has numerous sitting areas in which to loaf – chairs with footstools, hammocks and an intricately carved day bed. The bedrooms, with their Balinese furniture and richly coloured pillows, all have large wooden balconies overlooking the sea. My bathroom, which is on the balcony, is open to the elements on the shore side. When I take a shower, my nose is at risk of being tickled by leaves from a tree through which waves glimmer. The master suite, which Branson tends to use when he's here, has a roll-top bath and a Jacuzzi on its balcony.

Here for only two-and-a-half tragically short days, I sleep just four hours a day to fit in as much pleasure as possible. And there's a lot of it around. After breakfast on the terrace, where you'll be visited by yellow-bellied banana finches, it's only proper to slide into the freshwater infinity pool, so called because the water laps over the edge seemingly into the sea. As you seamlessly adapt to this level of luxury you may find that you actually want more from your swimming experience, and decide to head off to the larger pool that curls along one of the beaches. At one end is a waterfall, behind which is a stone bench on which to perch while tickling your toes in the water as it comes crashing down in front of you.

For a bit more exercise you could jump up and down on the trampoline secured 50 metres into the sea (bikini top on) while whooping loudly. If you were in the mood, you could ask for a cocktail to be delivered to you by water-ski.

In the evening you may very well find yourself consuming vast quantities of beluga caviar at the bar, while waiting for the foie gras, strawberry sorbet, pan-fried sea bass and passion fruit soufflé to be served along with fine wines. You will probably then have a rather splendid time playing poker during the casino-themed evening, and it is in the realms of possibility that you'll agree with the ever game-on staff that this is indeed the only place where you are likely to be served Champagne Tequila slammers and that you really ought to try one – or three. Egged on, you may come to the conclusion that it would be a jolly good jape to dance on Richard's dining room table (shoes off). You might decide to finish the evening lying on a mattress on the roof deck (taking a bottle of champagne with you), watching the freckled night sky shooting its way into dawn. Before retiring to bed you might – possibly – find yourself rooting through Richard's numerous fridges for a snack.

As I zoom back to Beef Island on the motor launch on the start of my dratted journey home, I wonder whether Richard might quite fancy doing a house swap this summer. I can offer him the free run of a one-bedroom flat, conveniently located in a south London badland. And while I don't have a dining-room, he'd find the kitchen table most accommodating, should he wish to climb upon it to get down with his bad self. I'd even let him wear his heels.

Daily rates vary from £11,000 per day (1-7 guests) to £22,000 per day (20-26 guests). For two weeks of the year (15-22 Sept and 6-13 Nov) the island hosts a seven-night "celebration week" for couples, costing £10,000 per couple. For more information, contact Virgin on 0800 716919