Anne Robinson
Here's what I know: never be the indulgent granny providing the holiday villa for two grandsons, a son-in-law (faultless except for being an Everton supporter) plus a daughter whose ability to be on full-time quality control is as exhausting as it is a scientific phenomenon.
This year, I knew better. ‘We are not,’ I announced, ‘having a month in someone else's hot house, where the brochure might not have conveyed the wobbly steps to the faraway pool, or the cook's limited repertoire.
‘We are having six days of hotel luxury, with two significant advantages: all complaints can go directly to reception; and the trip will appreciably reduce the inheritance tax that might otherwise be an inconvenience after I've gone.’
To this end, I booked us in to the Marbella Club - famed in the glitzy Spanish resort favoured by fugitive British bank robbers.
Along the way was promised a series of carers to treat us like the Kardashians. What's more,
