Mix it in St Tropez

Who gave St Tropez its name and fame? Was it Brigitte Bardot? Roger Vadim? Geri Halliwell? No, it was, of course, Emperor Nero.

All the stars who have flocked to the tiny fishing town in the South of France for almost 50 years since Bardot disrobed on the nearby Plage de Pampelonne while Vadim filmed her in And God Created Woman probably don't realise the great debt they owe to the old emperor.

During his reign in the 1st Century he had a Christian centurion beheaded in the main square in Pisa. The headless body was then loaded on to a small boat with only a rooster and a dog for company and set adrift.

The boat was swept across the storm-tossed Mediterranean until it washed up on a beach at the end of a tiny spit of land. Not so very far, in fact, from where Ms Bardot would wash up a couple of millennia later and where the rest of the celebrity world has been washing up ever since.

There, the bemused locals discovered the boat carrying the hapless corpse and equally hapless dog (history does not record what happened to the rooster).

Amazingly, despite its ordeal, the dog had not so much as nibbled on the body of the centurion. This, the locals decided, was a sure sign of sainthood. It was a message to them. The name of the centurion was Torpes. (No idea how they knew that; perhaps centurions had name tags or chariot driver's licences). Anyway, he was called St Torpes by the locals and the rest, as they say, is history.

Or geography. Because that little town - which didn't, let's be honest, get off to such a glamorous start - is now the place most closely associated with the rich and famous. St Tropez is no longer just a town, it's a brand, a byword in fashion - and expense.

Myths abound. Coffee allegedly costs £7 a cup, a Coke about £10 and you have to sell your first-born to afford a bottle of wine. All the beaches are privately owned and charge you to lie in the sun with prices linked to the paleness of your tan (ie. Brits get charged at least double the French rate) and so on and so forth.

Of course, it's all rubbish. There's no doubt that St Tropez and its wealthy clientele are not the most egalitarian of people - a French magazine once contacted some of its more famous residents and asked them to back a bogus ' antipleb' charter to keep out the undesirables-They leapt at the chance to sign. With the exception of veteran French rocker Johnny Hallyday who - to his great credit - responded: 'Plebs? These are my fans!'

But what if you are a pleb, can you afford to go to St Tropez and the surrounding area? And what if, even worse, you are a pleb with children? I had been put off for years, assured that I didn't have enough money, wasn't remotely glamorous enough and, anyway, I have three children. Strike the Cote d'Azur from your holiday list, I was told. Stick to Camber Sands.

But this year I decided I wanted to go where the rich and fashionable go - and was determined that I could afford it.

In fact, with careful planning, a strong pound and an eye for a fixedprice menu, the South of France need not be any more expensive than a gite in the rain in Brittany.

All right, you will have to compromise. Cancel the flight to Nice and the helicopter transfer to St Trop and simply drive there. Once across the Channel, it is a 730-mile drive, which, according to Michelin, will take you 10 hours 31 minutes, which sounds horrendous ? and of course it is.

However, this is perfect Harry Potter time. The first half of The Goblet Of Fire tape lasts precisely 10 hours and 32 minutes, thus getting you and the children all the way to St Tropez ? with 60 seconds to spare.

Of course, it?s wiser to take your time. Break the journey overnight in a hotel or just keep going at a leisurely pace ? the motorway tolls mount up to approximately £44 and the petrol will add a further £70 depending on your car but it is still infinitely cheaper than the flydrive alternative.

Don?t try to find accommodation in St Tropez itself ? there is none. But there is plenty in the surrounding area and, while you won?t get a villa for under £5,000 in peak season for a fortnight, an apartment can cost you less than half that. Ours, at Les Restanques du Golfe de Saint Tropez, which is about eight kilometres from the town, was in a purpose-built village.

Although we booked through a British company, Eurovillages, the village itself is run by the long-established French holiday company Pierre & Vacances and has a wave pool, two restaurants, shops, tennis courts, five-a-side pitches, volleyball courts and its own boating lake. From our balcony we had a stunning view over the bay and could watch the yachts buzzing around St Tropez?s harbour entrance.

The children were thrilled with the facilities and activities and there was, memorably, an evening show every night at the open-air theatre, which at times veered towards the so indescribably amateurish that it was compulsive.

In one show the leading lady teetered dangerously in the arms of her partner during a dance sequence in which it became clear that he had nowhere near the strength to lift her. And then there was the volunteer from the audience who spent five minutes being whirled around the stage while he clung on to his rather obvious toupee.

By the end of the stay, we wouldn?t have missed the evening show for anything.

The village was very French ? although most staff spoke English ? and this was reflected in some of the more unusual activities: fencing for the under-sevens and a mountain bike tour of local vineyards. For touring the local area, equip yourself with a good guide book, such as the excellent Time Out guide to the South of France, which has good budget advice.

The beaches at St Tropez are spectacular and, no, you don?t have to pay to sit on them. Just £2 to park the car all day. Away from the coast is the lesser-known Cote d?Azur with places such as the medieval town of Grimaud, with its ruined 11th Century castle, and further north is, believe it or not, the Village des Tortues ? a tortoise sanctuary.

Along the coast there is a string of towns, such as St Maxime and St Raphael, which are not as famous as some of the other Sts on the coast but have good beaches and an astonishing number of restaurants.

Port Grimaud, a purpose-built yachting town built in the Sixties and from which cars are banned, is perfect for people and yachtwatching. Also here, you can catch a ferry to St Tropez. At £3.50 for a ten-minute trip it?s cheaper than buying your own yacht and you get to sail triumphantly into the town?s tiny harbour where the dockside buildings have long since been dwarfed by the ostentatious yachts. From your ferry you disembark right in front of some of St Tropez?s best-known restaurants. This is your chance to parade. You?re a star, at last.

Well, at least you know you can afford to be there. And, let?s face it, you won?t have to pay as high a price to get there as Centurion Torpes did.

Getting there

Eurovillages (0870 366 7562/www.eurovillages.co.uk.) offers seven nights at Les Restanques in a Bastide apartment sleeping six from £747. This includes return Eurotunnel crossings for a car and its passengers.