The nearest my husband and I usually get to a week flopping on a beach is an evening at our local Italian, where paintings of the Mediterranean hang on the walls. Nowadays, it all comes down to planning far ahead and relying on doting grandparents.
On this occasion, Derek and I were looking for somewhere hot and not too far away; somewhere relaxed, but with stylish accommodation so we could enjoy some glamorous dressing-up; somewhere with plenty of culture for when we would be tempted to leave our sunbeds.
We found all that and more in Tunis, or, more specifically, at The Residence, ensconced in one of its suburbs.
