Back in time, on this occasion a short trip to an island off Tunisia. Kerkennah. 1997

You can keep your far away paradises, like St. Lucia and Jamaica, with swanky American hotels and drinks with colourful names like rip you off sting or whistle whilst you pay. All being served by immaculate white teeth extortionists, at prices that make the national debt pale in comparison.

Nearer to home at a cost that negates the necessity of the local loanshark is a hidden paradise.

Imagine, quiet beaches sheltered by quivering palms whilst overlooking clear unpolluted seas, and only a short, comfortable 2 1/2 hour flight from Gatwick.

Admittedly, to guarantee total solitude requires a short ferry trip across to Kerkennah, a small island 20 km from Sfax in Tunisia.

Tunisia has never really caught on in the same way as Spain. Possibly due to the well advertise outbreaks of, Tunis sour Tums and rapid bog rush. As well as the highly acclaimed Tunisian game of market bartering, otherwise known as rip the tourist off.

Yet as you cross the smooth channel to Kerkennah you leave all that behind. Along with noisy discos, late night raves and overcrowded beaches, where we are likely to be accused of assault and battery every time you turn over to tan the other side of your body.

The Grand hotel is the name that conjures up at such well-known places, such as the Raffles in Singapore or the Mandarin on Hong Kong Island. Dream on. You are paying approximately the same price for two weeks half-board as you would for just one night, room only, in one of these well-known icons of luxury.

Yet the brochure does not try to confuse or deceive, it clearly states that the grand hotel is far from luxurious, with an official rating of two stars.

You come to the grand for peace and Tranquility. To remove the unhealthy pallor from your body, and have a few beers along the way. 

Every room overlooks the sea, and even though the rooms are basic, they are kept spotlessly clean, due to the hard-working friendly staff.

The hotel itself isn’t pretty, more reminiscent of cell block H or the maze prison. Yet the setting compensates adequately for the shortcomings.

When the Sun starts to set, you can watch it sink slowly in a blaze of colour whilst guzzling your duty-free Bacardi and Coke.(bring your own diet mixers, they have a very sweet tooth out in North Africa.) The only sounds you are likely to hear are the gentle splashing of water as the waves break over the deserted beach, accompanied by the cheery whistles of songbirds. Idyllic romantic surroundings.

Saying that, during our 14 night vacation in paradise, we did have a sunset destroyed on one occasion, by an unthinking David Bellamy lookalike in his Rowan shorts, who persisted in playing funky jazz at extremely high volume. The boring old fart must’ve left his brain in the overhead rack of the plane, along with his headphones. He didn’t do it again, I buried him alive. 

Didn’t really, just thought it.

Days are very simple. The hardest decision of those appertaining to the sun factor of your suntan lotion. Be warned, the wind makes for a pleasant temperature, but you are still burnt to a frazzle if you’re not careful.

The other beauty about the Grand is the clientele. Most are regular human beings. Not nubile fashion conscious blondes with anorexia, or bronzed Arnold Schwarzenegger types. So you do not need to have to walk around all day holding your stomach in whilst pushing your chest out.

The hotel itself holds just over 100 couples, so there is never any fear of overcrowding. We never saw more than 15 couples on the beach at one time. People would be out sailing with Freddie the boat, in his rustic dhow fishing vessel. This would take four or five couples out to a deserted part of the island for a fantastic fresh fish and steak barbecue. 

Others could be being entertained by Sou Sou, in his multicoloured covered cart, whilst being taken to see the remains of an interesting fort and the unpretentious capital of Kerkennah, Remla, with its six, or is it seven shops. Two of which sell the most delightfully sinful selection of cakes and pastries. As good as you would find in Paris and at a fraction of the cost. Presumably a throwback from the French imperialistic days before independence. This may then be followed by a trip to Allah Babas souvenir shop, owned by a wonderful character called Mokded Hammouda, Allah for short. He sells everything you could ever want, but never realised. Do you know the type of thing, pen sets, coasters, cannons that double up as condiment sets and chess pieces in the shape of a camel. All made from olive wood. 

Joking apart, my mother-in-law loves that type of thing. But then again she loves Ercol furniture.

A visit to Allah baba is more of an outing. Tea and biscuits offered in a whitewashed courtyard that is continuously stroked by the Sun. Surrounded by all manner of two and four-legged animals, all friendly, well except for hissing Sid, the aggressive chameleon, who fortunately keeps himself tucked away in one of the many cactus bushes that adorn the walls. The coffee table is overflowing with photo albums, filled  with pictures of customers who return for on a regular basis for that special treat. You see, people have a tendency to return to this island paradise, and renew old acquaintances.

There are other diversions. That is if eating, drinking and soaking up the Sun is not enough. For the highly energetic, horse and camel rides are available. These are well cared for animals in prime condition, albeit the camels still smell and spit on a regular basis, but the Arabian horses are magnificent, immaculate, lean, muscular and frisky. The tennis courts have seen better days, they are definitely not up to McEnroe quality and standard, but then again neither were we. Except for swearing at missed balls.

Bone shaking bikes are freely available for a small fee, along with the obligatory organised  tours.

Food in the hotel was reasonable, but nothing to write home about. Breakfast in cell block H is far superior than the breakfast served at the Ground.

Don’t forget to bring along your own coffee and teabags and the ever friendly Pifko travel kettle. Not forgetting your powdered milk or creamer.

Where food is concerned we tended to visit a small beach bar called Kasstill for lunch. Wonderful delicious jumbo prawns grilled with garlic, tender lamb kebabs, well cooked chicken served with fresh bread, olives and a hot spicy sauce called Harissa. 

Starter main course and a bottle of wine for under a fiver per head. 

I tell you I have just died and gone to heaven.