HERE I AM, on a poolside recliner, reading my novel, when the plump man next to me starts tutting. It's becoming a bit of a habit, this. Snapping at his kids, for example, when talking on his mobile. So much so that we have already christened him Mr Irritated Pig.

But now it's my son's turn to be tutted at. And in a sense, I can sympathise, because Felix and his friend Hugo are behaving in a rather distracting manner. They have flopped belly-down on the marble paving and are squirming away in a most unseemly fashion. And now Felix is spinning around on his bottom. Other guests raise sun-pinked startled faces. And then look away. Maybe they assume it's food poisoning.

No matter. The boys are laughing; fired up with an enthusiasm that dissolves my son's habitual cloak of cool. “This move is what you call the worm,” he tells me. I suppose it does look a bit worm-like. If you're not a worm. But who cares if this “show for mum” is a bit rough around the edges? These lads are fit to bust in their desperation to demonstrate all they have learnt.

The reason for the unexpected smiles is a break-dancing camp: five sessions of hip-hop, freestyle and break-dancing tuition, held here at Halkidiki's Sani Resort. At 12 years old, they just skim the age limit for the course. Which is lucky, since there are no other participants. But that's not strictly true, because here I am, the following day, sneaking along for a quick spy on the activities, and a girl has now joined the group: Anastasia - “call me Nasty” - a beautifully lithe Russian brunette of the same age. The boys are doing that clever thing with their eyes that boys of their age do; studiously ignoring Nasty while simultaneously ogling her, yet also managing to listen to their teacher - Turkish-born professional break dancer, Emin.

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Entertaining adolescents in a resort can be difficult. They are too old for traditional kids' clubs yet not quite old enough to draw on their own resources. So break dancing, with its street-cred hook, sounded inspired. But would the course help to unravel the secrets of slick-limbed experts?

Emin, although not a natural-born teacher, has broken the ice by grabbing hold of their ankles and swinging them around in an effort to explain what words cannot explain: how to defy gravity while contorting your limbs. “With break dancing you need patience,” he tells them. “Choreography is easy; you can learn a routine in a day. But break dancing takes three months, five months, one year - just to master a few moves.”

Cue crestfallen faces. But then Hugo, whose brain works with the logic of a fully formed adult male, suggests Emin demonstrate the moves in slo-mo. This works beautifully, and the group are soon managing to emulate some of the complicated “power moves” - working through back spin, four steps and six steps, to master swap, freeze, and the funny undulating one called the worm.

All the same, the scheduled two hours seems far too long. This is, after all, a highly energetic, potentially tendon-snapping activity. I know this, because the class lets me try out the six-steps move, and it feels a bit like attempting to knit with your legs, rather than needles. But that's probably just me. Mind you, the Sani Resort, with its nibbled layout of hotels, pools and villas set either side of a purpose-built marina, has plenty of other diversions. The marina is very much the focus point of the “village”. And despite its essentially ersatz nature, it is a pretty spot: lined with small shops, designer-bling boutiques, blue-painted Greek tavernas and jolly bars. It soon becomes our favourite meeting point for lunch, where the boys gorge themselves on a sickly mix of nutella and white chocolate pancakes, and my husband hides behind a cold beer and a book.

In the evenings, when the sky turns a calming milky blue, and a breeze cools the overheated English families and sets the boats clinking, adorable stray cats emerge from the rosemary bushes, and graciously accept the titbits that Felix, Hugo and other children wait in turn to offer.

And so the week lazily unfurls. We are based in the Porto Sani Village - one of three accommodation complexes within the resort. It is the most tranquil of the three. And in an unexpected way, the most attractive: “Have you noticed how much prettier the girls who work here are?” queries Hugo over breakfast one morning. And he is right. From the receptionists through to the waitresses, these are extraordinarily beautiful creatures - a veritable army of smiley Stepford-wife beauties, with huge clear blue eyes, gleaming blonde hair, and names like Natasha, Natasha and... erm... Natasha.

However, in terms of waiter skills, they are a bit like buses. When you don't want one, three arrive. And when you do, well... there is a long wait. But they waft gracefully about the place in a very calming manner. It even seems to work in a beneficent way on Mr Irritated Pig.

The gods appear to have bestowed the same good looks on “Fette Moves” - the break-dancing troupe who have come over from Germany to join the entertainment team. One evening we take the shuttle to the Sani Beach Club and find a space in the open-air amphitheatre. It's show-time, and after the inevitable soulful rendition of Mr Bojangles, along come Fette Moves - all sharp suits and seamless routine and phenomenally good dancing - shaking the audience awake, and earning every bit of the ensuing uproarious applause.

During the night, there are thumps, the odd “ouch!” and a hissed, “not like that, like this!” emanating from Felix and Hugo's room. It's late to be practising, but hey, they can always sleep in. But ironically, Emin has a bad back, and the last class is cut short. Not that Felix and Hugo seem to mind. They hire bikes and skidaddle around the resort. They try some tennis, only to find the intense sun too bruising. They cool off in the surf-crested waves, and snooze on cushiony beach-facing recliners. Would they have enjoyed their time here without the break dancing? Hard to say. I doubt my son would have signed up on his own, without a mate to join too. Certainly, the sessions both focused and bonded the boys.

I also overheard two mothers complaining that their teens were bored, which was a shame. For such an excellent antidote to adolescent ennui this programme seemed remarkably under-publicised. Not that Felix or Hugo objected: “It's cool,” they shrugged. “We get one-on-one tuition. Only, can we please sign up for classes back home?”

Need to know

ITC Classics (01244 355527, www.itcclassics.co.uk) offers seven nights' B&B at Porto Sani Village from £2,190pp in peak season, including flights with British Airways and transfers.

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