A mysterious email landed in my inbox inviting me on a four-day ‘taster cruise’ on what is possibly the world's most luxurious Discovery Yacht.

Actually, it didn't go to my inbox. It went to spam, because it might surprise you to hear that these are not invites that come often for me.

Still, even though it was alongside correspondence from the United Bank of America claiming I was due an £8.5 million inheritance and a guy called Brent telling me he could "Cure Belly Fat Forever", I, ever naive and optimistic, sent back a message saying: "Sure. Why not?"

Amazingly, they didn’t ask for my paypal details though now that I think about it I did send a scan of my passport quite unworried.

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But, as it turned out the cruise was real, a new phenomenon they’re calling a ‘luxe-pedition’. The Scenic Eclipse II is a mash-up of the luxury of a superyacht, the facilities of a cruise and the tech of a James Bond film.

I’d embark in Fort William and fly home from Dublin. The promise is, essentially, to live like a billionaire for a short time on the seas. The boat is fairly exclusive with capacity for 228 passengers, it also has two helicopters and a submarine for passenger use, a whisky library, a luxury spa, state of the art fitness studio, 10 dining experiences including teppanyaki, classic French cuisine and a ‘chef's table’ experience fit for a Michelin star. Every passenger has their own suite, more spacious than many flats I’ve lived in. And the kicker? A bell to press for your own personal butler.

So far, so bloody amazing.

The problem was the dates, I would need to be away for four days in our last two weeks in our current home before moving on to our (slightly less luxe) narrowboat, leaving my husband to deal with packing, organising, looking after our toddler and the myriad other administration that apparently comes with chasing a dream.

I mean, I couldn't…could I? Reader, I tell you I didn’t walk I ran (metaphorically) to my email to reply that of course I’d be delighted, my drink of choice is a New York Sour and I prefer a firmer pillow, thank you very much.

I've only been away from my little boy three times in his three years of life. The first was for seven days when I had to go into hospital for an operation. I had my airway, narrowed to 6mm, opened with a laser and then stretched with a dilation balloon but I still called him each night and sang him Twinkle Twinkle Little Star by video call even though what came out of my mouth post-surgery sounded like a track from Freddy Krueger’s Bedtime Hits for Babies album.

The second time was two nights away with my best friend who I hadn't seen for three years and still, everywhere I went, I bought him ‘a little something’ and came back to Glasgow leaden down with furry sloths and holographic postcards of lions. The last time I was also in for an operation, just overnight and I pretty much pulled the IVs out of my arms, Hollywood style, and dashed into a taxi to be back with him.

I maintain it's important for mothers to have their own space and time even if I struggle so enormously with it myself. I was more confident this time. I was going on the trip of a lifetime on the Scenic Eclipse II.

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So there I was, walking up the gangplank in my nicest trench coat and my Primark trousers, wondering what the rich people would be like (they were down to earth and wearing perhaps only perceptibly nicer jumpers than I’m normally exposed to).

All the staff on board were a delight and gave a good impression of loving their jobs. In the mornings, breakfast was delivered to my room under a silver cloche, smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, whatever coffee I wanted, orange juice and fresh rolls.

Sometimes I ate it on my private balcony looking out at the impossibly perfect Scottish isles. With my days, I often worked in one of the plush lounges, spent time looking through the telescope on the observatory level, in the spa, or sitting on the jacuzzi on deck.

In the evening, I would take myself and a book to one of the specialty restaurants where I ate wonderfully or curled up on the sofa in my suite eating steak and truffle fries. 

I cannot fault the food or the sleek design or the quality of everything from the Dyson hairdryer, ESPA products - I wished I’d brought some empty bottles - to the very fancy sachet teas in the room. Everything was seamlessly organised and no one could do enough to help. But at the end of the day I missed my baby.

One night crossing from Oban to Belfast, 12-ft waves meant even our ship, designed for the wilds of Antarctica, rolled like a plastic bottle on river rapids. I rocked in my bed, tried to hold onto my truffle fries, and wished that for all the Egyptian cotton sheets, I was back with my family and in our bed full of toast crumbs, with the smelly, snoring dog at the foot and my little boy, me and my husband, curled up watching Toy Story on the filmy screen of my laptop.

Flying home from Dublin I sat next to a training captain for the airline. We shared stories of our travels but both agreed that you can go anywhere in the world but after a while without the people you love it's just another place.

It was an exceptional experience and one that I was and am hugely grateful for but I can’t deny the piece of toast and the cup of tea I had when I got home, sat amongst our cardboard boxes, while my little boy ran around with his head torch that I'd brought him was my happiest moment of the whole week.

No, I didn't feel guilty about going away, but six-star luxury really did make me realise the value of everything that I had at home.