ast week's column extolled the virtues of staying in nice hotels, which is a hobby of mine. It prompted three unusual responses. One was a verbal comment from a former employer who expressed the idea that I must be overpaid if a wretch such as I could afford to stay in nice hotels. I hope he was kidding.

The second was an e-mail from a visitor to our sunny shores, who was really quite cross with me. "Your job is to advise people on how to make money, yet you wrote about squandering large sums pampering yourself in fine hotels. You set a poor example with such 'wisdom'," the fellow wrote.

He went on to say that he could not understand "how a waistrel (sic) can be handed a newspaper column to encourage people to mis-spend their hard-earned savings." In his mind, I am the man who put the "I" into wastrel.

I'm usually guilty of whatever I'm charged with, and a bunch of stuff I've never been charged with, but maybe not this time. Assuming that most readers have followed the meanderings of this column in the past months, I rather took it for granted that readers would understand that my hotel comments were the tip of the iceberg. The tip is the visible part that people can see, but the rest, submerged, is what constitutes the heart of an iceberg.

At the heart of my hotel iceberg were several cast-iron rules that I would never, or only very rarely break. I'll spell them out.

1. A person's first and over-riding financial responsibility is to his family, even before himself (or herself, but women seem to know these things instinctively). If you have kids, you'd darn well better feed and care for them before you swan off to some fancy hotel, or even buy yourself a new hat. Family responsibilities trump all.

If I have to explain to you why you must put your children, wife and parents before your own needs, stop reading, because you're a lost cause. Of course, I don't have a family, but that's not why I say that. I say it because the Bible says it, my parents used to say it (and lived it), and because it is inarguably correct.

2. Next come your own needs. That's needs, not wants. These include housing, clothing (unless you are a nudist), food, taxes (regrettably), and living up to any financial arrangement to which you have committed yourself. I don't suppose the banks will be thrilled to find the repayment of loans in second place on this list, but even the hardest-hearted banker would understand. He or she probably has family, too.

This is also obvious stuff, but if you borrow from a bank, or a loan shark, you will need to pay the money back as agreed, or face a certain amount of hardship. How much hardship will depend on the lending agency. Banks, generally, don't break your legs if you miss the odd payment, but a loan shark might.

I am in the fortunate position of not owing nobody nuffin', which is largely related to not having a family.

Here is another spot of clich?d wisdom. You must cut your cloth according to your scissors, or whatever that phrase is. Don't buy a Rover if you can't afford a bus ticket. Don't develop Rolls Royce tastes on a scooter budget. Act responsibly.

3. You must next honour your commitments to your employer, suppliers, video rental store, car dealership, dentist and all the other people to whom you have made promises. They don't sell you goods or services because they like you. They sell you those things because you promise to pay for them. Fail to do so, and you will suffer the consequences, often in Magistrates' Court and the pages of this newspaper.

Again, in my defence, I barely ever buy anything, because there wouldn't be room for it in my little apartment, and because, increasingly, I don't want one, whatever it is. I have some clothes, a TV, a bed, a cooker and a fridge. Everything else is vanity. I'm not saying I'm not vain; it may, indeed, be the one area where I can beat you hands down. Actually, I used to be vain, but I got over it. Now I'm perfect.

4. When all these hefty responsibilities have been met, vendors satisfied, loans repaid (at least for this month), wives given flowers and your full attention, children given whatever they deserve (a good thrashing is often apropos ? I'm kidding, don't bother to write in), and so on, the next most important thing is savings.

Savings will help you meet your future obligations, have an enjoyable retirement, sleep more comfortably, feel superior to your neighbours and others you may encounter, and generally bolster your self-esteem and ease your path through life.

Savings ? and you don't need millions, as I argued last week ? will see you through times of no money much better than money will see you through times of no savings. OK, well, that doesn't make sense, but you catch my drift.

5. When you have dealt with all of that, what's left is yours to spend. I choose to spend it on a few nights a year of hotel living, which is where we came in. I hope my irate tourist reader is still on the Island, otherwise I've written all these column inches stating what you already knew ? didn't you?

I know you did. This isn't rocket science. It's strictly common sense. If you don't have much left by the time you reach point 5, welcome to the club. I only get to stay in the fancy hotels I mentioned last week every now and then, but how sweet it is, knowing that I am wasting money because, and only because, I have it to waste. I don't, in fact, regard it as waste, and if you have anything left after reaching point 5 with money remaining, nor should you.

It's taken me a lifetime to get past point 4, and I am telling you all this not to flaunt it ? it would be a sad person indeed who envied me ? but just to underline that with the foregoing framework hard-wired into your brain, you too can sit by the pool at the Hamilton Princess every now and then, ordering drinks and congratulating yourself on having figured out how life works, even if it's only for three days, and you won't be back there for months.

And in answer to the third letter I received: no, the Hamilton Princess didn't offer me a room for life at no charge. If they did, I'd be writing postcards instead of this column, postcards to close friends, saying "Nah nah nuh nah nah". Maybe that's why I don't have many close friends.