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But the Inspector from the Mail was not so impressed. He called it a “grossly over-the-top, bloated money-spinner that’s almost entirely bereft of style.”

What had he seen that we missed? The Opium Suite, which had a picture on the wall of a “naked Thai girl spread-eagled on a velvet cloth under a vase of flowers”. Phew! The hottest our room (Manon) got was a terracotta chicken on the windowsill.

The Inspector also complains that the bed had too many pillows, and that when he jokingly asked for more (don’t let it be said that this guy doesn’t do banter), the “constipated Frenchman showing us our quarters” looked as if he was about to go get some. To which we say – isn’t that what service is 'sposed to be?

Given that we stayed there over a year ago, and there was a possibility that the place had got all blinged up and WAG-ed out in our absence, we checked Le Manoir’s website. It sports pictures of all 32 of the rooms, so hiding all them spreadeagled ladies’d be pretty tricky.

Now we couldn’t spy any – but neither was there a snap of the naughty picture in the page on Opium. The rest of the rooms, though, looked like we'd remembered, so we’ll go out on a limb and venture that if the Inspector had looked in some of the others, he would have seen a different vibe going on. In fact, we seem to recall that Opium and Lemongrass, another suite, are two of the more up-to-date rooms – Lemongrass was “inspired” by owner and celeb chef Raymond Blanc’s trip to Thailand. And RB is a hotblooded Frenchman. The warning’s right there, kids.

The Inspector did like the Michelin-starred food, though – he called it “exceptional”, “sensational” and “impossible not to doff your cap when you get to the ‘Three little desserts made with Valrhona chocolate Grands Crus'.” These superlatives come at a price though – a nine course meal costs £116.

So we say – if spreadeagled girls disturb you, don’t abandon Le Manoir – but do go for a more docile, smaller room, where you will find tartan bedspreads and fresh sprigs of rosemary for the bathtub. Spend the difference on dinner – those chocolate puds sound like a better aphrodisiac than any dodgy wall decor.

[Photo: Daily Mail]