A week in Sardinia’s Forte Village has set the holiday bar stratospherically high. I’m not sure our usual summer holiday road trips through northern France will cut it again. Ever.

It wasn’t just the clear azure waters and powdery, white beaches of the second largest Mediterranean island that won my family’s hearts. Nor was it the wall-to-wall sunshine that had warmed the sea enough to allow even the most cold water-averse bather (me) to glide in painlessly.

Our new found love affair with this resort was down to the fact that I spent six days feeling utterly pampered while still ticking off everything we wanted from a holiday. From the minute we drove our dusty hire car through the vast arch separating Forte Village from the outside world, we entered a luxury fantasy land.

I greeted the doorman, and in a matter of minutes, a golf buggy appeared — no reception desk queuing for us.

We were invited to climb on, while porters ferried our bags onto a second buggy, then driven directly to our Boat House Suite where we stood mesmerised by the wide window framing a glimmering sea. The beach was so close, we could have jumped from our balcony onto the white sand.

My eight-year-old Barbie-obsessed daughter’s bed was a marketer’s dream: Barbie bedding, toiletries and even towels plus a candy pink branded bathrobe. Her grin was so wide I thought her face might split. For us: Acqua di Parma smellies, soft white towels and fluffy bathrobes.

We’d been escorted to our room by the Waterfront Suites Manager, Fabrizio (responsible for ours and 11 other sea-facing rooms and suites) and his bilingual assistant, Riccardo; the latter, born and bred in the UK to Sardinian parents, resulting in a cut glass English accent.

Their role? To be at the end of a phone to facilitate our every whim and anticipate the needs of regulars who have been bringing their families there for years.

The resort (founded by Charles Forte) celebrates its big five-oh next year. And at a time of life when many of us may be looking a little tired, this old lady is remarkably glam.

Russian owners have injected £40 million into a three-year facelift which has left the 120-acre property gleaming. Each day, floor polishing vehicles cruise the walkways, buffing the varnished terracotta tiles, while an army of chefs, chambermaids, waiters, and maitre d’s make their way onto the property.

There are 700 rooms, housing around 1,500 guests in several hotels and villas. On paper, those numbers would send me running in the opposite direction. In reality, the estate is so sprawling, from the beaches to shady pines, that nothing felt overcrowded — even pinch points like hotel buffets.

Which brings me to another of my personal holiday horrors: all-inclusive eating. Beyond breakfast, buffets often equal cold, bland mush in sad chafing dishes — and we were booked in for breakfast and dinner.

I anticipated a foodie fail. However, the counters were lined with endless colourful salads, a choice of pasta, freshly cooked fish and lush desserts, and only occasional blips.

We weren’t limited to buffet banquets. There are over 20 restaurants, from Mario’s — a twice-daily smorgasbord of children’s food — to the linen-clad tables of the Cinnamon Club’s Mediterranean outpost, and Michelin-starred German chef Heinz Beck’s Beachcomber Restaurant.

Mario’s is named after one of the resort’s four resident parrots, a 40-year-old blue who you’ll see (and hear) flying around.

Not all are included in the half-board tariff, but we ate extremely well. Kosher food is available on request, while I spotted kosher wine on the wine list.

My fussy children had plenty of choice and were offered simple pasta even in the Michelin-starred restaurants, without a fuss or frown. A pizza making class got an excited thumbs up too.

By day, they were kept busy investigating the kids’ club and the resort’s water slide park as well as the various sporting academies that included boxing, table tennis, fencing, football, basketball and a range of dance genres with expert teachers. While we were there, former Chelsea and England player Dennis Wise was on staff.

There was so much to do that one afternoon, my son Barney was too busy having private track time with a world go-karting champion to squeeze in a 14-to-one chess game against Anatoly Karpov.

Karpov, whose team runs the Chess Academy, arrived to a ripple of applause and proceeded to stroll up and down the line of 14 tables, behind which children and adults pitted their wits against the Grand Master.

My daughter Kitty couldn’t wait to get to the Barbie Academy, where she made sparkly bags, jewellery and received her own doll. The branded club house is decked out in the signature pink and staffed by charming, smiley multilingual childcare assistants, who moonlighted in the evening shows in the central Piazza Luisa, itself surrounded by various fashion boutiques and high end gift shops.

For me, it was all about the beach, pool and daily aerobic classes, plus a visit to the spa with its thalassotherapy pools and zen vibe. A massage (in a room built with curved windows on three sides to feel part of the leafy forest) left me so relaxed it was hard to drag myself back to our room, let alone off the resort.

I did manage to persuade my family out on a single trip, as temperatures soared to 30C. We drove less than 15 minutes to local town, Pula, where a smattering of shops and cafes provided a couple of hours’ entertainment.

The children spent their holiday Euros, and we stumbled upon Sotto Zero gelateria, where they make their own gelato — definitely worth trying.

Between Pula and Forte are Roman ruins at Nora, extensive cliff-top ruins which are worth a tour. A series of evening concerts, plays and poetry readings take place there over the season too.

Of course the luxury all comes at a price. The designer label-clad clientele — young and old — clearly have high expectations; the Beckhams visited en famille, as has Roman Abramovich, and this all-inclusive style resort has more than a few extras which have their own bill, such as bike hire.

But my children would go back in a heartbeat — as would I. Even if only to gaze at that warm, cerulean sea from my beachfront balcony. Charles Forte found a little piece of paradise all those years ago, and it still has a magic that keeps them coming.

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