"MOUNT YOUR DOLPHINS!"

The Grosvenor staff: wacky staff photos not included in room price

And what better way to begin this blog than with a quote from the eponymous Mark, Owner/Manager of The Grosvenor Hotel, in Torquay. In case you've been mistakenly watching Call The Midwife over on BBC1, (or as I read it, Lark Rise to One Born Every Minute) Mark is the star of the latest series of Channel 4's fly-on-the-wall docu-drama, The Hotel.

Well, he's one of the stars. Whilst his circa-1985 salt and pepper mullet and Extremo-Bleach Instant Whitening teeth is certainly entertaining-slash-dumbfounding, if you peel back the top layer of The Hotel, which you may superficially mistake for one of the laugh-at-'em-not-with-'em docos (Gypsy Wedding fans, I say NOTHING), what you actually find is a tenderly and carefully edited holiday postcard of middle Britain. And I do mean middle; most of the guests spoke in the same unctuous tones as Gavin from AutoGlass.

And it kicked off in style; with the Bridezilla from hell (West Midlands? Tick.) who threw strops that made Denise Welch-gate look like a kiddie's picnic. And yeah, she was diverting, and hilarious, and we all sat there with our heads in our hands muttering, "THIS is what's wrong with young people today" into our cups of tea. But alongside the bride from hell smashing plates and threatening to walk out of her own wedding; quietly and with little fanfare, the show introduced the glorious, in name and nature, Mr and Mrs Tickle.

They'd been married for over 50 years. They were from the North, and enjoyed coach holidays so they could have some companionship and new experiences. Everything about the Grosvenor (which is, to be fair, a bit shabby around the edges) was a treat for them; and made even more special because they were there together. Mr Tickle was hilarious, in his own ideosyncratic way; Mrs Tickle was clearly so used to his odd ways and means that his foibles didn't even raise an eyebrow. And here is where The Hotel drew it's true strengths from.

Further episodes showed a grieving widower on holidays with his grown-up son; a couple where the son from a previous relationship had now started calling his mother's partner "Dad", and even manager Mark's broken relationships and financial strifes. None of this was chucked in for cheap emotional thrills; the show would show two or three stories per week, and give them the time and space to breathe and develop properly. It let the people it portrayed shine through as themselves, and because there was so little editorial involvement during filming (except for the final episode, the cameras were wall-mounted into selected hotel rooms, to avoid any unnecessary intrusion) the cameras were free to capture people just as they were; flawed, depressed, grateful, in love.

The goodness and humour of society as a whole is so often swallowed up in favour of Daily Mail-esque fear and loathing stories of how we're all going to hell in a handbasket, and with Monday looming right in front of us, we all need a bit of cheering up on a Sunday night - it's either that or the gin. So I'm really pleased to be able to say that I found my little bit of Sunday night joy; and whilst 10 million of you over on BBC1 may disagree, I'm confident in saying that I think, sadly, you're the ones that missed out.