'The waiter recognised me as a five-star man out of his depth'

If five stars herald the pinnacle of luxury in the hotel world, what can a guest expect from one that awards itself six? Clement Freud visited Le Touessrok in Mauritius to find out

When I began my working life, cutting crosses into the stalks of brussels sprouts in the Dorchester hotel kitchen in 1940, there were six British three-star hotels. They were all in London – us and the Ritz, Savoy, Berkeley, Mayfair, and Grosvenor House in Park Lane. The Carlton had by then been bombed.

Lesser establishments did not vie for another star. They accepted the system, and while one knew that the Connaught was good, but rather small; the Grosvenor smart but too close to (virtually inside) Victoria station, they remained outside the highest rating. I don't know who invented the star system, but the assessment was independent and it worked: if you qualified, you charged more. (During wartime price-control, your status permitted you to add three shillings and sixpence to the five-shilling meal limit.)

The next time I looked, three stars was nothing to write home about. If you had everything a hotel could show in the way of impeccable beds, the softest towels, bespoke furnishings, carpets and curtains, telephones by the bed and in the sitting-room, 24-hour room service, maids who turned down the bed while you were out for dinner and a bathroom replete with upmarket soaps, oils and ointments, you rated five stars. If you did try gimmicks to upgrade the status they were more likely to count against you.

In 1970, I stayed at a hotel in Denmark that had telephones in the lavatories, then unheard of. I went to the loo, picked up the receiver, waited for the switchboard to reply and asked for the manager. I explained to him that I was a hotel critic, was much impressed by his establishment, was speaking to him from the lavatory abutting the bathroom off the bedroom of suite 216 and had not previously encountered a phone in a loo: what was the point? "It is in case of emergency, like fire."

I thought about this, and mentioned that it would require extraordinary faith in the efficiency of the operator to find oneself ablaze on the water closet and, instead of rushing out to safety, remain in situ, pick up the receiver and wait for a reply before announcing your predicament. The manager said: "Well, yes, but it is also in case you want to order dinner."

So five stars is as good as you get. The Automobile Association, who lead in hotel assessments, announced that they were content with the system and, when they heard that there was a six-star hotel in Mauritius and a seven-star palace in Dubai, they told me that this was a path they would not pursue, but felt flattered to have their system used as a basis.

For a hotel, a five-star rating is like winning an Olympic medal if you are an athlete, a Victoria Cross for a soldier, a professorship for an academic. It is as far as you can go. Indeed it is hard to see how you could go further now that five-star places supply TV and DVD, fax machines and computers, hot and cold chambermaids, and if you want a lobster soufflé at 3am, a fair chance of getting a result.

Of course you come across the occasional blip... like a five-star hotel in Liverpool where they gave me a yellow shoeshine cloth marked "For Your Convenience". For my convenience I like someone to clean my shoes. We call these adequate five-star hotels; the Savoy is a wonderful five-star.

And it came to pass that an invitation landed on the carpet beneath my letterbox, a thick parchment envelope bearing my name written by a master of calligraphy. Inside, wrapped in pink silk, was a card requesting me to attend the opening of The One and Only Touessrok Hotel in Mauritius on Saturday 7 December. The One and Only Touessrok, it explained, was a six-star hotel. (What a long way the industry has come since that computer blip two thousand years ago when there was one star in the sky and no room at the inn.)

Mauritius is 11 hours downwind from London, the hotel one hour by cab from the airport. A porter opened the door of my vehicle, another took the luggage from the back of the Mercedes and I was met by four smiling people standing at the front door. I approached them, shook their hands, introduced myself, felt a bit put out by the ill-at-ease expressions on their faces... but damn it; new hotel, first day of customers – they'll get used to it soon, probably be fine by the end of next week.

To my surprise the quartet walked past me, offered a slightly embarrassed smile, got into a white BMW and drove off. Bad start.

So I went into the hotel and there were five receptionists and the manager all welcoming me by name. A bellboy gave me an iced towel with which to wipe my face, a sorbet of unusual excellence and a glass of champagne.

I initialled a form that contained my name and address and dates of arrival and departure, and followed an under manager – whose small-talk was only about four-and-a-half star – to my room. This was large, like 1,400 square feet, and a man arrived soon after, announcing that he was my butler – a term that now fills one with apprehension – and might he unpack my luggage?

I toyed with giving him my gold wedding ring to sell on behalf of the staff, then relented. He buttled. I am not competent to assess butlering but he certainly unpacked me better than I would have done myself. Actually there is an egregious pointlessness in being unpacked by a third party: I had one case, there were eight cupboards and nine drawers.

I went on a voyage of exploration: huge bed, four pillows, pashmina rug, hi-tech communications far beyond my comprehension and a complimentary bottle of sparkling wine on ice. The private bar contained refrigerated drinks and chocolates, best crisps and biscuits and a printed list of the contents... without prices. I found that deeply impressive. One feels guilty enough getting out of bed during the night to down a quarter-bottle of Hennessy XO, but to wait until departure to glean whether one is still solvent is as six-star as you can get.

On my coffee table there was a bowl of perfect lychees, which are in season. There was a terrace, four wicker chairs, two loungers, access to the beach peopled with staff eager to move you to the position of your choice, open or close the sunshade, bring you an iced drink and – quite especially six-star – polish your sunglasses.

I don't wear sunglasses. The waiter, dressed in white and gold, recognised me as a five-star man out of his depth and was especially kind; brought me another iced flannel to mop my brow. The temperature was 96 degrees.

Back in my suite I made for the lavatory. The bathroom was the size of my study at home; there was a shower room in which you could give a dinner party for six but no lavatory. They had forgotten to put one in. That is what happens in new hotels. They spend millions on trappings (a shower room for four would have been absolutely OK) and forget essentials. There were two sinks, wok-shaped, made of porcelain.

I could have picked up one of the many static or mobile phones to complain... and am pleased I did not. An hour into my stay I opened a frosted-glass door expecting to find the greenhouse, and it was there. I should have known. No one forgets to put in a loo.

For dinner I had a special six-course "Welcome to Sir Freud" menu. There was a thoughtful wine list, and throughout, people – staff people – stopped by to ask whether I had been content, was everything perfect? Actually it had been. But I had this niggling feeling after the first half-dozen enquiries that a six-star hotel should not have had to ask.

Sir Clement Freud is Rector of St Andrews University

Traveller's Guide

Getting there:

Clement Freud travelled with Air Mauritius (020-7434 4375, www.airmauritius.com) which flies non-stop to the island from Heathrow on Monday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Currently return flights are available for £896; from January 2003 the lowest fares fall to £631. British Airways (0845 77 333 77, www.ba.com) flies in on Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays. Its lowest fare for January is £659 return.

Staying there:

Le Touessrok Hotel & Spa, Trou D'Eau Douce (00 230 419 24 51, www.touessrok.com) has double rooms from £204 per night including dinner, bed and breakfast.

Mauritius rumours...

and facts from the Mauritius Tourism Promotion Authority (020-7584 3666, www.mauritius.net).