WHY couldn't I get melon juice? There had been melon at breakfast, mountains of it, in three different varieties.

There was every spirit, liqueur and cocktail on offer in the complimentary bar and the deck boy was happy to mix, shake and stir anything I wanted. Except melon juice. Was it time to throw a tantrum?

This wasn't really about melon juice - I didn't even want any of the sickly- sweet stuff - it was about the ship's claim that it could, and would, rustle up anything its passengers wanted.

“Everything is possible. I rarely come across something we can't do,” Joerg Grossman, the hotel manager, told me, launching into a tale of how they had packed off the bar manager with instructions not to come back to the ship until he had found an artichoke liqueur that some German passengers had been raving about. No melon juice, though. Or black pudding, though asking for it when in Italy was perhaps a tad optimistic.

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I wasn't on just any old cruise, you see, I was on a Seabourn ship, a company at the crest of the luxury cruising wave, which says it's up there with the best five-star hotels. I'd been sceptical, particularly as I'd rather thought that cruises were for those unimaginative folk who actually liked the idea of a floating hotel, and were too lazy to get off their backsides to appreciate the joys of travel.

A cruise virgin, but well versed in five-star hotels, I'd teamed up with my father, veteran of larger ships and sailor of small yachts, to put them to the test as we traversed the Med.

I wasn't going to give them an easy ride. So when I entered our cabin - I'm sorry, Seabourn, but you can't say it's all-suite accommodation just because you tack on a sofa and some easy chairs - I was unimpressed by its size. The bath was so small that I couldn't imagine why they touted the luxury of having a steward draw one for you, and I was bemused to find that the “balcony” was nothing more than a glass plank to stop us falling out of floor-to-ceiling french windows. Hotel room one, Seabourn zero.

Until, that is, my father, who was making noises to signify how impressed he was with the space compared with most cruise ships and the fact that there was - heavens - a bath, opened both the complimentary champagne and the windows, and we sat sipping on our sofa in the sunlight as we drew out of Monaco's port.

“This is why I go sailing,” he said happily. “This feeling of being close to the sea is what it's all about.” I have to admit, it was better than a balcony any day. The joys of small-ship sailing really came home, though, when we awoke the next morning at Cannes. At 135m (440ft) and carrying 208 passengers, the Seabourn Legend is the largest ship able to moor in the millionaire's playground, and as we gazed at the mega gin palaces we truly felt as if we were part of the glitterati. I could get used to this, I thought. Nuzzling right up to the quay in Elba a few days later, we were only a few steps away from the colourful buildings and cobbled staircases leading to Napoleon's residence and fort. The sights had been delivered to our porthole and there was no need to take a costly excursion.

Back on board, the entertainment wasn't quite as entertaining. In the evening, showtime turned out to be a soloist blasting out the latest musical hits. While I wasn't after the big-time shows my father raved about on the large liners, I would have welcomed a lecture or two, or even an officer to whisk me away for a waltz. So we lingered over the dining table, where an open-seating policy - no set meal times or fixed tables here - together with the open bar helped to create a relaxed, easy atmosphere. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to swap views on Iraq with George Bush's head of nuclear staff one night, and to discuss schools with a young family the next.

The food, too, really was good, from a surf-and-turf buffet on deck to a tasting menu, a kind of posh tapas on china, plus caviar and champagne. As we slurped and sipped some of these tastes of luxury - the free champagne flows to the tune of 500 bottles a week - my father and I ruminated how much you'd have to eat and drink to justify the higher cost of a Seabourn cruise. The answer is an awful lot, though that's not the point, because not having to sign for everything increases your enjoyment. So does not having to tip the crew, especially when you realise how plentiful they are.

That didn't always translate into a better service but who cares that the breakfast steward always tried to give me coffee instead of tea?

What made me happy - and, yes, despite my nit-picking, I'd say I was a cruise convert and a Seabourn one - was the views from sea to shore at Portofino, its coloured houses cascading down the cliff, washing flapping in the breeze as gin palaces bobbed in the harbour. My father, who once described Machu Picchu as just a pile of rocks, said it was the prettiest harbour he had ever seen. You can get better service, and possibly better food, at some hotels. But what you can't get are views and an experience like this.

Need to know

Jane Knight took a Mediterranean cruise on Seabourn Legend (0845 070 0500, www.seabourn.com). A seven-night Florence and Italian Yacht Havens cruise sailing on August 16 starts at £2,210pp, including an “Exclusively Seabourn Experience” shore excursion on Elba, but not flights.

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