To the best of my knowledge, the words "upgrade" and "Mr Reid" have never appeared in the same sentence.
Mostly, I stay in rooms that never appear in brochures and have my legs crushed in economy.
Such are the familiar discomforts of low-end travel, which is why "upgrade" sings all the more sweetly.
And the PR woman at the newly renovated Cairns Hilton certainly didn't use the magic word when we met in the lobby-cum-lounge where designer chairs, the pebble garden and classy cocktail bar caught my eye.
Maybe because I paid it handsome and genuine compliments something strange - but welcome - happened as she checked me in.
"Mr Reid, we have just learned our luxury suite is available ..."
This, I think, was their way of saying upgrade.
And so I found myself standing outside two very large doors which, had they swung open simultaneously, could have allowed entry for a caravan of elephants carrying the travelling cases of some 19th century marquess.
As I stepped across the threshold, I entered a world previously denied me. Flat-screen televisions the size of dining room tables, the view beyond taking in the river with luxury yachts, green distant mountains and endless sky.
You could have played tennis in the lounge, and there were so many mirrors in the bathroom my multiple reflections made the place seem overcrowded.
I luxuriated in this suite with its floor-to-ceiling windows, drank brandy at dusk on the long patio and spent half-an-hour trying to decipher the television remote.
I was king of all I surveyed here ... but in truth, I was scared witless I might damage something. I persuaded myself I deserved this. But I was out of my league.
When I left, I stole the soap.
Graham Reid is an Auckland writer.