THEY call them the 'New Spartans'. Affluent families who for years have spent their holidays in the world's top hotels in luxury resorts around the world.

Families who have every hi-tech mod con in their rooms, overnight laundry service and on-tap pampering for mums and dads.

Yet now, apparently, these well-off travellers are turning their nose up at cocktails beside kidney-shaped pools in tropical climes, and heading for... Blackpool.

Well, perhaps not Blackpool - they haven't suffered the complete mental breakdown necessary to want to spend a fortnight drifting past row after row of fun pubs on pavements awash with vomit, while trying to decide whether to buy a baseball hat with a chunk of male genitalia stuck on the front, or a pair of huge stick-on breasts. (For a weekend it's a laugh, but any longer and total insanity would kick in).

No, these families have not gone that far downmarket. What they have done is decide to ditch the five-star treatment in favour of the traditional British seaside holiday. More and more of the super-rich are, apparently, turning away from the best hotels and booking their annual break at the seaside, in cottages without television, DVDs, computers or any sort of electronic wizardry.

They want to rediscover traditional pleasures such as fish and chips, Scrabble and bracing walks in the fresh - and chilly - air. Demand for such properties let by the National Trust, on the coast and inland, has risen sharply as people head back to the delights of rock pools and buckets and spades.

What I would like to know, is why does it take people so long to figure out things such as this?

For years we have taken our holidays on the Yorkshire coast, just an hour's drive from home. With two young children, even that journey can be testing - the idea of a long-haul flight to the Caribbean is about as appealing as a week crossing Afghanistan in a clapped-out Mini Metro.

With no plug-in entertainment apart from the radio (well, my husband wouldn't want to miss The Archers), it is nothing short of wonderful. We spend most days on the beach, whatever the weather, delving into rock pools, jumping waves, making sandcastles and sticking paper flags in the top.

We get the bus to Whitby, eat fish and chips and walk the couple of miles back.

On a night, after the children - who always make loads of friends - have gone to sleep, we sit outside and look at the view across the valley. It is the one week of the year where we don't bicker about who forgot to let out the bath water, lock the door or buy bread. It is lovely from start to finish and doesn't break the bank. There are no airport taxes, hidden surcharges or stress locating luggage on the carousel.

I should love a week in the Maldives - and I'd love to see more of the world and hope to in the future (if Man hasn't destroyed the planet by then), but for a family holiday you can't beat the British coast. There may be more chance of rain, which is always a bit of a downer, but children don't seem to care. They stick on their swimsuits whatever the weather - they'd have as good a time in Morecambe as they would in Mauritius.

Updated: 11:37 Tuesday, August 02, 2005