MY FRIENDS were positively verts with envy when I told them I was off to stay at the George V in Paris. But when I let slip that I was taking my children, too, they were horrified.

Was I nuts? The George V is one of the hotel greats, a super-smart, marble-clad temple of Parisian chic — the ultimate setting for a romantic mini-break fuelled by decadent dinners in its three-Michelin-starred restaurant and 100-year-old Armagnac from the cellars.

Wouldn’t we feel totally out of place, they insisted? Wouldn’t there be some hideous mishap involving jam and priceless tapestries that would see us icily, but oh so politely, escorted through the revolving doors, never to return? Or would Holly, 7, and Rory, 3, just think it was beyond boring and demand to be taken back for a burger in Disneyland? I was hoping, however, that this was a weekend break we would all enjoy. It started well, even though a cluster of tall glass columns filled with architectural red blooms held the potential for disaster as we entered the glam lobby. But diversionary tactics were quickly employed as soon as we reached reception. A willowy assistant knelt down beside the children and offered them toys from a large wicker basket. Top marks for shameless bribery.

Hurrah for Gallic pragmatism. Holly and Rory grinned happily all the way up to our “premier” suite, the smallest room the George V considers appropriate for a family of four, and a deliciously decadent £1,207 a night. It had a bedroom, two bathrooms and a sitting room with a sofa bed.

More important, the room also had Orangina, large chocolate biscuits and Smarties laid out on a tray, T-shirts with the children’s names on, mini-bathrobes and slippers hanging side by side and “Welcome to Four Seasons” picked out in wooden letters on the bathroom sink.

I suggested we nip out and start exploring the Champs-Elysées, around the corner. No chance. They had their pint-sized robes on and were down for a swim before you could say Eiffel Tower. And if there’s anything more heavenly for children than a warm pool with a stack of fluffy towels to bounce on, it’s a poolman happy to find and fit the right size flippers and fetch mini- bottles of iced water.

In fact, every member of staff was charming with the kids — I could hardly believe we were in Paris, home of the supercilious shrug. The beautiful blonde manager of the business centre was so kind when we asked to borrow DVDs that Holly was desperate for her to babysit.

At breakfast the next morning, served in the impossibly grand surroundings of Le Cinq restaurant, the maitre d’ greeted Rory, wearing his favourite dressing up outfit, with “Bonjour Red Power Ranger,” and with a flourish, added: “I am blue Power Ranger and Eric ’ere, is the yellow one.” Oh, yes, top marks again. When Rory was asked what he would like for breakfast and replied:

“Pasta”, the waiter was only momentarily stunned before replying: “Of course, sir, if you could just wait a little.” Then the food arrived under huge silver cloches pulled off with a dramatic flourish. It was an Alice in Wonderland experience. Dwarfed by huge Louis XIV chairs and gigantic cups of thick, rich hot chocolate, the children tucked in – and didn’t spill a thing.

It would have been easy not to have left the hotel at all, what with the pool and the activities organised for children, from the treasure hunt, where they had to get their “George Frog” booklet stamped by each department to win yet another toy, to free e-mailing in the business centre and the tours of the kitchen, laundry and wine cellar. But we did manage a trip to Galeries Lafayette, the Tuileries for the boating pond, the trampolines and the carousel and the Palais Royal, where Daniel Buren’s installation of black and white striped columns sit like giant draughts in the main courtyard.

For family-friendly restaurants we relied on the advice of the concierge, who came up trumps both times. Brasserie André, a block away from the hotel on rue Marboeuf, was perfect for neighbourhood comfort food (and we needed comforting because Rory had just thrown himself into a wine rack in Monoprix and gashed his face), while the next night the lively Brasserie Lorraine in place des Ternes, with its seafood displays, fish tank and truly historic chips, wowed the children so much that they sat through an unprecedented three courses without a murmur or a demand for tomato ketchup.

As we drove back, the Eiffel Tower lit up the night sky. Holly is usually oblivious to where she is staying, but not in this case. As we headed for the Eurostar, she took a last look at our suite and put on her special face, reserved for begging presents. “Mummy, I like Paris. When can we come back?”

Need to know

Julia Brookes and family travelled with Eurostar (0870 5186186, www.eurostar.com), which has return fares to Paris from £59. Rooms at the George V (00 33 1 49 52 70 00, www.fourseasons.com), 31 avenue George V, start at £476 a night. A room for a family of four starts at £1,207.

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