There’s nothing like quitting your job and taking off on your private yacht for a well-deserved vacation with your supermodel wife and little son:

A relaxed-looking Lachlan Murdoch jetted into Sydney yesterday morning, ready to make the city his home.

Tanned and tubby, the former News Corp executive appears to have enjoyed swapping designer suits for more casual clobber. […]

His wife, Sarah, and eight-month-old son, Kalan, were not on the 7am flight from Tahiti yesterday. The family has been holidaying in Tahiti aboard their yacht. But Mrs Murdoch, a former model, is also expected home this weekend.

Mr Murdoch was met at the airport by a bodyguard and would not be drawn on his future business plans. “There’s nothing that I really want to go into, but it’s good to be off the plane,” he said. “I’m gonna have some breakfast and then have a kip.”

Reports have suggested that the abrupt departure has put the Murdoch dynasty into a spin. But the one-time heir apparent will continue as a board director and a company consultant.

Insider reports have also revealed a frayed relationship between the young-gun son and the father who refuses to retire.

Let the old man work if he enjoys it so much. Its not like he’s hurting anyone.

If you’re anything like me, you too have spent the last five nights lying wide-awake in a puddle of cold sweat trying to crack the riddle of Lachlan’s abrupt departure.

Well, get ready for a good night’s sleep as I present to you the detailed recount of a heart-broken Lachlan in all its unfiltered tenderness:

Last Friday, July 29, shortly after his sudden abdication as the designated crown prince of News Corp., Lachlan Murdoch went to lunch at Da Silvano. The 33-year-old bluff and hardy publisher and News Corp. executive came in at around 1 p.m. with a group of about eight people, according to one eyewitness.

He stayed for five and a half hours.

“They started with�they all ordered Italian beers, Peroni Nastro Azzurro, the best line of Peroni,” the eyewitness said. Then came multiple bottles of Lupicaia wine, and cold cuts, truffled burrata cheese, stuffed zucchini blossoms, branzino, homemade pasta with more truffles. Lachlan Murdoch’s wife, bra and swimsuit model Sarah O’Hare, stopped by, bringing their infant son, Kalan.

By the last half hour of the meal, the bare-knuckled young publisher of the New York Post was in tears. “He was like, sort of crying on an elder gentleman at the table,” the eyewitness said. “It seemed to me like a very tender moment.”

Who could blame him?

I think that’s a rhetorical question.

Right?