It's funny how, even when everything is perfect, small things can start to niggle.

I was deep in the countryside in the south-east of Mallorca. From the balcony of my farmhouse villa, I looked down on to a smart swimming pool with decking and expensive-looking sun-beds.

My bed was huge; the wardrobe big enough to house a footballer’s suits; the power shower had a head the size of the Times Atlas; the towels thick, soft and fluffy and there was under-floor heating.

Yet there was no chair in my room.

At the end of a long night, forget trying to hang clothes neatly in the wardrobe. But my mother brought me up never to leave my trousers on the floor, hence the need for a plain old rustic chair to drape them on.

It was a surprising oversight when looking at the work carried out at the farmhouse, Sa Pletassa Nova near S’Horta.

The place sleeps eight, and is surrounded by fields of gnarled olive treeth. It's hard to imagine that a Mallorcan farmer and his family ever lived here, with its tiled floors, oak beams, chandelier in the hallway, open fireplace and just the right amount of antique furniture to contrast with the modern touches.

As it's a holiday, the chef can have a day off - and invite one in. Give Bruno and Charlotte, his wife, a couple of days notice, then sit back and tuck in to lamb loin wrapped in filo pastry. Our tour company, Mallorca Farmhouses, can arrange the chef service to provide breakfast, lunch or dinner - prices start from £30 per hour (excluding food), payable locally.

It's of note how many expat individuals now offer add-on individually-tailored services to a holiday like this. We met another in the little port town of Cala d'Or. Nigel, an ex London city boy, bought a 16ft yacht on a whim and moved to Mallorca to learn to sail - now he'll take holidaymakers out on a bespoke basis.

Guiding us into open sea was Carl, a steady, smiling Anthony Quinn lookalike, very assuring when both sails were up, while Nigel busied himself with the ropes. We found a quiet, calm bay and dropped anchor - Nigel and Carl ducked below and returned with platters of ham, cheese, tomatoes and fruit.

We also spent a drizzly day out with Joe, a German, who owns riding stables at the Son Menut Escola d'Equitacio. Joe led our procession, turning in his saddle to issue instructions: "This lane, with all this green stuff, is like a delicatessen to the horse; do not let it eat." Easier said than done...

The trek was very gentle, Joe pointing out the 5ft tall artichoke plants and an monastery on on a distant mountain. I returned to the stables a little damp, and ready for a cafe con leche and … yes, a plain old rustic chair to sit on.

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