Hart’s Hotel, Nottingham
“Pretty much in the thick of town – it’s off Maid Marian Way, for goodness sake – this boutique Nottingham hotel nestles in its own peaceful enclave, and is all the better for it…”
“Pretty much in the thick of town – it’s off Maid Marian Way, for goodness sake – this boutique Nottingham hotel nestles in its own peaceful enclave, and is all the better for it…”
We begin on the Powell–Mason Cable Car, hurtling down the vertiginous Powell toward central San Francisco. In the distance, the Bay Bridge shimmers in the mid-afternoon light…
“Castle Combe is so picture-perfect that it looks like a film set; indeed, quite a few films have used the tiny Cotswold village for location shoots. But annexed to the village is its most impressive asset, the 14th century Manor House Hotel.”
“I’m sat at the window of our room as I write. It’s the one sunny day we’ve had all week in Cornwall, and a gentle breeze wafts in through the broad knee-high sash window that opens to a view of lawns…”
“Lucknam Park is located just 6 miles from the beautiful city of Bath, nestled in the depths of the Wiltshire countryside and set in 500 acres of stunning parkland and landscaped gardens.”
Portloe, so I read in the Lugger’s brochure, was described by Sir John Betjeman as ”one of the least spoiled and most impressive of Cornish fishing villages.”
“Boats pottering about the harbour, skirting its curves from Camp Cove to Rose Bay, meeting at Circular Quay where the iconic Harbour Bridge and Opera House dominate and command attention.”
‘“There are very few villages that are a time warp like Gittisham,” says Ruth Hunt, co-owner of Combe House in South Devon. She’s right. Only a few minutes inside and I know we’ll want to do this time warp again…’
‘Romance forever’. That’s a steep level of commitment for a hotel; even one with a 12pm check out and the offer of vaporetto speedboat transfers to the centre of town…
‘Please don’t say I work hard. Nobody is forced to do this job and if they don’t like it, they should do another one.’ These words are not the bossy but ultimately modest utterance of your correspondent, but those of Karl Lagerfeld…
“Having had a simply ghastly European trip a couple of weeks ago, which made us feel that we and ‘abroad’ were destined to be strangers for the near future, we fancied somewhere quintessentially English, but with a twist.”
Having fantasised about the meandering streets of Paris whilst reading French literature, and having fallen asleep listening to Peter Sarstedt singing ‘Where do you go to my lovely?’, I had arrived – and this was really arriving.