The other weekend my Grandma celebrated her 80th birthday. Having spent the last 79 years living life like a teenager she realised that it was probably about time to start taking things a little slower, a little easier, a little more like someone with a bus pass. However, she insisted on one last party.

Now my Grandad isn't short of money, but the party he threw for my Grandma must have left a hole in his pocket roughly the size of Wales.

He had planned a two-day break in one of the Lake District's finest hotels. On arrival we were to be booked in then escorted to our rooms. Once unpacked we were to return to the bar for drinks and aperitifs. We were then to get changed into suits or dresses in time for the Champagne reception at 7pm, with dinner being served roughly 30 minutes after that.

The study was then booked for after dinner where coffee would be served until late. Day two would commence with a full English breakfast then a day enjoying the beauty of the Lake District.

"It's like the Last Supper," was my first thought. When we arrived at the hotel, protruding from the side of Lake Windermere like some sort of humungous tumour, it had the presence of a giant pink elephant. Once through the towering front doors things carried on being extravagant and grand. Not only were we greeted by real-life English people but the whole place felt like a Miss Marple murder mystery.

Adorning the walls were heads of practically every species of forest animal ever to grace the British Isles. The carpet had a pattern so complex not even a year's worth of Dr Kawashima's Brain Training would help you figure it out. Then there was the log fire; so huge and environmentally harmful I can't begin to describe the magnitude of the urge I had to throw the entire Labour party into its magnificent embers.

Then there were the bedrooms. My bed was the size of an Olympic trampoline and my bath, wow, the bath; I kid you not could probably have fitted a Range Rover in it.

Then there was the party itself. Having consumed enough Champagne to quench the thirst of the most hardened drinker, eaten enough wood pigeon, pheasant, rabbit, lobster and langoustines to render them all extinct, we began drinking enough coffee to wake the dead. While we did so, one of the waiters came in to talk about the African tribe he used to live with. We complimented him on how magnificent the night had been, and in particular how delightful the food was, and he began to tell us how in his tribe they only ate fish heads. "Fish are clever animals," he said, "By eating their brains we believe that we too will increase our intelligence."

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed my Grandma's brow furrow as if in deep thought. Just as the waiter was about to leave my Grandma interjected: "If fish are so smart, how come they always get caught?"

I get the feeling my Grandma may well live like a teenager for the next 79 years.