Kos and effect

So what did I learn on this holiday? Mainly that you underestimate an elderly mixed doubles tennis pairing who've been playing Sunday club games for an eternity at your peril.

I hadn't even wanted to enter the damn tournament. Mixed doubles for me summons up all that's worst about Middle England. Grass courts, tennis clubs, snobbishness, youngsters unwelcome, and the shouts of "Sorry Roger" filling the air every summer evening as another weak forehand goes astray.

For me, working class and chippy, the singles is the only place to be. Snarling, competitive with dodgy line calls.

But we are here as a family at the Mark Warner resort of Lakitira on the Greek island of Kos at October half-term and I am not in charge. I am under orders to relax, play a bit of leisurely tennis (hah!) and soak up the sun, sea and sand. And, I have to admit, even a stressed-out guy like me finds it hard not to let a little of the Med way of life seep in through the pores.

As Mark Warner debutantes, a little explanation is called for first. Crudely, and a little harshly, Mark Warner is Butlins for the middle classes (there's that class thing again) in that it provides holidays in which all your needs are catered for without having to go anywhere. The differences are that there are no windswept promenades and lines of flashing fruit machines here. Just acres of beautiful sand, scores of sailing boats, dinghies and speedboats, a swathe of tennis courts, swimming pools and activity, activity, activity.

Any slacker coming to Lakitira expecting to revel in their art, look away now. There are no hours to nurse hangovers and read papers here. For this is a land of tanned middle-aged captains of industry and their families, barely an ounce of fat on them, dedicated to using their two weeks to work at their leisure, refusing to allow advancing age to slow them down. There's plenty of Crew Clothing and Fat Face on show, lots of expensive watches and wraparound glasses and plenty of Warner evangelists. Once they've sampled this way of holidaying, an amazing number come back time and again.

And the other thing is the children. You hardly ever see them. They are there, of course, but Warner has perfected the practice of ensuring the adults get as much time away from their offspring as possible. Clubs for all ages, from toddlers to sixth formers, take them away all day, allowing them to play sport, sail, lark about to their heart's content while the adults do the same somewhere else.

Even here, though, there's "work" to be done as the younger groups have to perform a show routine at the end of the holiday for their watching parents. Those with older children are advised to miss this flashback to the days when you honestly thought an out-of-key rendition of a pop song while robot dancing was a sign of artistic potential.

This separation is quite strange at first, given that it's possible many of these parents must struggle to see much of their kids when at home, but it seems to work. Especially for the older ones looking to escape the embarrassment of knocking around with Ma and Pa when there's plenty of the opposite sex in swimwear to hang out with.

A day of tacking, splicing, top spin forehanding or any of the other multitude of activities comes to an end with what my eldest son, with a 15-year-old's unerring honesty, calls Chowdown. This is a posher version of the pub carvery where hundreds of families meet for a pretty luxurious buffet, some of us mindful to neither elbow-barge to get to the last spare rib nor pile the plate too high while working out disguise strategies for your second and third trip. Food and dinner wine come as part of the price of your holiday, so growing lads have no compunction in filling their boots while Dad ponders the effect on tomorrow's water-ski lesson of a second bottle of Greek white.

Lakitira also caters for the anti-social (that'll be me) by having two more discreet restaurants which can be booked and incur only a modest extra tariff.

Entertainment stretches to the occasional quiz and a dodgy covers band, but that's not really the point of these holidays. I have to admit there is something beguiling about tiring yourself out amid the luscious backdrop of Lakitira, feeling that you've actually earned a little R'n'R at day's end.

Take waterskiing. What a good idea for the whole family to have an hour's waterskiing out on the deep, rich blue waters of the Med, says my wife one day when it is too hot for tennis and tempers.

It has been years since my sons left behind that "our God-like father can do no wrong" phase all lads have at one time. Any scintilla of that feeling, together with any shred of my dignity, is well and truly banished this calm warm day as, for the third time, I plunge headfirst into the sea, trunks halfway down, lifejacket in throttle position, having once again tried to run across the sea with my skis rather than glide in knees-bent position. Sons and wife perform this task so easily they are soon promoted from the metal bar on the side of the boat to the actual tow line out back. I half expect them to be performing an acrobatic pyramid by the end of the day. I never reach that stage, the boat circling back to pick me up from my latest dunking, the words of the bronzed, bleached-haired instructor ("That'll be it for today, Pops." Yes, dear reader, Pops) still haunting me.

So tennis is my game. That's where I shine. Although Lakitira is a sailors' paradise, mucking about with sails and all that nonsense has never appealed to me, neither have the types associated with the hobby. I like my sports red-blooded. You've got to be able to beat somebody to get me out of bed.

But horror of all horrors. I find my wife has entered us into the Mixed Doubles. Our marriage will not survive this. To my surprise, though, we do make it through to the final. We're playing a grey-haired gent, whose legs are held together with bandage supports of every kind, and a nice old dear in glasses. We just have to get the ball back and we've got the trophy, I hiss to my wife behind the welcome smiles. We lose 6-2, 6-2 in record time. Brute force and relative youth are no match for guile and a lifetime of Sorry Rogers on a Sunday afternoon. Like the terrible loser I am I do not stay around for the presentations, pausing only to watch my 13-year-old win the junior tournament on my way to the bar.

As the bus takes us away from the resort next day it's easy to see what appeals to those who come back to this beautiful part of Kos every year. Even tensed-up old me had only thoughts of first serves, second helpings and third dunkings – at least until the plane touched down in rainy Blighty once again.

Factfile

Package

A week's holiday for two adults and two children aged between two and 12 at Beach Resort Lakitira with Mark Warner starts from £1,389pp.

Apartment, flights from London (connections from Edinburgh from £72, visit www.ba.com) and most sports activities, children's clubs and meals are included in the price. Drinks, except dinner wine, are extra. Tuition for tennis, scuba diving, sailing and windsurfing are also extra. Tel: [phone], or visit www.markwarner.co.uk

And There's More

For more information on Kos visit www.justkos.co.uk