You know when people say, “I blame the parents”? Well, don’t. It’s not our fault. It’s taken us seven years of careful judgment and tough love to produce two polite, decently behaved kids.

It took someone else just 24 hours to transform them into spoilt brats. So don’t blame us. Blame the children’s concierge at the Athenaeum hotel, London.

The Athenaeum is a five-star place on Piccadilly, which for some reason recently decided that it’s not enough of a treat for kids to get to stay in a hotel in the first place, instead of being packed off to gran’s to eat lumpy porridge. No, they need a specialist concierge to cater to their every whim.

Any parents out there may be in two minds about the wisdom of this. I certainly was. A good parent’s job is basically to say no a lot, while good concierges are there to say yes. These two things are not compatible.

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My children, though, were untroubled by doubts, and my wife, Jaqui, reckoned it couldn’t do much harm. “It’s just the once,” she said. “It’ll be interesting.”

It was. The first thing we did when we arrived was to tell Molly, who’s seven, and Conor, who’s five, to stop climbing on the posh sofa in the lobby.

“No, that’s quite all right, sir,” said Serena the concierge. “In fact, they can jump on it if they like.”

They have never been allowed to jump on sofas before. Now we’ve seen the results, they will never be allowed to do so again, either. They seemed to sense this might be their only chance, so they took full, high-velocity advantage. Other guests retreated, muttering.

“It’s just the once,” said Jaqui. Sofa duly wrecked, we went to our lovely, big family room. Serena had asked us at booking time for a list of Molly and Conor’s likes and dislikes, and they’d obliged enthusiastically.

Sure enough, inside the room there were apples and apple juice, a Wii, a Nintendo DS, a pair of kites, a football, two packets of birdseed (birds, in park, for the feeding of), perfectly fitting mini dressing gowns, sticker books and the latest issue of Molly’s favourite periodical, Girl Talk. “It’s like heaven,” said Molly.

“Where’s my Power Rangers Jungle Fury comic?” Conor demanded. “I’m so sorry,” said Serena with a pained expression. “We did try, but it was the one thing we couldn’t quite...”

“But Molly’s got hers!” he yelled. “It’s not fair!”

“Perhaps we need some fresh air,” I said. “Certainly, sir,” said Serena. “Would you like some bicycles for a ride in the park?”

Five minutes later, four bikes were waiting in reception. Alas, Conor is a little chap, and the bike was a big bike. Cue full-on tantrum. Cue more aghast guests. Cue swift exit. So, while mother and daughter went for a healthy spin to Buckingham Palace, father and son had a kick­about. In the room. Well, I’d never played football in a five-star hotel before, and judging by their attitude to sofas, I thought they wouldn’t mind.

“You’re not setting much of an example,” observed Jaqui when they returned. “It’s just the once,” I replied. I was getting into the spirit of the thing.

The demands started coming thick and fast. “I want to play a board game!” said Molly. “We have Monopoly, junior Mono­poly, Cluedo and junior Scrabble,” said Serena with a smile. “I want to watch Madagascar!” said Conor. “Madagascar or Madagascar 2?” asked Serena, turning up with both DVDs. “Shall I send up popcorn and hot chocolate with that?”

By now, they were drunk with power. “We want sweets!” they yelled together. “KitKats, Mars bars or jelly beans?” asked Serena. Dinner was very posh, lasted two hours and aged us two years. They had pizza. Back in the room, we tried to settle them into bed, but things were spinning out of control.

“I want to watch Harry Potter,” said Molly. “I know they’ve got Harry Potter,” she added reasonably, “because they’ve got everything.” We gave up. They had Harry

Potter, and more popcorn, and milk and cookies. And pain au chocolat for breakfast the next day. “Time to go home, kids!” I said brightly, trying not to look at the wreckage all around. “I’m not leaving,” said Molly, “I want to live here.” “What do you think?” I asked Jaqui. “It would serve the hotel right.”

We took them home in the end — we’ve got legal obligations — and reintroduced them to the concept of “no”. They didn’t like it much. Three days later, they’re still in concierge withdrawal. It’s ghastly. The conclusion? The Athenaeum’s service is top-notch. Your kids will love it. It will, indeed, cater to their every whim. This is a disaster. You’ll be paying the price for weeks. Don’t even think about going.

Details: the children’s concierge service at the Athenaeum (020 7499 3464, athenaeumhotel.com) is free to guests, and includes snacks, comics, kites, bikes, games, balls, birdseed, DVDs and more. Two interconnecting rooms sleeping four cost from £320 per night.

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