To take a walk around the mid-century houses bounded by Silverdale Road, Andrews Road and Crawford Close in Earley, Reading, is to walk with ghosts.

On the face of it, they are rows of very normal residential homes, but underneath are the remains of a vast mansion where one of Victorian England’s greatest ever rags-to-riches stories played out.

Solomon Joel was born in 1866, in Whitechapel's then poverty-stricken slums. His parents, Joe and Kitty, ran the long-since-demolished King of Prussia pub from a yard on Middlesex Street — colloquially known as Petticoat Lane.

The young Solly, his older brother, Woolf, and younger brother, Issac were intelligent and diligent — qualities that inspired Kitty’s brother, Barney Barnato, to pluck them from poverty and have them join him at his new company, mining for diamonds and gold in South Africa. Joel was just 15 years old when he left his parents.

Seventeen years later, Joel found himself unexpectedly in charge of the family firm when Barnato went overboard on a ship travelling from Southampton to South Africa. A year later, in 1888, Woolf was murdered in a blackmailing gone very wrong.

These tragic circumstances saw 32-year-old Joel, along with his brother, Issac, inherit a not-so-small fortune of £1,228,659, 18 shillings and five pence (about £143 million today).

By now Joel was at the helm of Barnato Brothers, a director at De Beers and chairman of the Johannesberg Consolidated Investment Company. He had a swift dalliance with politics which didn’t end particularly well (he was briefly incarcerated) before deciding, in 1903, to use some of his money to put down roots in England, and dedicate more time to his real passion — racing.

Joel purchased Maiden Erlegh, a small, 14th-century mansion, largely rebuilt in 1878, and situated on the fringes of Reading.

He wasted no time changing the property, vastly extending it to include more than 70 bedrooms, tennis courts (grass and hard), a cricket field, a six-and-a-half-acre lake and a croquet lawn. His pièce de résistance, however, was a lavish, barrel-vaulted, Pompeiian-style Italian marble swimming bath, complete with marble columns, risqué frescoes and a family crest mosaic at the bottom of the pool.

Outside, the ornamental gardens were dotted with neo-Classical temples. It was said that Joel's main reason for such lavishness was so he could create employment in an area where unemployment was rife. He also donated 20 acres of land to the National Playing Fields Association.

For himself, Joel founded the Maiden Erlegh Stud Farm, whose champion foals would go on to win, among others, The Derby and The St Leger Stakes.

When he died in 1931, aged 65, he was worth just £1 million, 40% of which was due in death taxes. Maiden Erlegh was quickly put up for sale.

The lavish interiors were sold at auction on December 7, 1931, by Knight, Frank & Rutley. There were 1,762 lots, including pieces of Chippendale furniture and original artworks by Canaletto, Constable and Gainsborough, fire extinguishers and plants from the garden.

The 470-acre estate, house and stud farms were advertised as 'Ripe for Immediate Development'.

The Reading Standard was worried, writing in early 1932 that there would be: '...very real risk of undesirable developments... It would be deplorable of the next few years should see the estate, or any considerable portion of it, transformed at the hands of speculative builders, into streets or avenues of houses.'

The house was sold to Captain T. S. Waterlow Fox in February for £25,000 (about £1.5 million) who used it a boys school until 1942. It was subsequently used as a training college by the Church Army, a conference centre by Imperial Chemical Industries (ICI) and, finally, a sanctuary by Hungarian refugees of the 1956 Soviet invasion.

In March 1960, now in the hands of new speculators, the bulldozers reared their ugly arms. The Reading Standard’s fears were about to become reality.

Parts of Maiden Erlegh still exist. The lake is still there, as is Joel's beloved stud farm, though there are reports that the land is haunted by a ghostly horse. The swimming baths — photographs of which survive in Reading Museum's archive — was shipped to the Caribbean by artist Elma Clarke.

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With a marginally reduced supply of farmland for sale on the open market between January and September this year — 138,545 acres compared with 147,760 acres for the equivalent period in 2025 — it is ‘steady as she goes’ in the market for UK farms, according to Alex Lawson, head of rural agency at Savills. He attributes the resilience of the marketplace to sustained demand from lifestyle purchasers, buyers with rollover funds to invest and local farmers seeking to extend their existing holdings.

All three buyer groups will find much to their liking at Home Farm, Upper Basildon, near Reading, Berkshire, a wonderfully private, 455-acre residential and farming estate centred around a handsome 16th-century farmhouse within the North Wessex Downs National Landscape and yet only an hour’s train ride from central London.

For sale for the first time in more than 40 years through Louisa Over of Savills farms and estates, Home Farm is offered either as a whole, at a guide price of £10.97 million, or in four lots.

Lot 1a, Home Farmhouse with the converted granary, two-bedroom Garden Cottage, outbuildings and 98 acres of land, is for sale with a guide price of £7.4m; lot 1b, 114½ acres of rolling arable land and woodland adjoining lot 1a, is priced at £1.15m; lot 2, 146 acres of productive arable land and woodland to the east of Upper Basildon, is on offer at £1.45m; and lot 3, 97 acres north-west of Mead Lane, is offered at £970,000.

The focal point of the estate is the picturesque farmstead comprising the charming farmhouse, approached via a wonderfully dramatic driveway that's like a smaller version of Northern Ireland's famous 'Dark Hedges', made famous in the Game of Thrones adaptation.

The main farmhouse, which is unlisted, provides 6,727sq ft of well-proportioned living space on three floors, including entrance and reception halls and three main reception rooms.

There's also a study, conservatory and garden room, kitchen and dining annexe.

You'll find eight bedrooms and five bathrooms, and should you need more space there's further accommodation is available in the pretty stone, two-bedroom Garden Cottage.

In 2020, the owners converted the Grade II-listed, 17th-century former granary into an impressive 2,518sq ft, four-bedroom guest house with a vast, open-plan kitchen and dining area. Roof-mounted solar panels provide electricity and heating.

Delightful gardens and grounds include formal and kitchen gardens, planted borders, an arboretum and a tiered garden with an open-fronted summer house and terrace for entertaining.

Amenities include an outdoor swimming pool and tennis court.

The most popular topic of conversation is rarely the most fashionable, a fact that became apparent earlier this month as I moved into a new flat and hit the shops. It was my first time in a while buying such essentials as salt, pepper and olive oil, having moved home temporarily this winter and relied on the kindness of parents. The bill hurt.

Call it frequency illusion if you wish, but the primary chatter at the Frieze art fairs seemed to be about groceries. Art is a glamorous field, poorly paid. A friend at Christie’s lamented the cost of seafood as another mourned a client who recently moved his business to Europe. Poorly paid, and dwindling.

Most revealing was the absence of queues for Frieze’s usually thriving pop-up restaurants. I witnessed many punters commit the ultimate art-fair sin — eating a Pret sandwich — and realised that even high-earners now consider £18.50 for silken tofu to be a bit much. The strain felt by diners and the establishments that feed them has seeped into their relationship. How, I asked chefs, do you negotiate between staff asking for better pay, diners demanding better food and suppliers hiking prices as they deal with import and fuel costs?

Margot Henderson, doyenne of Rochelle Canteen in Shoreditch and The Three Horseshoes in Somerset, has a few ideas. Her kitchens, she reveals, will buy a whole cow and butcher it in-house, ‘so a fillet costs the same as a shank’, serve smaller cocktails ‘so the ice doesn’t melt by the time it’s finished’ and ‘use less butter than before’. Seasonal ingredients, she adds, are equally important, reducing reliance on imports and preservatives and lending rural growers a hand.

Yet where such cost-saving measures are usually boosted by mark-ups, certain restaurateurs will opt instead for menu discounts. Gabriel Waterhouse’s new venture, a restaurant inside a potters’ shop in Hackney, offers a seven-course tasting menu for £70 on Sunday afternoon, down from £125. ‘How else do you make your business attractive when people are spending less money?’ the chef asks. Being full on Sundays, he adds, boosts staff morale and sends the right message to passers-by on the day with the most footfall.

By contrast, those who keep prices high in fear of adding to losses may struggle. It pays to be counterintuitive, says Flora McTeare, co-owner of Soho’s Khao Bird, which serves a cocktail inspired by its own bartenders called the ‘I am broke’. ‘It must be the only cocktail in London to admit to using Lidl vodka,’ she says. Honesty may yet be the best policy.

On the plane to Stockholm, where Rolls-Royce launched the new Series II Spectre, two questions kept cropping up among the assembled motoring writers. 'Didn’t they only launch the original about five minutes ago?' and 'What do you think they could have changed?'.

The answer to the first question is easy. It may not feel like it but it’s actually three years since the Spectre — Rolls-Royce’s first ever electric model — first hit the road.

And the second answer? Most of the conjecture was pretty jokey: 'They’ll have re-designed the wing mirrors’, and, ‘different colour options for the go-faster stripes’ were favourites. Both guesses proved wrong because at first glance the you'd think that nothing has changed at all.

That's not a bad thing and actually shows admirable restraint since the original was, and is, absolutely wonderful. So little has changed, in fact, that I did toy with the idea of simply re-running my review of OG Spectre from October 2023 to see if anybody would notice.

I came to the conclusion that they probably wouldn’t, but that nor could I short-change anyone by not actually, you know, doing my job. So here we are: Spectre II: what has changed?

So, the wing mirrors are unchanged, as is the go-faster stripe — or ‘Coachline’, as Rolls-Royce call it. The latter is still, rather magnificently, painted on by hand by the man with the steadiest hands in the automotive industry. The answer to the upmarket game of 'spot the difference' is in the wheels: new 23-inch, forged steel rims and very smart they look too, though slightly scary.

There are cosmetic changes in the cabin too, where, a snazzy new clock is now available — and the revamped dashboard dazzles even so than it did before.

There are new fabrics, the most exotic of which is called ‘Duality Twill’, a rayon fabric made from bamboo that was apparently inspired by Le Jardin des Méditerranées on the Côte d’Azur, next door to Sir Henry Royce’s former winter home, Villa Mimosa. Naturally, you can order this in green to make sure your friends ask you about it.

It's easy for non-Rolls-Royce customers to wonder what difference such things make; but that's a mistake no actual Rolls owner would make. Customisation is absolutely ingrained in the Rolls-Royce identity right now: there’s no such thing as a ‘standard model’, and there hasn’t been for years. If you just want a car, parent group BMW have plenty of other things they’ll sell you. If you want an exquisite expression of your personality, then you’ll want to head to Goodwood — or New York, or Shanghai, or one of the other global design hubs — and deck your Roller out exactly as you want it, whether it's all in black, covered in diamonds, or in two-tone purple and yellow, like a bowl of rhubarb and custard.

The choice really is the point, the difference that shows off Rolls's craftsmanship, and which also happens to push the average price of a Rolls-Royce out to the half-a-million-pounds mark. For a company used to measuring its profit in the billions, that is an important consideration.

You don’t make money like that without giving your customers what they want — and it turns out that in the case of the Spectre, what they want is to actually drive the car. That might sound silly, but the superyacht-like Phantom is one you buy to be chauffeur-driven in, and the huge-selling Cullinan (more than 3,000 were delivered in 2025) is the family Rolls. Spectres are being driven 4,000 miles a year, and usually with the owner alone — and thus the speed and the practicalities have been improved.

The range is 18% better (you'll get almost 400 miles from a full charge now), while charging is 14% quicker, there's 10% more torque from the electric motors in standard spec, and if you go for the sportier Black Badge spec, the car is substantially quicker still. There’s 500kW of power through ‘Infinity Mode’ and up to 1100Nm torque in ‘Spirited Mode’. If those numbers mean nothing to you, then ‘double what you’d get in a Porsche Macan’ will cover it.

The bottom line then? Rolls-Royce have made some nice upgrades to what was already a way-beyond-nice car. Think of it as a beautiful house that you loved before, but which has now been rewired and given a new roof. These are not things you'd immediately notice, but when living with them, they can make a difference. As Royce himself once said, ‘Small things make perfection, but perfection is no small thing’.

Is it a bit cheeky of them to call it ‘Spectre Series II’, rather than just quietly delivering the new bits? Probably, but then again, it gave them a chance to make a thing of it, put on an event in a swish Swedish hotel, and get everyone talking about their sole electric model once more. Job done.

‘The cult of the toy Pomeranian is a most fascinating hobby, as well as a fashionable craze, that charming breed having made rapid strides within the last few years,’ Country Life reported in 1903.

First seen in Britain in 1807, this ‘elegant featherweight’ of breeds was a pet of George III and just ‘as the House of Orange brought us the pug, so may the House of Hanover have given us the Pomeranian’.

The breed — also historically known as a loup-loup or spitzdog — is a native of Pomerania, a district in northeastern Germany, on the shores of the Baltic Sea. The spitz breeds (of which the Pomeranian is the smallest) are of ancient origin and were originally widely scattered throughout Europe and parts of Asia and China. These dogs have pulled sledges, and guarded the homestead and the livestock, as well as being killed both for food and their pelts.

In England, white spitz or Pomeranian dogs were kept as ‘dogs of the drawing-room’, appearing frequently in Gainsborough’s paintings such as Perdita (1781) and The Morning Walk (1785). These dogs were larger than the ones that would eventually be bred for the show ring.

Stonehenge described the breed in The Dog (1872): ‘This cheerful little dog is extremely common on the continent of Europe where it goes by the name of loup-loup. Until lately it was very rare in England, but within the last 20 years it has become very common as a house dog. It is not embraced, however, by the fanciers and is not prized highly by anyone, being of no use but as a companion.’

Stonehenge, however, had underestimated the trend of the times. In 1891 Queen Victoria became the first reigning monarch to exhibit at an established dog show by sending collies and Pomeranians to Crufts, and in 1897 Country Life reported that: ‘Mrs C. Houlker, of Accrington, a well-known lady exhibitor, has every reason to be pleased with her visit to the Ladies’ Dog Show in the Botanic Gardens, Regent’s Park, for during the show the big sum of £200 for her winning Toy Pomeranian, Black Prince, was offered and accepted. No such sum has ever before been paid for a Pomeranian weighing a little under 6lb, but as he is considered the most typical one ever bred, his purchaser, a Manchester newspaper proprietor, has not paid dearly for his ambition to own a dog quite at the top of the tree... His show career has been a phenomenal one, and, although but a little over two years old, he can boast of having beaten every Pomeranian of note. Since he was first shown, when a little over 12 months old, he has won over 100 prizes, including cups for the best non-sporting dog in the show, and championships.’

By 1909 Pomeranian breeding was such a ‘profitable hobby’ that Country Life reported on a lady ‘who was said to have purchased a motor-car from one year’s proceedings of her kennels’.

Country Life suggested that as ‘a pet and companion no other toy dog can equal ... the charming, dainty, loving, and lovable little Pomeranian’ — a compact, short-coupled little dog, with a fox-like head and small, erect ears.

‘To see the Spitzes let out is one of the prettiest sights at Windsor, as they go, helter-skelter, into their paddock, a flurry of bright fluff where the sun catches their gold and silver coats scattered about on the green turn,’ the magazine reported on visiting Queen Victoria’s kennels at Windsor in 1897. ‘How prettily they answer to their names when Hill, the kennel-man, calls them, each in turn all alertness, in perfect attitude for inspection.’

This is an extract from 'The Country Life Book of Dogs' (Rizzoli, £50) by Agnes Stamp.

Oxfordshire — £5.95 million

In a village not far from Oxford, this fascinating house consists of a series of ancient stone barns converted and upgraded in rare style.

The pool and walled garden are one highlight, but the piece de resistance is the living space with curving staircase that looks like something out of a glossy 1980s TV series.

For sale via Savills — see more details and pictures.

Shropshire — £850,000

An old mill near Oswestry has become a gorgeously quirky country home.

It has four bedrooms, 3,500sq ft of space, wonderful views, and bags of charm.

For sale via Daniel James — see more details and pictures.

Berkshire — £8.5 million

This Grade II-listed country house dates back 300 years, that's had recent improvements overseen by Hugh Petter of Adam Architecture, has 10 bedrooms, 37 acres of land, and is supremely pretty.

One wing is currently rented out, and brings in over £100,000 a year.

For sale via Knight Frank — see more details and pictures.

Northamptonshire — £4.5 million

This working farm with almost 270 acres of land has a fine farmhouse at its heart, huge potential, and extensive outbuildings.

For sale via Michael Graham — see more details and pictures.

Somerset — £1.95 million

The huge family room at the centre of this house near Shepton Mallet encapsulates its charm and appeal — it's a lovely, traditional, cosy six-bedroom country house.

For sale via Strutt & Parker — see more details and pictures.

Officially, you’ll find MI5 in London’s Thames House, the most imposing and well-secured building on Millbank. There are rumours, of course, that the footprint of Britain’s domestic intelligence agency spreads far wider, into shabby, anonymous premises of the kind seen on the Apple TV series Slow Horses and even through secret tunnels under the river.

For much of its history, the organisation wasn’t even a matter of public record: until the 1989 Secret Service Act gave it statutory recognition, ministers routinely denied all knowledge of its existence. It is world famous, yet nobody on the outside has the faintest idea what its day-to-day in 2026 actually looks like — those who claim to know, and are willing to share that information, by definition do not.

Its historic paper trail, however, is a little easier to follow. You only have to take a train to Kew Gardens in west London, home of The National Archives, to which MI5 periodic-ally releases documents (redacted where necessary) that are at least 50 years old and considered not to be inherently sensitive. There, you put in a formal request to view records and before long you are carefully opening a time-capsule box full of memos, minutes and correspondence. In January 2025, The National Archives received more than 100 such documents, including paperwork shedding new light on the discovery of the ‘Cambridge Five’ spy ring. Not long after, work began on The MI5 Archive: Official Secrets.

The book is the first visual record of the organisation’s activities and a remarkably evocative glimpse of a clandestine world. ‘It smells of card indexes and brush passes and last-minute saves,’ writes the novelist Nick Harkaway in his introduction. His father, John le Carré, began his intelligence career at MI5 and one of his untold stories is among those revealed here: during a training exercise, as part of which he had been instructed to ‘kidnap’ and interrogate a fellow officer, he accidentally snatched a local headmaster who happened to be cycling past.

The story of the Secret Service Bureau, as it was initially known, begins in August 1909, on Victoria Street in Westminster. Its remit, defined by the War Office and the Metropolitan Police, was to defend the country by both monitoring foreign agents in Britain and ‘running’ agents abroad. Domestic duties were given to what would later become MI5 and the ‘Foreign Section’, later MI6, looked after operations abroad.

Almost from the outset, the two branches of British intelligence were perceived as having distinct characters: one scholarly, one swashbuckling (to this day, MI5 staff are rumoured to refer to their opposite numbers as TSARs: ‘Those S***s Across the River’).

The First World War made for brisk business and, by 1918, MI5 was employing 850 staff, but with the disappearance of the German threat came swingeing budget cuts and soon there were only 30 people effectively camping out in a South Kensington townhouse. ‘To remain relevant to its Whitehall paymasters, a new enemy was required,’ notes The National Archives.

In 1920, there came the formation of the secretly Moscow-backed Communist Party of Great Britain. The ‘Defence Black List’ of left-wing individuals considered potentially injurious to the security of the state had 25,250 names on it by 1925, many of whom were having their telephones tapped and their post intercepted by an MI5 with a headcount of still only 35 people. The rise of Hitler meant all of this had to be put to one side. MI5 relocated to Wormwood Scrubs, with the cells converted into offices, and then, when the prison was bombed in the Blitz, Blenheim Palace in Oxfordshire.

Among the papers in The National Archives is a hair-raising September 1940 map showing the projected landings of Germany’s first-wave troop divisions in Operation Sea Lion. MI5, however, was remarkably successful in capturing the German agents sent to Britain and ‘turning’ them via the Double-Cross System, facilitating victory on D-Day. Wartime MI5 was full of eccentric characters such as Thomas Argyll ‘Tar’ Robertson, the remarkable Scottish intelligence officer and former Seaforth Highlander who sported tartan trews and went grouse shooting with the aid of a decoy bird of prey he had fashioned from umbrella ribs.

In 1945, MI5’s agent-runner Maxwell Knight — the complicated former jazz-band leader, Exmoor publican and early British Fascist said to have inspired Ian Fleming’s M — wrote that ‘in the history of espionage and counter-espionage a very high percentage of the greatest coups have been brought off by women’. MI5 gained its first female director general, Stella Rimington, in 1992 and female spies have been rightly celebrated in recent years. Yet there has always been an invisible army of women without whom this archive would not exist: the secretaries, shorthand typists and filing clerks who the then director general Vernon Kell addressed as ‘the ladies of the Office’ in a 1926 memo. As signatories of the Official Secrets Act, most never went on record to tell their stories—with a few exceptions.

The first mention of the Cold War reached the public in 1947 and fears around Stalin’s atomic ambitions led MI5 in some surprising directions. Records from 1948 held in The National Archives detail the activities of the Pigeon Sub-Committee, such as the minutes of a November 1948 meeting in which it was proposed ‘to see what happens to a homing pigeon when it flies over an atomic plant in full blast’.

Over several months, the scope of this inquiry expanded in increasingly Pythonesque dimensions, from the ‘feasibility [of] tying gadget to pigeons leg which would indicate whether bird passed near atomic-plant’ to the development of a container ‘for dropping pigeons from high speed aircraft’. Mention was also made of a pigeon-fancying member of MI5 staff who, if ‘assisted to maintain bigger loft than he does normally’, might ‘be able to meet modest calls for birds’ should a crack winged squad be required to see off the Soviet threat. A proposal for further research was made in May 1949 to the Atomic Energy Research Establishment at Didcot, Oxfordshire, but there seems to be no record of the pigeon test-flight ever taking place.

Within two years, things had taken a decidedly darker turn and then unknown, but now instantly familiar names were starting to appear in MI5 records. After Donald Maclean and Guy Burgess of the Foreign Office defected to Moscow in 1951, the organisation became suspicious about the activities of Harold ‘Kim’ Philby, an MI6 liaison officer at the British Embassy in Washington, D.C. He was recalled to London and interrogated by MI5 on suspicion of being a double agent, but always denied it, even calling a press conference in 1955 to protest his innocence.

On January 9, 1963, however, two days before his official confession statement, an internal MI5 memo records ‘that H. A. R. Philby has confessed’. Philby’s subsequent defection and the unmasking of fellow ‘Cambridge Five’ Soviet spy Anthony Blunt, then Surveyor of The Queen’s Pictures, were seismic events for the British intelligence community.

Yet although the MI5 archive contains plenty of transcriptions of phone-taps and surveillance logs, these years were far from a free-for-all. A November 1970 ‘Note For Record’ headed ‘Secret and Personal’ details the surveillance of the trade unionist Jack Jones, who was suspected of being an undercover Communist. ‘The Prime Minister agreed with the Home Secretary and the Foreign and Commonwealth Secretary… that the Security Service should be authorised to tap Mr Jones’s telephone. They should not instal a listening device in his flat without further Ministerial authority,’ it states.

Spying has always been an intensely bureaucratic business. ‘Why are we here?’ Harkaway asks in his introduction to the book — is it because we can’t get enough of ‘derring do’? ‘Do we want to know how spying is done to secure ourselves from it?’ he ponders. ‘Or to reveal the past?’ The whys and hows of spycraft certainly hold an enduring fascination, but it’s the quotidian details that really stick in your mind: tea-rings left on documents; terse marginalia; the sorts of small, but fiercely fought internal power struggles that will be familiar to anyone who has worked in an office.

The truth is that spies are rarely glamorous or particularly unusual — but it is this proximity of ordinary human foibles and failings to some of history’s most extraordinary moments that makes immersing yourself in the depths of the MI5’s evocative archive so compelling.

This article first appeared in the October 21, 2026 issue of Country Life. For more information on how to subscribe, click here.

Church Rate Corner is a late masterpiece of one of Britain’s greatest Arts-and-Crafts architects, Mackay Hugh Baillie Scott. He was born in 1865, in the same propitious decade as C. R. Mackintosh and Sir Edwin Lutyens, as well as Frank Lloyd Wright; architects who made their reputations with outstanding domestic architecture in the 1890s.

Baillie Scott’s path to success was indirect. His father made a fortune in Australia, then returned to Britain in 1860 as a wealthy man, marrying, and living in south-coast resorts. As the eldest son, Baillie Scott (Scott was his family name; Baillie the forename that he used professionally, perhaps to distinguish himself from the architectural dynasty founded by Sir Gilbert Scott), was expected to follow his father’s footsteps in the colonies. In preparation, he trained for two years at the Royal Agricultural College in Cirencester, but, on graduation in 1885, he made a decisive break and began articles with C. E. Davis, city architect of Bath. This was his only architectural training.

After three years with Davis, in February 1889 Baillie Scott married Florence Kate Nash, his landlady’s daughter. The couple travelled to the Isle of Man for their honeymoon — and stayed for 12 years. Baillie Scott later said that he was so seasick going out that he couldn’t face the ferry journey back. More probably, he had no definite plans, Florence was pregnant (their daughter Enid was born in November 1889) and Baillie Scott picked up some work with a local surveyor on an ambitious residential development, before opening his own practice on the island in 1892. His first houses were in a vernacular cottage style, inspired by the work of Ernest George, which was widely published. Indeed, publications were the primary source of Baillie Scott’s architectural ‘literacy’, isolated as he was on the Isle of Man.

Baillie Scott’s originality was displayed in one of his first projects, the Red House, which he built for his own family in 1892–93. A distinctive feature was the use of demountable panels to divide the three ground-floor reception rooms — hall, drawing room and dining room — which allowed them to be unified on special occasions. Baillie Scott decried the conventional division of houses into small, boxy rooms, what he called the ‘mansion in miniature’.

Baillie Scott’s transformation from a provincial architect to an international celebrity began with a series of articles he wrote for The Studio, which reached a wide, non-technical audience. His first article came in January 1895, a 3,000-word essay describing ‘An Ideal Suburban House’. On the strength of these articles, he was not only commissioned to build the ‘Ideal’ house in Knutsford, Cheshire, his first project in England, but also interiors for the Grand Duke of Hesse at Darmstadt in the late 1890s and a treehouse for the Duke’s sister-in-law, Princess Marie of Romania. Success in the 1901 Haus eines Kunstfreundes (House for an Art Lover) competition further bolstered Baillie Scott’s reputation and he worked in Germany, Belgium, Switzerland and Russia.

In 1901, the architect and his family moved from the Isle of Man to Bedford. Initially, work was scarce and Baillie Scott wrote his book Houses and Gardens in 1906, setting out his ideas on domestic design and illustrating his early projects. In a 1933 edition of this lavish tome, he explained his understanding of the term domestic architect, ‘so-called, not, as the title seems to suggest, because he is a kind of family pet in contradistinction to his fierce and untamed brethren of the wild, but because he is primarily a designer of houses and cottages for people to live in and to provide a comfortable and inviting setting for their domestic life’.

In 1911, fire severely damaged his Bedford home and studio, destroying all the early records of his practice. His office closed during the First World War, but reopened afterwards with Edgar Beresford, previously his chief assistant, as a partner. Work was plentiful in the 1920s, but dried up in the 1930s and the practice shut at the outbreak of the Second World War. Its records were lost in the Blitz and Baillie Scott died in February 1945.

Church Rate Corner was designed in 1924 for Miss Marjorie Duckett. She knew of Baillie Scott because she previously lived in Storey’s Way, Cambridge, where he built five houses. The new house was to be her married home with Arthur Sewell, assistant secretary of the Cambridge Local Examination Syndicate, but he died in 1926 and, after she married again, Church Rate Corner was put on the market. It was purchased by Joan and Stanley Bennett, fellows of Girton and Emmanuel Colleges respectively, who remained for more than 50 years and brought up four children there. When Joan died in 1985, the house was sold to only its third owners, Michael Nedo and Gillian Moore, who have lovingly cared for the house and garden to the present day.

The delight of Church Rate Corner derives from the absence of any jarring or distracting features. Simplicity and restraint prevail. Early in his career, Baillie Scott’s handling of ornament in joinery, metalwork, plasterwork, stained glass and embroidery contributed greatly to his reputation. It was a talent he took to extremes at Waldbühl, a house begun in Switzerland in 1907 (Country Life, January, 17, 1991). After the First World War, however, his work assumed a new austerity. It is tempting to see this change as a response to the trauma of the conflict and in parallel with the austere simplicity of Britain’s war memorials. One wartime project, the restoration of a historic cottage in Great Chart, Kent, now called Baillie Hall, may also have influenced his ideas. ‘When modernising an old building,’ he wrote in 1933, ‘the architect should be chiefly commended for the things he omits to do. It is so often desirable to adopt a policy of masterly inactivity.’

What Church Rate Corner lacks in elaboration it gains in refinement. In Houses and Gardens, Baillie Scott had asserted that: ‘The house which, for want of a better word, we must continue to differentiate from the ordinary house as “artistic”, bases its claims not on its frillings and on its adornments, but on the very essence of its structure.’ Here, all the materials are of the best quality and used directly: wide timber boards for the ground-floor doors, the simplest rounded architraves, brick-edged fireplaces with separate oak mantle shelves, a solid balustrade for the stairs without turned bannisters, trowelled render externally and textured plaster internally.

There are exquisite details: the latches on the boarded timber doors (Fig 8), the window ironmongery and the candelabra, re-created by the present owners to Baillie Scott’s design, in the dining room (Fig 2) and breakfast room (former kitchen). The house also takes advantage of some technical advances in construction, a detail that distinguishes it from the purest tradition of the Arts-and-Crafts Movement. It makes use of steel rather than exposed oak for the first-floor beams, for example, cavity construction with a ventilated air gap for the external walls and a gravity-fed central heating system, which is still in operation. However, the innovations that Baillie Scott used were integrated with traditional construction methods.

Although it is close to the centre of Cambridge, Church Rate Corner has no street frontages. A driveway leads to a private garden-world that surrounds the house and the front door is almost hidden to the side of the building. The main façade addresses a garden amphitheatre backed by tall yew hedges, a treatment advocated in the 1933 edition of Houses and Gardens where Baillie Scott speaks of the importance of ‘enclosure’ and adds: ‘We need good backgrounds in the garden to display flowers to the best advantage. For this purpose there is nothing better than a hedge of English yew.’

The garden façade is almost — but deliberately not — symmetrical (Fig 1). It comprises a single range with deep, tiled roofs, brick chimneystacks and a commanding double gable. There are wooden window frames with rectangular leaded panes and the walls are rendered and limewashed. Within, the rooms are intimate in scale and every door opening aligns with a window looking onto the garden. Most rooms have two modestly sized windows (over-large ones were one of the architect’s pet hates), giving beautiful lighting and modelling.

There are no demountable screens or wide openings between the rooms at Church Rate Corner, another point of difference from his early houses. Rather, three distinct ground-floor rooms face south onto the garden — the study (all Baillie Scott’s Cambridge houses were designed for academics), the drawing room (Fig 4) and dining room. A pneumatic door kept kitchen smells at bay; a hook could hold it back for the family to walk to meals. On Baillie Scott’s drawing, the full-glazed bay window in the drawing room (Fig 5) has a masonry wall at low level like the other windows, but, somehow, a change was made. The glazed bay, which incorporates doors to either side giving easy access to the garden, is almost without parallel in Baillie Scott’s work, but greatly adds to the charm of the house.

In terms of planning, there is a simple division between bedrooms on the first floor and reception rooms below. Connecting the two is a timber staircase of striking simplicity (Fig 3). As originally designed, Church Rate Corner clearly distinguished between the family rooms facing the garden and the less favourably located kitchen and services for the servants. Today, however, the kitchen is the centre of family life and this change has been made at Church Rate Corner by connecting the former kitchen, scullery and larder together and adding a garden door (Fig 6). This sensitive work reflects the infinite pains taken by Dr Nedo, a meticulous editor of philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein’s manuscripts, to preserve the character of the house (Fig 7).

His care extends to the furnishings, which are exactly in the spirit of Baillie Scott. These comprise a few, well-chosen pieces and occasional rugs laid on the polished, boarded floors. It is hard to imagine a more perfect realisation of Baillie Scott’s ideal of domestic harmony. Few, if any, of Baillie Scott’s many houses have been conserved in such a marvellous way and it is a happy circumstance, therefore, that this article corrects a curious anomaly; that Baillie Scott never published Church Rate Corner, which today possibly gives the most perfect impression of his aesthetic vision in later life.

Today, the only Baillie Scott building open to the public is at Blackwell, overlooking Windermere in the Lake District (Country Life, July 12, 2001). This is now a popular Arts-and-Crafts gallery run by the Lakeland Arts Trust and there is a personal connection between it and Church Rate Corner through my late wife, Diane Haigh. She was the conservation architect for the restoration of Church Rate Corner in 1992 and the project architect for the restoration of Blackwell in 1999–2001. She also restored a number of other privately owned Baillie Scott houses in Cambridge, the most recent completed in 2025 with Liz King as executive architect. This work underpinned her monograph on the architect, Baillie Scott: The Artistic House, which is soon to appear in a revised edition with substantial extracts from Baillie Scott’s engaging writings. He is an architect whose work deserves to be much better known.

'Baillie Scott: Architect and Author’ by Diane Haigh and William Fawcett is published by Lund Humphries (£50). A special exhibition about Baillie Scott at Blackwell, Cumbria, runs until March 20, 2027.

The tiny hamlet of Billesley in Warwickshire is in the heart of Shakespeare country. Located about a mile from the stone village of Wilmcote, and four miles west of Stratford-upon-Avon, it's a tiny place now — with just 39 residents as of the 2021 census — but this was once a thriving medieval settlement. The Black Death, and the recurring plague years that followed, changed everything: by 1428, the village church, All Saints, had just four parishioners left.

By the 16th century things had picked up, and, in the reign of Elizabeth I, Billesley Manor was built. It's still standing, albeit now a hotel; as is the church, a Norman relic that's Grade I-listed, redundant, yet still beautiful. The church's great history goes beyond its age: local tradition holds that Shakespeare married Anne Hathaway here, and that one of the couple's grandchildren also tied the knot at All Saints. It's not a fact widely accepted by scholars (Temple Grafton is thought to be more likely), but there's no evidence exists to prove either claim.

Amid all this, buyers will be captivated by the launch onto the market of unlisted Upper Billesley, a fascinating country-house complex set in 180 acres of arable and pastureland, parkland, paddocks and woodland in the Warwickshire hamlet of Billesley. Christopher Dewe of Knight Frank’s country department quotes a guide price of £6.5 million.

Upper Billesley, isn't an Elizabethan manor, but it's been turned in to one as it's evolved over the centuries. What was once a modest farmstead is, today, a pleasantly rambling country house that offers 9,862sq ft of atmospheric living space in the main house split across three floors, including entrance and reception halls and a spectacular galleried drawing room.

There are also two dining rooms, a sitting room, study, garden room, kitchen/breakfast room, playroom and a wine cellar.

On the first floor you'll find six bedrooms, while the entire second floor is taken up by the master suite, with its separate bedroom, dressing room, split-bathroom (bath and shower one side, WC on the other) and a huge walk-in wardrobe which makes clever use of what would otherwise be a long, narrow space with restricted head height at the side.

Secondary accommodation is provided off to one side of the main property, connected via an archway and balcony, where two flats have been laid out. There's also a three-bedroom garden cottage.

Much improved by the current owners in the course of the past 40 years, Upper Billesley House sits at the end of a lovely, tree-lined drive in the middle of gently undulating land, surrounded by mature woodland that ensures maximum privacy and tranquillity.

The beautifully laid out gardens are a source of inspiration, the centrepiece a formal parterre rose garden in the shape of a Union Flag.

There's also and herbaceous borders providing a rich tapestry of colour and texture throughout the seasons. A highlight is a 1½-acre lake created by the owners on the east side of the farm.

Amenities include an outdoor swimming pool, a tennis court, a stable yard with four loose boxes, extensive garaging, a massive function barn and a multi-purpose farm barn. In total there's over 32,000sq ft of space.

The pasture is farmed in hand, with the arable land contracted out to a local farmer. The land is registered in a Countryside Stewardship Scheme until January 2027 and recently entered the Sustainable Farming Incentive.

For sale via Knight Frank at £6.5 million — see more details.

Jim Howick is so cosy. He is your dad’s friend that has inherited the title of uncle, despite no blood relation. Perhaps I feel this way because Jim has been on TV since my childhood, and acted in many of the shows that I grew up with. Who can forget him in Horrible Histories, as various singing plague-ridden, wig-wearing characters from eras long past? Or in Peep Show, as David Mitchell’s awkward love rival Gerard? Then, of course, there’s Jim’s memorable turn as Mr Hendricks, the science teacher so incompetent at dirty talk that he begins listing kitchen utensils, in Netflix’s smash hit Sex Education.

These days he is Pat Butcher in Ghosts, the bumbling yet kind scoutmaster from beyond the grave who shares his name with the Eastenders’s character (Jim’s idea, he found it funny). The British series, created with some of his Horrible Histories cast mates, has been one of the BBC’s most successful sitcoms in recent years. When it came to an end in 2023 many fans were devastated, but now Pat and his dearly departed friends are back in the feature film Ghosts: The Possession of Button House.

‘It was basically like making the series,’ Jim says of the film, which was shot at West Horsley Place in Surrey. ‘Actually, when it came to the actual takes we probably had less time than we did making the series, which came as a bit of a shock… I think we all expected to be indulged a little bit more,’ he admits. The house itself plays a huge role in the Ghosts universe, as the spirits who live there are confined to the building and its grounds. ‘The house was really important to us, and it was also important to film on location,’ Jim says. ‘But we did have to be careful because there was a weight quota, so we were a bit concerned about falling through the floor. There were elements where we realised: “Oh God, this is an actual, genuine, creaky, really old house.”’

Will he be embarking on more projects with long-term co-creators Mathew Baynton, Simon Farnaby, Martha Howe-Douglas, Laurence Rickard and Ben Willbond? They’ve been acting and writing together for so long now, it would seem criminal to see them go their separate ways.

‘There’s nothing concrete in place at the moment, but you know… never say never. We’re still very close and I suppose it all depends on what happens in the next three weeks,’ he says, of the film's reception. ‘It’s tricky now because we’re all getting a bit older,’ says Jim, who is 47. ‘The next thing we do will probably have to be set in a nursing home or something.’ At the screening of the film my fellow journalists and I were laughing raucously, giving me plenty of reason to suspect that the cast of Ghosts, although adept at playing the dead, have plenty of life left in their careers yet.

Your aesthetic hero

I always look to the late Philip Seymour Hoffman, who I think carried himself and his choices so well. He was so believable, and I think I could relate to him, certainly from an aesthetic point of view, because I am of a similar build and probably play similar characters. You know, neither of us were going to be the juvenile or romantic lead, even when we were young, so I always think about him and his choices, performance wise. I was really upset when he passed, because I felt he had so much to offer.

Last podcast you listened to

Desert Island Discs is my favourite of all time, so I’ll say that.

A possession you’d never sell

I’ve still got my childhood teddy bear. He’s called Hunter and I think I could part with any other possession, but I feel like I just couldn’t bear to give him away. I don’t sleep with him, I should say. He’s in the spare room. I’ve got two dogs, so I've sort of got real life teddies. But he would be the thing I would rescue in a fire. And my dogs, of course.

An exhibition that has really impressed you

I was really impressed with the David Bowie exhibition at the V&A Museum. That was a real experience. He was just such a phenomenal artist who covered such a wide spectrum of genre and performance. I found that really inspiring.

I tell you what, Reece Shearsmith, who is a friend of mine — I can't believe that he’s a friend of mine because he was a hero of mine growing up — has a horror exhibition of his own in his home. He has a newel post which is actually a hinge, when you lift it up it has a red button underneath. When you press it, a wardrobe moves and inside is a room full of oddities and horror memorabilia and magic props and things. He has a book out now, Things I Took from the Dark: The Museum of Me. His collection was genuinely impressive to me because he is someone who really indulged in his first love. I really admire a grown up still doing that. I think we throw stuff out too quickly in life.

The thing you’d take with you to a desert island

A bed.

The thing that gets you up in the morning

My dogs.

The items you collect

Football programmes.

The last thing of note you bought for yourself

It was a piece of art by an artist called Will Rochfort, He does these amazing nostalgic prints. He did an incredible painting. You know the film Jaws? There’s a scene in it where, in the Amity poster, there is a lady on a lido, someone has graffitied it so she’s screaming: “Help, shark!” and a shark’s fin is coming towards her. He made a print of that happening — the boy is sneaking up to the poster with a ladder and a flashlight to deface it. It was a scene that you never saw in the film. I just thought it was amazing, and so I bought a copy of that print.

A book you found inspiring

It’s called A Time of Gifts and it’s by Patrick Leigh Fermor. Basically, he grew up and became a soldier in the Second World War. It is the first book in a trilogy and the writer Jonny Sweet put me on to this and gave it to me as a wrap gift. It’s basically a travelogue, which I love. He, armed with five pound notes and a small rucksack full of clothes, boards a boat on the Thames and goes to Rotterdam, and then walks to Constinople, through Europe in 1936. He walks all the way through Holland and Belgium and through the beginnings of Nazi Germany, which is quite terrifying for him. He sleeps in hay bales, or makes friends with sort of counts and sleeps in palaces, basically lays his head wherever he can and gets into adventures.

Your favourite painting

Oh my goodness me, that is really tough. Let me think. It’s a Caravaggio, I think. Saint Jerome Writing, which is in Malta Cathedral. I just think the lighting is insane. It looks like a film, so tangible and real. It’s just magical. My other favourite painting is Netherlandish Proverbs by Pieter Bruegel the Elder. It’s this multi-level town scene and it’s so busy with story and life and just levels. It reminds me of a Hogarth, or something like that. It’s populated and almost feels like it’s moving and there’s just so much detail. I could get lost in that. I really could.

The music that you work to

I think you have to cater for whatever the tone of the piece you're writing is. I tend to listen to soundtracks when I am writing. So, The Social Network soundtrack is a really great one. I also listen to the Tron: Legacy soundtrack. This is when I’m writing my own stuff. When I’m writing Ghosts, we don’t really listen to anything because we have each other.

Every episode I write, I write with Mat, and I think I wouldn’t want to write comedy on my own. I think you have to have a supreme confidence to be able to do that. At least if you are writing with someone else there is an audience of sorts. We do tend to deviate, Mat and I. We sort of tend to find ideas when we stop writing. We spend a great deal of time watching people eat really hot chillies on YouTube. We find that very funny.

Who would play you in a film of your life

Well, I would have said Philip Seymour Hoffman… erm… Zach Galifianakis.

A hotel you could go back and back to

Probably the Phāea Blue in Crete.

The most memorable meal you’ve ever eaten

A lunch in Huế in Vietnam next to a beautiful lake surrounded by mountains, it was just incredible.

Best present you’ve ever received

A Sega Mega Drive when I was 11 years old.

‘Ghosts: The Possession of Button House’ is in cinemas now.

On his deathbed, Japanese artist Katsushika Hokusai had one regret: ‘If heaven had granted me five more years of life, I could have become a true painter.’ The story may be apocryphal, but it’s perfectly plausible — Hokusai’s entire life reads like a legend.

Born in October 1760 in Honjo, Edo, he was only three when he was adopted into a family that made mirrors for the shogun. After a spell as a block-cutter’s apprentice, he joined the studio of ukiyo-e painter and printmaker Katsukawa Shunshō — ukiyo-e being the ‘floating world’ of theatre and pleasure houses.

The not-quite-yet Hokusai — he went under a different name at the time — began making actor prints, but was expelled, or left, soon after his master’s death. He found a new niche illustrating kyōka, witty poetry books, and in 1798 passed his name on to a pupil, a customary practice at the time, becoming instead Hokusai Tokimasa. The name wouldn’t last: the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco recorded at least 20 different monikers for him — and 90 house moves.

The dawn of the 19th century brought Hokusai fame and fortune. He gave painting performances at temples and in front of the shogun, creating pictures of such a scale — his 1817 depiction of Buddhist patriarch Daruma covered more than 2,000 square feet — that would dwarf many of Western art’s monumental works. Five years earlier, in 1812, the freshly renamed Katsushika Hokusai had also published his own drawing manual, Quick Lessons in Simplified Drawing.

Then, disaster struck. In the 1820s, soon after turning 60, he lost both a daughter and his second wife, contended with a grandson’s gambling debts and may have even had a stroke. His work suffered and, in 1830, affairs were so dire the artist lamented to his publishers that he had ‘no money, no clothes to wear, nothing to eat,’ as Matthi Forrer wrote in Simiolus in 2018.”

A lesser man would have probably given up — but not Hokusai. His daughter Ōi joined him and, together, they set out to revive his fortunes. The artist sailed through his seventies, producing some of his most celebrated work, including Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji, soon to be the subject of an exhibition at the Dulwich Picture Gallery, London.

Japan’s highest peak and one of its three holy mountains (forbidden to women until 1872), Mount Fuji had long been a favourite artistic motif, with one of the earliest depictions, Hata no Chitei’s Shōtoku Taishi E-Den, dating from 1069. Hokusai portrayed it from different angles and seasons. In Red Fuji, the mountain, bathed in a fiery glow under a vivid blue sky speckled with fluffy clouds, towers above the trees, almost filling the entire picture, which is devoid of people. In Thunderstorm Beneath the Summit, the peak soars above rain and lightning.

Yet, many of the 36 views also show a slice of early-19th-century Japan, not least the celebrated Mitsui kimono shop, which owed part of its fortune to a groundbreaking policy: it accepted ‘cash only’, doing away with deferred payments, but promised ‘no padded prices’. Both signs appear in Hokusai’s picture, where triangular roofs echo the shape of Mount Fuji.

The revered mountain is also little more than a backdrop in the most famous of the 36 views, Under the Wave off Kanagawa, more familiarly known as The Great Wave. The swell hovers like a menacing talon above fragile oshiokuri-bune, the boats that supplied Edo, modern-day Tokyo, with fresh fish. Thought to be the most widely reproduced piece of non-Western art, The Great Wave was already hugely sought-after in Hokusai’s times, when about 8,000 impressions were made, according to the British Museum.

Perhaps the most intriguing of the 36 views, however, is much less known: Reflection in Lake at Misaka in Kai Province. In this scene, Hokusai shows the reflection of Mount Fuji in the water, its peak clothed in snow — but the mountain above the lake has not a single flake.

In the USA, the Metropolitan Museum in New York suggests this may represent two seasons, but Yale University Art Gallery interprets it as an invitation to question what is real and what isn’t.

Although the Fuji theme was traditional, the 36 views were anything but: this was Japan’s first landscape print series to appear in a large format and among the first to use Prussian blue, a fade-resistant pigment imported from the Netherlands and China. Nor were they 36 — with sales booming, the publisher added another 10, but kept the original title. The prints’ popularity was fuelled by their affordability: in the mid 19th century, one cost about as much as two helpings of noodles, according to the British Museum.

By 1836, Hokusai was secure enough to dictate conditions to his publisher: ‘He requests that Egawa Tomekichi, whom he regarded as the best blockcutter working in Edo at that time, be engaged to cut the blocks,’ noted Ellis Tinios in Print Quarterly in 2015. ‘He explains that Egawa had cut the blocks for Fugaku Hyakkei [One hundred views of Mount Fuji] and, after closely checking every page of that book, he declared that he could not find any fault in Egawa’s realisation of his intentions.’ Nor did he mince words when unhappy: he once complained to a blockcutter about the cutting of eyes and noses, adding sketches for good measure: ‘Recently, these eyes and noses have been very popular. But I really, really hate them!’”

A self-proclaimed ‘old man mad about painting’, Hokusai was an early proponent of lifelong learning. In the afterword to the One hundred views of Mount Fuji, written when he was about 74, he noted: ‘Since the age of six, I had a habit of sketching from life. From 50 onwards, I began producing a fair amount of art work, but nothing I did before the age of 70 was worthy of attention. At 73, I began to grasp the structures of birds and beasts, insects and fish, and of the way plants grow. If only I go on trying, I will surely understand them still better by the time I am 80, so that by 90 I will have penetrated their essential nature. At 100, I hope I may have a divine understanding of them, while at 110 I may have reached the stage where every dot and every stroke I paint will be alive.’

He didn’t quite live to 110, but after his death he continued to make waves, as it were — this time into the wider world, as Japanese prints became popular in Europe from the late 19th century. Comparing him to Eugène Delacroix, Vincent van Gogh wrote to his brother, Theo: ‘Hokusai makes you cry out the same thing — but in his case with his lines, his drawing, since in your letter you say to yourself: these waves are claws, the boat is caught in them, you can feel it.’

Claude Debussy hung a print of The Great Wave in his Paris studio and chose a detail of the design as the 1905 cover of the score of his orchestral triptych La Mer. Another devotee was Frank Lloyd Wright, who bought many prints, including Nihonbashi in Edo —with its crowded bridge in the foreground — and Snowy Morning at Koishikawa, where the cold is palpable as a white blanket envelops trees, roofs, fields and the slopes of an exceedingly tall Mount Fuji, to which a woman points from a window.

Indeed, it was the West and most notably a France gripped by Japonisme, that made Hokusai’s reputation as Japan’s greatest artist, according to cultural-exchange scholar Shigemi Inaga: as he noted in Japan Review in 2003, 19th-century French art critics such as Philippe Burty compared the ukiyo-e artist to Francisco Goya or Peter Paul Rubens— w hereas the Histoire de l’Art du Japon, published by the Imperial Japanese Commission for the Exposition Universelle in Paris in 1900, only devoted to Hokusai 12 lines and a single plate.

Praise from abroad has long since filtered back home and The Great Wave is now in the pockets of most Japanese every day — it is printed on the back of 1,000-yen banknotes. The old man mad about painting would probably be delighted.

'Hokusai: Thirty-Six Views of Mt Fuji’ is at the Dulwich Picture Gallery from October 20–January 17, 2027.

This feature originally appeared in the October 14, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.'

'What I look for is people who love people. Everyone on my team has to exude warmth, creativity and love.’ This isn’t a woolly echo of the Apostle Paul, but the guiding mantra of Kevin Wendle, the man behind Hotel Esencia.

Esencia, a 47-suite hotel, is nestled in 50 acres of Mexican jungle that runs down to a secluded beach. At either end, the beach is guarded by coral promontories, where rays and tropical fish swim and manatees are frequent visitors. It is a spot of serenity on Mexico’s Riviera Maya, only an hour or so from Cancun International Airport, in a region otherwise known for its all-inclusive resorts, where room numbers often run into the thousands.

Hotel Esencia regularly appears in lists such as The World’s 50 Best Hotels — in 2023, it was number 19 — and holds three Michelin Keys, an accolade that signals something close to hotel nirvana.

This level of recognition makes Wendle’s approach even more striking. To reach such a pinnacle normally requires a team in the mould of the SAS: unnervingly competent, efficient and ruthlessly trained. ‘Before I opened Esencia, I booked into 25 hotels in the region — from beach shacks to mega resorts. Even at the best ones, I felt that the service was somewhat robotic.’ Esencia’s familial approach is refreshing — and it is an ocean away from corporate training manuals and human-resource diktats.

Waking up here on your first morning does, indeed, feel like waking up at the home of an old friend, albeit an especially luxurious one. On the balcony of your room, you’ll find a lock box. Inside, there’s a basket of buttery pastries, a flask of fortifying coffee and another of Mexican hot chocolate; a thick, irresistible blend of cacao, cinnamon, vanilla and a touch of chilli.

I travelled with my wife and our three-year-old daughter and there was a daily battle with the toddler over who was going to get a refill of this sweet elixir. Next to these breakfast treats is a little note explaining why the basket is left under lock and key: ‘So our wild friends don’t steal it.’

At the clatter of cups, a gaggle of Yucatan jays — head to toe in an iridescent sapphire livery and much more elegant than their European cousins — and great-tailed grackles appeared on the surrounding branches. A couple of pygmy raccoons poked their snouts through the palapa thatch of the roof, hoping for scraps. The journey from Cancun — the busiest airport in Latin America — and down the bustling coast road was quickly forgotten amid the tree tops and sound of Caribbean waves.

The Riviera Maya is part of the wider Yucatan peninsula. This sliver of land has more than 1,200 miles of coast and stretches from the Gulf of Mexico in the north to the border with Belize in the south. It is a land of extraordinary natural wonder. Near the north is the Chicxulub crater, the site of the asteroid strike that saw off the dinosaurs. Moments from Esencia is the Sian Ka’an Biosphere, a UNESCO Heritage Site with world-class birding, diving and fly-fishing.

At every turn, you’ll find another cenote — a sinkhole filled with fresh water, caused when the limestone bedrock collapses into the groundwater beneath. These pools were considered portals to the underworld by the Mayans and used for sacred rituals, especially sacrifices. Cenotes are often connected to the nearby ocean by an underground river, and provide that important habitat where sweet-and saltwater meet.

Closer to the hotel, a brackish lagoon winds through mangroves. One evening, we paddleboarded through its narrow channels, ducking beneath low branches before slipping into the water with snorkels and letting the current carry us back towards the sea. Colourful fish swam, unbothered, beneath us and baby tarpon splashed in the knotted mangroves as we passed.

Despite the cultural and ecological abundance beyond its borders, the challenge for the hotel is persuading its guests to leave ‘my little patch of paradise’, as Wendle calls it. I’ve always seen hotels as somewhere to lay my head and a springboard into exploring the local area, yet, after a few hours at Esencia, I embraced the first hot beach holiday I’ve ever had (I’m more used to the remote and chillier sands of the Hebrides or Donegal).

The antidote to a Mezcal tasting on our first evening was sunrise yoga overlooking the ocean for my wife and a visit to the spa for me. I’m not one for spending hours in sterile treatment rooms, but I was converted by the Esencia spa, a cathedral to wellbeing, constructed out of Mayan materials. The incense and oils are made on site using ingredients from the hotel’s herb garden.

There are three small restaurants, but we mostly chose to dine among the trees of the jungle or next to the sea. To our shaded cabana on the sand, devastatingly good margaritas and locally caught ceviche appeared with wondrous regularity. No request was too much and no outcrop near the surf too distant to set a table.

The hotel employs more than 250 people, ensuring no detail is left unrefined. One member of the team is Juan Carlos Gutiérrez. Once a lead graphic designer for Chanel, Gutiérrez arrived to help Wendle with a design project, and never left. He is now his full-time artistic director. This is not a usual employee for a hotel, but that flair for design, from logos to menus to planning lavish private parties, is one of the things that makes Esencia so special. The hotel’s style has even been the subject of a glossy coffee-table book, produced by the king of design-led publishers, Assouline.

Esencia started life not as a hotel, but as the hedonistic hideaway of Rosa de Ferrari, an Italian duchess. She later opened it to guests with the help of a handful of investors. When Wendle first laid eyes on it, it was down at heel and loss making, ‘run by a committee and without a singular vision. But it did have the best lick of beach in the area and buildings that shone with old-world glamour. If I couldn’t turn it around,’ he recalls, ‘I figured I’d make it my home and occasionally rent it out.’

The hotel now has cult status, with a troop of cus-tomers that reads like the guest list at an Oscars after party — quite fitting considering Wendle started his career as a producer in Hollywood.

He never attended a hotel school in Switzerland or studied hospitality. He honed his craft by visiting hotels and falling in love with design and architecture. Esencia is that rare thing, a truly independent hotel operated, not by men studying spreadsheets in an office, but by a visionary on the ground. It is precisely because his mantra doesn’t align with corporate busybodies that his guests genuinely do feel treated with ‘warmth, creativity and love’. That, and the procession of margaritas that sees in each evening.

Rooms at Hotel Esencia start from $1,059 (about £788) per night, excluding taxes.

This feature originally appeared in the October 14, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.'

The garden at Littlethorpe Manor in North Yorkshire is a splendid example of what can be achieved by an immensely gifted gardener who is trusted and given a free hand by his employers. John and Christin Thackray bought the Georgian Littlethorpe Manor in 1985, together with 11 neglected acres that ran down to the old Ripon Canal, where the loam over gravel soil gives way to alkaline clay.

John Thackray, who died in 2018, landscaped the wilder extremes of the land with clumps of trees — one of Norway maple (Christin is Norwegian) and one of lime, both thickly underplanted with daffodils. He planted a third copse of Himalayan birches, Betula utilis subsp. jacquemontii, the bright white trunks and branches of which have become a key part of a substantial winter garden. The Thackrays also wished to make those parts of the garden near the house into a series of outdoor areas, each with a distinct individual character.

This vision became a reality when they appointed Eddie Harland as their head gardener in 1998. Harland had trained at Askham Bryan, North Yorkshire’s county horticultural college, and at the Royal Botanic Garden, Edinburgh. He had also been head gardener at two major gardens in the south — Knebworth in Hertfordshire and Haseley Court in Oxfordshire.

Harland, who is helped by two other gardeners, one estate craftsman and volunteers, is a consummate plantsman, with a detailed understanding of what will flourish in combination with other plants. As well as having a discriminating eye for colour and shape, he is a fine draughtsman, able to draw up his designs. His first substantial improvement required him to take over the walled garden and turn it from food-growing to ornamental horticulture, planting the mellow brick enclosure as a four-season garden. The section representing autumn, for example, has plants of Cercis canadensis ‘Forest Pansy’, with pink flowers in spring and purple leaves in summer that extend its season of usefulness. Everywhere is a rich herbaceous underplanting with clever blends and contrasts of outline, texture and colour.

Harland’s next development was the Sunken Garden, which fills a critical space between the Four Seasons gardens and the house. Here, the shapes of plants are strictly controlled — formal elegance instead of romantic exuberance. Structure comes from clipped domes of Portugal laurel — such an underestimated beauty — and the silver-leaved pear tree Pyrus salicifolia. The gravel soil is extremely free draining, perfect for the irises, lavender, peonies and silver-leaved Convolvulus cneorum that give rise to the alternative name the Scented Mediterranean Garden. The garden is enclosed by trellising, handmade from iroko wood by the gifted estate craftsman Andrew Welford, who is responsible for the extensive woodwork and metalwork throughout the garden. At the centre is an armillary sphere by David Harber.

The house is the starting point of a long view across the main lawn and down towards a spacious pond that Thackray made as part of his landscaping before the arrival of Harland. Both the view and the pond needed upgrading. This was achieved by installing a small fountain in the middle of the lawn and blocking the wider view of the park by edging the far side of the lawn with a tall yew hedge. The line towards the pool was emphasised by rows of Irish yews, known for their upright habit of growth, on either side of the fountain. Handsome stone steps at the edge of the lawn lead down into the park, where the view towards the water is continued by an avenue of red-stemmed limes Tilia platyphyllos ‘Rubra’, brilliant in the winter sun, but also underplanted for spring display with 3,000 Triumph tulips in shades of pink, red and purple, including such cultivars as ‘Don Quichotte’, ‘Jan Reus’, ‘Havran’ and ‘Cassini’.

The focal point of this long axis is the Cranborne-stone Classical pavilion that Harland designed and Welford constructed on the far side of the pool. Its off-white Doric columns and beautifully proportioned pediment bring the whole garden together. The pool is a fair size — perhaps just over half an acre — and its banks have been lushly planted with damp-loving herbaceous plants, including gunneras, ferns, irises and hostas. A fine floating fountain from Otterbine takes centre place among the large clumps of waterlilies and a floating island from Biomatrix has been colonised by native plants and visited by nesting waterbirds.

A substantial double border planted with autumn-flowering herbaceous plants curves around one side of the pool and connects it with Thackray’s copse of white-stemmed Himalayan birches, which is now the focal point of an arcadian winter garden. The birches themselves are thickly underplanted with the semi-evergreen soft shield fern known as ‘Herrenhausen’ and then connected to the edge of the garden above the canal towpath with a light canopy of more birches and a wealth of beech topiary, hard-pruned dogwoods, Erica carnea and winter-flowering bulbs.

One might suppose that, with the establishment of the winter garden, there was little left to complete the garden at Littlethorpe, but, after Thackray’s death, the opportunity arose to convert the old tennis court into a physic garden that would commemorate not only his life, but also the achievements of his family company Chas. F. Thackray, a major manufacturer of orthopaedic implants and medical instruments. You will never see a finer display of herbal plants. There are hanging gardens, herb lawns, and collections planted in large Corten-steel boxes, each devoted to herbs that will treat a particular group of ailments.

The layout — still Harland’s — is as clinically modern as his earlier designs and plantings are lush and romantic. The focal point at one end is a painted frieze of surgical instruments and, at the other, a 6ft metal installation of an artificial hip joint, the manufacture of which was perhaps the family’s greatest contribution to the advancement of surgery. It sounds extraordinary — it is extraordinary — but every detail of the design and planting is well chosen and exciting. Many of the herbs are horticultural varieties, selected for their coloured leaves or handsome flowers. Even a collection of medical herbs cited by St Hildegard of Bingen in her 12th-century treatise Physica is both interesting and attractive.

There is much more to enjoy and learn from in other parts of Littlethorpe’s garden. Look at the cultivars of Magnolia grandiflora pruned hard against the house — the flowers are few, but the leaves make an arresting cover for the white-rendered wall. Note the blue-and-yellow colour schemes around a pergola of wisteria and honeysuckle. Study the garden of annuals where the seed proved so attractive to birds that the planting is now moving towards a succession of perennials emerging from a ground of ornamental grasses: dark-blue Salvia nemorosa ‘Caradonna’ with swathes of yellow Phlomis russeliana, followed in late summer by Digitalis ferruginea and purple orach (Atriplex hortensis var. rubra). Finally, ponder the electrical installations all over the garden and contemplate the theatrical effect of highlighting the beauty of the trees at night — a pleasure known only to the owners, their guests and their ever-competent gardener Harland.

Littlethorpe Manor, North Yorkshire, opens for the National Garden Scheme and groups by arrangement.

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At the tender age of 17, Paul Jackson Pollock — better known now just as Jackson Pollock — moved to New York City to study, with his brother, under Thomas Hart Benton (an artist at the forefront of the American Regionalist movement).

Pollock had a nomadic childhood, bouncing from Wyoming to San Diego, to Arizona to Chico in California, and was expelled from at least two schools. Then again, which culture-defining artist wasn’t? Think Salvador Dalí, Lucien Freud and Nic Fiddian-Green. Raw creative talent can rarely be contained between four walls.

Pollock, however, did live between the top four walls of 46, Carmine Street, in New York’s West Village, while he was honing his craft. Now, it is for sale with Compass for $1.99 million (about £1.45 million).

The Federal-style townhouse — which boasts two centuries of history, more than double the average New York City home — was built in 1827. A milliner sold hats and bonnets from the lower floors in the 1850s. Artists, including Pollock, moved in in the 1930s, and the building was landmarked as part of the Greenwich Village Historic District in 2010.

Underneath the 14-feet, vaulted ceilings there’s an open kitchen-cum-living room with a decorative fireplace, one en-suite bedroom with a walk-in wardrobe, a separate bathroom and a loft. The fact that 46 has some extra inches on the buildings and trees around it means light can pour in from the skylights at all times of day — perfect for budding and established artists. The condo’s whitewashed brick walls might scream bohemian, but there’s also very necessary split-system air conditioning, new kitchen appliances and plenty of hidden storage. Plus, communal outdoor space, with a grill. Think counterculture, but make it comfy.

Pollock’s breakthrough came about a decade after his stint at 46 when the gallerist and art collector Peggy Guggenheim commissioned a painting for her New York townhouse. When art critic Clement Greenberg saw the 20-feet-wide work of art (Mural, 1943), he remarked that ‘Jackson was the greatest painter this country has produced.’

A leading figure of Abstract Expressionism and undisputed master of the ‘drip technique’, Pollock measured himself against Pablo Picasso, whose work he admired and was desperate to surpass. You could argue that this year, 70 and 53 years after their respective deaths, Pollock achieved such a thing — at least if money is the metric. In May 2026, his Number 7A (1948) sold at Christie’s in New York for $181.185 million (£135.3 million); in May 2025, Picasso’s Les Femmes d’Alger (Version ‘O’) (1955) sold at the same auction house for $179.4 million (£116.4 million at the time). They are the most expensive works by both artists to sell at auction.

Pollock resented the way celebrity, critics and the art market threatened to take control of his identity and his work, and rejected his iconic drip paintings, while they were at the height of fashion, in favour of the so-called ‘black pourings’: ‘Austere compositions,’ according to Christie’s, ‘in black enamel on unprimed canvas.’

In 1945, Pollock and his wife, fellow artist Lee Krasner, moved to a modest farmhouse in Springs, a hamlet in East Hampton, where the relative isolation gave him space to work. Today, the house and studio — still splattered with paint — is a National Historic Landmark. The only thing better than a trip to see it, of course, is living in the same space that Pollock once occupied when on the precipice of greatness.

46, Carmine Street is for sale through Compass — see more details.

Something is happening with dahlias. This week, my Instagram feed has been shades of peach, sunshine yellow and café au lait. I spotted a bunch of cream-coloured dahlias in the lobby of the newly opened St. Clement hotel. And Flowerbx, the chic, floral delivery company who specialise in single-variety arrangements, currently has dahlias in 10 colours for sale on the website, including cotton white, mother of pearl, bruised plum and sex on the beach. The latter is a fleshy colour and named after the cocktail.

‘I love how intricate and flamboyant dahlias can be,’ says Lydia Redcliffe. ‘Some truly don’t look real, and with thousands of varieties to discover and grow, there is always something new to fall in love with.’ Redcliffe is the founder of Forty One Flowers and gardens on a sliver of land in South Devon (above). In June, Lily Allen was presented with one of her big and bouncy bouquets while performing at London’s O2 Arena. Redcliffe‘s tips for growing dahlias include planting seeds in rich, well-drained soil, ensuring the tubers don’t get too wet, and ignoring them for a period of time until they really get going, and then pinching out the growing tip. ‘There’s something exciting about growing dahlias from seed because every dahlia grown from seed is genetically unique, so there’s always the possibility of discovering, or breeding, a completely new variety,’ Redcliffe says. ‘I think their enduring popularity comes down to the fact that they exist outside of trends. There are so many varieties in such an extraordinary range of forms, colours and textures, that there really is a dahlia for everyone.’

Tiffany & Co. has caught the bug. Their most recent Blue Book high jewellery collection is called Hidden Garden, the brainchild of artistic officer Nathalie Verdeille, in close partnership with the Tiffany Design Studio. It was shaped by the legacy of one of history’s most important jewellery designers, Jean Schlumberger, and by references to nature and horticulture: vines, a pineapple, fantastical birds and, of course, dahlias.

The Dahlia parure is composed of three unique pieces featuring overlapping petals, cast in yellow gold and platinum and set with tsavorites. A green-hued, grossular garnet, tsavorites were discovered by British geologist Campbell Bridges, in 1967, near the Tsavo National Park on the border of Kenya and Tanzania. Tiffany & Co., then under the exacting eye of Henry Platt, introduced tsavorites into their designs in 1974.

Rare and vibrant tsavorites are about 1,000 times rarer than emeralds. ‘This year’s collection stands out for the large number of exceptional gems it contains,’ says Victoria Reynolds, chief gemmologist at Tiffany & Co. ‘While we are showing extraordinary diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires we are also pushing beyond traditional selections by adding very unexpected gem types and unusual combinations that achieve particularly striking silhouettes.’ The use of special stones is, I think, a fitting tribute to the dramatic dahlia, the flower of the season.

Alfie Nickerson (above), founder of Burnt Fen Flowers, grows dahlias in Norfolk. Pompom dahlias are his floral fixation, selected for their extended vase life. ‘They come in every colour and shape, and they are the most prolific flower we grow,’ he says. ‘A plant that flowers for three months is an amazing thing, and without them, I probably wouldn’t be able to be a flower grower.’

His process of framing dahlias has evolved. ‘Dahlias are tubers, so I now grow them as perennials. I used to lift them and store them over winter, but I now leave them in the ground all year round. This is because our winters aren’t too cold, and we cover them with muck and straw, so as long as it isn’t -7°C for a week, they are usually much stronger and better plants than when you lift them,’ he says. ‘The most important stage is when they have just sprouted; you need to protect them from slugs and make sure they get off to a strong start.’

It is no surprise that, with their remarkable geometric patterns, Tiffany & Co. isn’t the only one to fall under the dahlia’s dazzling spell, and they have a rich cultural history, particularly in Victorian flower painting, botanical illustration and the decorative arts. The Aztecs valued dahlias for their practical, medicinal, and nutritional uses rather than just their appearance. The Danish flower painter Johan Laurentz Jensen depicted dahlias alongside pineapple and grapes in 1835, when the dahlia was still relatively rare in Europe, and they appear in Virginia Woolf’s diaries and letters about the garden at Monk’s House in East Sussex. Her husband, Leonard, bought them frequently, and Woolf's descriptions often emphasise their bright, blazing colour and associations with high summer. René Lalique first introduced the dahlia motif to his eponymous brand in 1931 and his hard-to-come-by Art Deco glass and crystal jewellery, featuring the same motifs, sometimes come up for auction at Christie’s.

Dahlias might be less ubiquitous than roses, lilies and irises, but their rise coincided with the 19th-century passion for collecting, breeding and displaying exotic flowers. The dahlia was not just a pretty bloom; it was a horticultural novelty and a status symbol. Long, thanks to Tiffany, may our fascination with it continue.

'In my carefree days in Vienna,’ recalls Joseph Wechsberg in The Cooking of Vienna’s Empire, ‘it was said that the test of a perfect wiener schnitzel was to be able to sit down on it, for at least one full second, without leaving a fat stain on the seat of your pants.’ The art, of course, being in that greaseless crust. Quite who’d want to consume the aftermath of such an experiment, I don’t know, but it just goes to show that the Austrians take their breadcrumbed veal very seriously indeed.

One can see why. For this is a dish worthy of worship, fit for kings, archdukes and child prodigies alike, traditionally a veal escalope, cut from the leg and pounded until less than half an inch thick. Purists will insist upon using the ‘kaiserteil’, or the ‘Emperor’s cut’ — lean, fine grained and wonderfully tender — sliced from the inner thigh. But, unless you happen to be friendly with a fleischhauer (Austrian butcher), it can be pretty hard to find.

In Austria, anything other than white veal would be verboten — so much more milky, delicate and pale. Yet the traditional European practice of rearing calves in crates to stop them moving about, without the barest glimmer of sunlight, on an exclusively milk (or milk-formula) diet is anything but humane. Crates have been illegal in the UK since 1992 (and in the EU since 2006) and 95% of our veal is rosé (or pink), meaning the calves are reared in open-sided, straw-bedded barns with a normal diet and plenty of social interaction. The meat may be a shade or two darker, the texture more firm, with a markedly pronounced ‘beefy’ taste — but at least you can eat it with conscience clear.

Don’t skimp on the size. A proper schnitzel should hang over the sides of a large plate, blotting out any sight of the rim. First, you dip the meat in flour, then beaten eggs, then breadcrumbs before sizzling in hot fat. Colour is everything. ‘Certain Bruegel paintings and Stradivari violins have the perfect hue,’ sighs Herr Wechsberg — although some prefer theirs a little less burnished, a little more Klimtian in its golden allure.

You do not, of course, have to use veal. Chicken is the most usual substitute, together with pork and even beef. The variations are as many and varied as there are peaks in the Austrian Alps. The Holsteiner schnitzel, or veal Holstein, is perhaps the most famous, named after Baron Friedrich von Holstein, a diplomat of the imperial period. At its most baroque, it involves all manner of caviar, truffles, crayfish tails and smoked salmon. Yuck. Keep it simple — just a fried egg, criss-crossed by a pair of anchovy fillets. There used to be a very good version at Fischer’s in Marylebone and at The Wolseley in Piccadilly, but ever since the great Jeremy King was so rudely evicted a few years back, I’ve never returned.

For those who like keeping things simple, there’s the naturschnitzel, dipped in flour, without breadcrumbs; the Cordon Bleu schnitzel, said to be a Swiss invention, sees a slice of ham and Emmental cheese folded within the meat; paprika schnitzel is drenched in a sour cream and paprika sauce; the parma schnitzel covered with grated Parmesan; whereas the sardellen schnitzel is stuffed with an anchovy and butter paste. Veal Milanese, that great northern Italian dish, is a close relative, although the meat is cut from the rib rather than leg and fried in butter instead of lard.

Whatever you choose, it must be served fresh from the pan. ‘Many people leave it in the oven,’ warns Herr Wechsberg, the wise man of the wiener schnitzel, ‘which is a sin.’ I agree. Attack with a sharp knife and serve with a quarter of lemon. Oh, and if you do want to remove any excess fat from the crust, avoid the seat of your pants. Kitchen roll will do just fine.

Wiener schnitzel

This recipe comes from Shaun Hill’s Salt is Essential, one of my favourite cookbooks from one of our finest chefs. Hill is a deeply modest man, but still ‘shakes the pans’, as he puts it, at The Walnut Tree in Abergavenny, South Wales. ‘There are a few basics,’ he explains. ‘Don’t flatten the meat too thinly or it will taste of fried breadcrumbs and little else. I like the meat to be upwards of 1cm thick. Fried stuff needs the contrast of something acidic, so either lemon juice or a sharp salad as an accompaniment.’

Ingredients

Serves 4

4 100g veal escalopes

3 eggs, beaten

100g white breadcrumbs (panko is fine)

Lard for frying, or vegetable oil plus a knob of butter

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Method

• Tap out the escalopes to 1cm thick. The flattening is partly to tenderise the meat and is easily accomplished by putting the escalopes between two sheets of clingfilm, then, if you have no cutlet bat to hand, using the flat side of a heavy knife or the base of a small saucepan to produce an even result.

• Season the escalopes with salt and black pepper, then egg and breadcrumb each one.

• Spoon enough lard or oil and butter into a frying pan to give half a centimetre depth and heat this. You need the fat to be hot enough to seal and crisp the schnitzels without burning them and you can test for this by dropping a piece of bread into the pan — it should sizzle and then turn golden.

• Fry the escalopes, one at a time, unless you have an enormous pan. You may need to strain the fat, wipe the pan free of burning crumbs and then return the lard or oil, so that each subsequent schnitzel is as good as the first.

This article first appeared in the October 14, 2026 issue of Country Life. For more information on how to subscribe, click here.

The University of Oxford’s dreaming spires are more ecologically sound in their slumber thanks to a £43 million student-housing development comprised of three new Passivhaus buildings and the low-carbon retrofit of a grand Victorian villa for St Edmund Hall.

The world’s oldest surviving academic society for housing and educating undergraduates, St Edmund Hall appointed London-based architect Wright & Wright (which recently completed an award-winning renovation project at Lambeth Palace) to increase capacity at Norham Gardens from 56 to 127 bedrooms, at the same time as boosting sustainability.

This means that the college (alumni include Sir Keir Starmer and Monty Python’s Terry Jones), which is targeting net-zero energy use by 2030, can now house every undergraduate in affordable, purpose-designed living spaces, allowing private rental accommodation to return to the local market. Norham Gardens, a tree-lined residential road that runs alongside the northern edge of University Parks, is part of the North Oxford Victorian Suburb Conservation Area (NOVSCA), an Arts-and-Crafts district that was one of the UK’s first conservation areas back in 1968.

The three new buildings, which incorporate traditional local characteristics, such as gables, chimneys, dormers and ornamental ironwork, were built in full adherence to Passivhaus standards (see 'What is Passivhaus?' below), with the effect of reducing operational energy demand by up to 70% compared with standard new-build benchmarks.

The retrofit — of an 1874 villa designed by local Gothic Revivalist architect Frederick Codd — used breathable natural materials, including wood-fibre insulation, cork and lime-based insulating plaster, as well as biosolar roofs and conservation-appropriate glazing, in accordance with Passivhaus’s guiding principles.

Together with the creation of new gardens and outdoor common rooms — involving the planting of rare and climate-resilient trees and wildflowers — the project has delivered an 88% biodiversity net gain. ‘It’s a great win for all. Even the local wildlife has benefited. We’ve put in log stacks and installed swift and bat boxes in the brick façades,’ Ronan Morris, a partner at Wright & Wright, tells Country Life. He adds that the project offers lessons for owners of all kinds of historic buildings, and not only those occupied by collegians and chiropterans (bats), in retrofitting their own homes to be more sustainable, as well as preserving charm and character.

‘With historical homes, the traditional problems are being leaky and losing heat quickly, but when you try to rectify that, you can create unintended consequences,' adds Morris.

'For instance, if you don’t insulate correctly, you risk trapping moisture within the walls, so you need to go about it the right way and that means understanding what it’s made from. Is it stone? Is it brick? Which way is the house orientated? Are you getting a lot of wind-driven rain on one side? You may need to consult a specialist conservation architect, but there is a lot of good retrofit guidance available from organisations such as Historic England and the Passivhaus Trust.’

Morris also advises looking at the roof — one of the main areas of heat-loss — with insulation here helping to reduce bills. ‘Then come the windows and doors and there are lots of great, historically appropriate products out there, including triple glazing, which are coming onto the market now,’ he continues.

‘The industry is finally catching up with the idea that, to meet our climate targets, we’re going to need to build in other ways, and that’s going to require a different approach to historic properties, too. Buildings are living, breathing things, not merely historical artefacts, and we have to make them fit for people and the planet.’

What is Passivhaus?

Passivhaus is an international low-energy, high-comfort building standard that originated in Germany. Designed to deliver exceptional energy efficiency, comfort and durability, the first concept house was completed in Darmstadt in 1991 and there have since been tens of thousands of Passivhaus-certified homes registered throughout the world. Its UK affiliate, the Passivhaus Trust, has set itself a target of 10% of all new homes in the UK being built to Passivhaus standard within the next 10 years.

Spokesperson Chayley Collis says: ‘The building physics behind Passivhaus apply to any building, whether new-build or retrofit. With an existing building, you can’t change the building’s orientation, structure, shape or amount of glazing. The Passivhaus standard, therefore, includes a retrofit standard called EnerPHit that takes these limitations into account and relaxes some criteria to reflect this.

However, it is still a very demanding standard and will typically result in a building that out-performs a new-build property, both in terms of energy and comfort.’ Passivhaus projects must adhere to key principles that include high-performance windows and insulation, an air-tight layer to minimise heat loss and efficient mechanical ventilation with heat recovery (MVHR).

It takes energy, determination and clarity of purpose to create the perfect small country estate, qualities demonstrated in spades by the owner of the spectacular Vineyards Farm at Claverton, near Bath, Somerset, which comes to the market with a guide price of £9 million through the London office of John D. Wood & Co.

As selling agent Claire Carter reveals, it all started with the purchase in 2013 by the owner, an international lawyer with a passion for history, of a rundown 17th-century farmstead on a slope above the historic village of Claverton, two miles east of Bath at the southern end of the Cotswolds National Landscape.

Inspired by the setting of the 15-acre holding, originally a vineyard dating back to ancient times, he demolished the existing farmstead and set out to create what Ms Carter describes as ‘the nearest thing to a Napa Valley winery’, complete with its own vineyard that has just produced 550 bottles of a very drinkable Chardonnay and boasts its own helipad.

Protected by mature woodland, with not a single other building in sight, Vineyards Farm enjoys glorious views over the rolling Somerset hills, yet is minutes away from the World Heritage city of Bath.

The agents describe the principal house as ‘nothing short of breathtaking’, from the dramatic entrance hall crowned by soaring oak beams and framed by reclaimed stone, to the beautifully proportioned reception rooms and the state-of-the-art kitchen.

Four palatial bedroom suites have vaulted ceilings, exposed timbers and luxuriously appointed bathrooms.

Outside, the Dairy is arranged as two beautifully designed cottages, which can function independently or as a substantial secondary dwelling.

The magnificent new, 4,000sq ft barn offers limitless potential, with enough underground space to provide garaging for up to seven vehicles.

The grounds, which are laid out as an artistic mix of sweeping lawns, enchanting woodland and a series of terraces, create an ever-changing landscape of colour and texture.

A sheltered contemporary swimming pool enjoys a wonderfully private outlook over the surrounding hills.

Vineyards Farm is for sale through John D. Wood & Co at £9 million — see more details.

It's now only a few weeks until the very special issue of Country Life, guest edited by HRH The Prince of Wales, comes out.

If you can't wait until November 11 when the issue hits the shops — and the doormats of subscribers, who save almost 50% on the cover price — then today's quiz has a royal theme: asking you to name the king or queen of England in 1926, 1826, 1726 and so on all the way back to 1026.

How many will you get right?

The Country Life Quiz is published every weekday at 4pm.

Missed a day? Want more quizzes? Catch up on previous editions, here.

In November 1884, a young John Bruce Glasier heard William Morris speak to the Glasgow branch of the Social Democratic Federation (SDF) and was enraptured. A burly figure with an unkempt beard, Topsy, as Morris was known to his close friends, left a strong impression on the future politician, who described him ‘in his ever-afterwards familiar dark-blue serge jacket and lighter-blue cotton shirt and collar, (without scarf or tie) and with the grandest head I had ever seen on the shoulders of a man… A kind of glow seemed to be about him, such as we see lighting up the faces in a room when a beautiful child comes in’.

Morris (1834–96) had joined the SDF the previous year and now, aged 50, was immersed in a punishing round of public talks to promote the emergent socialist movement. It was a year of personal transformation, having started with his co-founding of the Art Workers Guild and ending with the Socialist League, which he established on December 30 with Karl Marx’s daughter. Morris was convinced that there could be no radical development in design without an equivalent revolution in society.

As a young man, he had channelled his prodigious energies into the gentler revolution of Red House at Bexleyheath, south-east London, a restrained, vernacular-Gothic essay in warm red brick and tile designed by his friend Philip Webb.

Red House encapsulated Morris’s vision for a unified work of art, integrated with orchards and a rose-trellised garden and designed and made collectively. Its interior decoration challenged the discordant clutter of mass-produced furnishings that typified High Victorian taste. ‘If we want art to begin at home, as it must, we must clear our houses of troublesome superfluities… have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful,’ he would famously exhort in The Beauty of Life, 1880.

After moving into Red House in 1860, Morris and his wife, Jane Burden, the daughter of an Oxford stablehand whom he’d married in 1859, threw themselves into creating what his university friend, the painter Edward Burne-Jones, called ‘the beautifullest place on earth’.

He and other friends, including Ford Madox Brown, Dante Gabriel Rossetti and his wife, Elizabeth Siddal, would gather for convivial working weekends, delighting in the freedom to experiment with their ideas and skills. They painted murals and friezes, decorated furniture and plasterwork, embroidered curtains and wall-hangings and played bowls in the garden.

The style of many of these works evoked the chivalric romances and poems that Morris had read as a boy, but his interest in the Middle Ages was more than a nostalgic yearning for Olde England; he had a passionate feeling for medieval buildings.

As an Oxford undergraduate, he had been deeply influenced by Ruskin’s The Stones of Venice and the idea, championed by Augustus Pugin, that Gothic design was aesthetically and morally superior. ‘Honesty’ — of construction, purpose and materials — invested a building with integrity. Hand-craftsmanship and a delight in the making imbued it with vitality and moral dignity.

John Ruskin’s belief in the ennobling power of labour and his tenet that nature is the source of all beauty flowed into Morris’s philosophy of design and manufacture. Both men were conservationists, eco-warriors and social reformers, preaching that art could transform lives and that industrialisation caused ugliness, pollution and inhumanity. Morris’s famous News from Nowhere, published in 1890, was a socialist-environmentalist manifesto dressed up as a utopian romance.

The Pre-Raphaelites were another influence, with their ideals of truth to Nature, social engagement and rejection of formulaic convention. Morris had developed his interest in medieval art when articled to the Gothic-Revival architect G. E. Street, where he made illuminated manuscripts and learnt to woodcarve and stitch.

Unsuited to an architect’s office, he turned to poetry, painting and embroidery. His wife remembered how she’d found a piece of indigo-dyed serge in a London shop and designed flowers for it, which they then ‘worked in bright colours and a simple rough way… the work went quickly and when finished we covered the walls of the bedroom at Red House to our great joy’.

In 1865, Morris moved to London, ironically having to leave the house where he’d been happiest because of the success of the decorating business it had borne. Established in 1861, Morris, Marshall, Faulkner & Co specialised in artist-designed products for domestic and ecclesiastical interiors, with stained glass, filtering light through naturalistic tertiary colours, central to the firm’s early work.

By the time Morris opened his showroom in Oxford Street as sole proprietor in 1877, Morris & Co, as he’d renamed the business, offered a wide range of products unrivalled for their quality. They included mural decoration, carving, embroidery and metalwork, as well as the hallmark wallpapers and fabrics.

Accomplished at weaving, modelling and embroidery, Morris also learnt dyeing techniques and began to produce block-printed textiles in about 1870. The first design was Jasmine Trellis, its trailing stems printed onto glazed cotton for summer curtains and cushions. He became particularly interested in carpets and introduced hand-knotting to the Morris & Co range.

In 1881, the firm moved to an old silk-weaving factory at Merton Abbey, south London, which became the main production centre for hand-blocked textiles and hand-woven silk, woollen cloth and tapestries.

Composed around native plants and birds, Morris’s rhythmic patterns reflect ‘those natural forms which are at once most familiar and delightful… The rose, the lily, the tulip, the oak, the vine’. His first wallpaper pattern, Trellis (1862), featuring climbing roses and birds co-designed with Webb, was inspired by the Red House garden; Strawberry Thief (1883) depicts thrushes observed in the orchard at Kelmscott, the Oxfordshire manor house he rented from 1871.

The image of a pre-industrialised England that lay at the heart of the Arts-and-Crafts Movement gained popularity as the rural economy declined. Through articles by writers such as Lawrence Weaver, Country Life played a significant role in promoting Morris’s ideals — or at least those that appealed to its readers: beautiful homes by architects such as Webb, Lethaby and Lutyens; medieval manor houses gently resuscitated in line with the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings, which Morris co-founded in 1877; good craftsmanship; a dream of rural England.

Paradoxically, given Morris, Webb and Lethaby’s socialism, these beautiful things were affordable only for the wealthy. Morris — Marlborough and Oxford educated with a private income — complained to a friend: ‘I spend my life in ministering to the swinish luxury of the rich.’ It wasn’t his only contradiction.

Although he advocated ‘simplicity of life, begetting simplicity of taste’ (a line from his lecture The Lesser Arts, 1877), Morris’s own interiors were richly layered, albeit aesthetically harmonious and uncluttered. The drawing room of his Hammersmith house was furnished with a wardrobe designed by Webb and painted with a scene from Chaucer by Burne-Jones, iznik ceramics from Damascus and de Morgan lustreware plates above the chimneypiece. Wall hangings were printed with Morris’s favourite Bird design, Persian rugs were laid over his Tulip and Lily carpet, with bobbin-turned ‘Morris’ reclining chairs, Asian metalwork and a grate and settle by Webb further adornments.

Morris studied the designs and craftsmanship of his antiques and took inspiration from their motifs and patterns. The floral forms of Evenlode, for example, echo those of Turkish and Syrian ceramics. Meanwhile, he lamented the destruction to ‘the beautiful works of the East’ by ‘western conquest and commerce’, and described the British Empire as ‘not a thing to love or to be proud of, but a disgrace and a nuisance, as a domination compounded of fraud, injustice and violence to be scorned by all honest men’.

Yet, not for the first time did he turn a blind eye to his anti-imperialism, when he undertook commissions for state rooms at St James’s Palace (1866) and a Golden Jubilee wallpaper for Balmoral (1887).

This year, the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge marks Morris’s 130th anniversary with an exhibition centred around its rich collection of artefacts that highlight the city’s little-known connections with Morris and the Pre-Raphaelites. A strong theme is the pioneering role of women in the Morris enterprise, artists such as Kate Faulkner, whose skills, from embroidery and tile painting to pattern design and gesso, were indispensable. The firm enabled women to undertake professional work and develop their own careers.

In 1885, May Morris took charge of the embroidery department and would play a key role in raising the status of the craft from that of a domestic hobby. She and her sister Jenny had been taught from an early age by their mother, who ‘laid with her needle the foundations of the firm’, and May went on to become a leading designer and embroiderer.

For all the paradoxes and failings of Morris’s ideologies, his work stands out among the Victorian decorative arts as being untainted by later derision. The lighter style of the firm’s stock Sussex chairs, and of its later wares, coupled with the emphasis on sound, unfussy workmanship, has appealed to successive waves of design reformers, with wallpaper and textile designs, some refreshed in updated palettes, still in production.

Simultaneously, the artistic style of decorating with an informal mix of antiques, textiles and well-designed contemporary pieces, as revived by the like of Robert Kime and Ben Pentreath, owes much to Morris, as does the ethos of design companies such as ANTA, with its textile and ceramics workshops run by a conservation architect and fabric-designer.

As the exhibition sets out to demonstrate, Morris was an innovator who ‘looked backward in time to reimagine a new future’. The challenges and contradictions he encountered as he grappled with issues relating to commercial production, the environment, education, social inequality and colonial legacy feel just as relevant today.

This feature originally appeared in the October 21, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

Gardeners are always more interested in tomorrow’s weather than yesterday’s. All through the summer — a sequence of heatwaves aggravated by drought — we longed for cooler temperatures and copious quantities of soft, refreshing rain. We had a long wait. By the beginning of August, gardening pundits were telling us that the Mediterranean climate would soon extend to the British Isles and convert our chalk downlands into Europe’s supreme winemaking region.

Buddlejas were a popular suggestion for the future, because they thrive in the driest and hottest of manmade environments, even pavement edges and cracks in masonry. Deep-rooted herbaceous plants were also promoted; eryngiums and echinaceas did particularly well. In my own garden, the only shafts of green in the lawns came from dandelions and plantains. The same logic applied to trees and shrubs: millions of surface-rooting birches turned yellow and, rather to my surprise, so did many small or medium-sized specimens of our native oaks. Are they dead or will they sprout into leaf again next spring? Wait and see.

Roses had the best season that I can remember. They flowered almost continuously and showed no sign of mildew or blackspot. Mind you, modern rose-breeders such as David Austin have been breeding out those fungal diseases. I have always insisted that roses fare best in a Mediterranean climate — Los Angeles or Adelaide in Australia — and pointed out that England’s national flower has traditionally been at the limit of its cultivability in our sodden isles. Not now, perhaps.

I say ‘perhaps’, because we should not assume that hot, dry summers and mild, wet winters are the new norm. There will always be variables. Our coming winter may be unusually cold — back to the freezes of the 1980s. In this case, the salvias, phormiums and cordylines that you thought would live forever in your garden may be killed by much lower temperatures than we have seen for several years.

What effect did the heat of summer have upon nurseries, plant centres and gardens that are open to the public? The RHS garden at Wisley in Surrey notched up a record 62 consecutive days without rain. When I went to the trials grounds in mid August, I found that the grass between the plant beds was not only brown, but worn away completely from being walked on — bare earth and compacted, too. The long double borders that lead up to Battleston Hill, almost the only part of the garden that was irrigated, were a dream of lush horticultural beauty. The gorgeous lagerstroemias and huge-flowered Hibiscus moscheutos responded to the heat by putting on the best show of late-summer colour I have ever seen. There weren’t many visitors, either, which meant that I could photograph the borders with no one to interrupt the fantasy.

It was difficult to find out what effect the weather had on visitor numbers. Press and PR people are sometimes rather protective of their employers’ reputations and prefer to tell a positive story. However, staff at one National Trust garden told me towards the end of June that its visitor numbers were down by 20,000 and they were worried about the effect on their budgets. The general feeling among popular gardens was a dip of about 12% from June to August.

Vicky Flynn at the National Garden Scheme told me that income was 3% down for the year to date — this was in mid August — but that it was ‘infinitely recoverable’. People still want to visit gardens and would start again when the heatwave finished. Yes, quite a number of gardens cancelled their summer openings, but ‘only 20% cited drought-related issues’. The visitors who did brave the heat didn’t mind brown lawns because they were all suffering from drought in their own gardens.

Plant centres fared better than you might suppose. In June, they reported that plant sales dropped by 5%, but then they recovered in July and jumped by 11% year on year. Customers rushed to replace the herbaceous and bedding plants that they had lost. Agapanthus and hemerocallis daylilies sold particularly well.

That speaks volumes for gardeners. We are not discouraged. If we lose a plant, we look for an even better one to replace it. Our love of plants — our commitment to gardening — is not affected by temporary setbacks. My grandmother always quoted Dr Johnson’s remark when hearing of a widow remarrying — gardening represents the triumph of hope over experience.

Normans Hall has curb appeal — and plenty of it. The black-and-white stucco and timber façade lends storybook charm and is a feast for the eyes; and it's currently on the market at £6.95 million via Jackson-Stops.

The house's origins date back to 1620 and a story that includes the ownership of the Leigh family of Adlington Hall, and an east wing built in 1921 for H. B. Crook to the designs of Henry Boddington III.

The lucky purchaser of this Grade II-listed property will be buying a place with a fascinating history — but they'll also be getting a thoroughly 21st century home. Walking through the front door isn’t like stepping back four centuries to the time of James I: this is a property that has been extensively renovated.

It's been done sensitively, with modernity and subtle shades woven through its five bedrooms and five reception rooms, where exposed timber beams ensure a nod to the past.

The natural light that pours into the kitchen helps to highlight the quality of the bespoke walnut units.

The bedrooms and bathrooms aren't numerous for a house of almost 9,000sq ft — there are five of the former and four of the latter — but they are worthy of special mention, in particular the master suite. Not only does it have the largest dressing room we've seen in a long time, it also has a magnificent bathroom with his-and-hers polished copper bathtubs.

Gardens wrap around and there is also a fruit orchard, a meadow and woodlands, all of which run to about 11 acres.

It's a lovely, secluded plot, ringed by mature trees, and taking in a fine mix of formal planting, lawns and more natural areas.

Within the grounds you'll also find a thatched 'breeze house', and a former ice house — both of which offer plenty of potential for whatever use you can think of. There's also a garage for six cars, more accommodation in the garage annexe, and plans are in place for some other extra: a glazed corridor to link house and garage, and a proposed leisure suite.

Located in the village of Prestbury, which forms a point of Cheshire’s Golden Triangle, along with Wilmslow and Alderley Edge. The area has been given all sorts of fun nicknames over the years — 'The Knightsbridge of the North' is a favourite — and there's no denying that it's an area that's been a magnet for the great and the good.

In other words, don't be surprised if you find yourself rubbing shoulders with the very famous — having a business magnate over the road, or a Premier League footballer living next door. Everyone from the Beckhams and the Rooneys to Paddy McGuinness and, er, Alan Turing have lived in this lovely part of Cheshire.

'Last night I did nothing but dream of you,’ wrote a passionate Horatio Nelson to Emma Hamilton in January 1800. Their love story unfolds through a treasure trove of letters gathered over 40 years by Clive Richards (1937–2021) — the largest collection of papers relating to the admiral created single-handedly ever since the days of Victorian bigwig Alfred Morrison.

Among the manuscripts are two poignant letters by Hamilton to Nelson, the only two remaining in private hands. She wrote them shortly before the Battle of Trafalgar — and they only reached the fleet after his death. Other correspondence traces the increasingly difficult relationship between Hamilton and Nelson’s family, as his brother William gained control of the Admiral’s inheritance. Riddled with debts, after a spell in prison, Hamilton moved in July 1814 to France, where she died a mere six months later.

Also in the collection are battle papers that offer eyewitness accounts of the greatest naval engagements of the time, from Cape St Vincent to the Nile, Nelson’s own reports and his plans for Trafalgar.

The Nelson papers are on show at Sotheby’s from October 21, the anniversary of the Battle of Trafalgar, to October 28. The collection, which has an estimate of £4million–£6 million, will be offered in a single-lot sealed auction, with bidding closing on November 18. Proceeds will benefit the Clive Richards Foundation, which supports education, healthcare, heritage and the Arts.

This article first appeared in the October 21, 2026 issue of Country Life. For more information on how to subscribe, click here.

'Mine was the peacock room,' wrote Rupert Uloth in Country Life in 1995. 'I could have had the Turnbull and Asser room, its walls covered in striped shirt material, or even the Wedgwood room, in blue and white. The Nina Campbell suite, on three levels, is the one to go for If you really want to spoil yourself.'

Rupert was writing about one of the most extraordinary buildings in the Midlands: Stapleford Park, a Grade I-listed country house of some 36,000 square feet set in 54 acres near Melton Mowbray, Leicestershire. Back in 1995, Stapleford Park was run as a country-house hotel, the brainchild of an American entrepreneur called Bob Payton. It was just the latest chapter in the story of an iconic country pile. The next chapter is about to begin, for the hotel's last guests checked out in 2024, and the whole place is now for sale with Strutt & Parker at £18 million.

This will be the first time that Stapleford has changed hands in 40 years, but that actually counts as a pretty quick turnover by the house's former standards. Before Payton took over it had been owned by the Gretton family, who'd made a fortune in brewing beer, and bought the place to use as a lavish country house for entertaining guests. The Grettons had owned it since 1894, having picked it up a few years after the Sherard family — also known as the Earls of Harborough — had died out.

As for the Sherards? They had been here since 1402.

The Sherards built a house here in about 1500, but — according to Giles Worsley's article in Country Life in 1988 — the oldest parts of the building as it currently stands date to the work done in 1633.

Further changes were made in the 18th century — when Capability Brown was brought in to landscape the surroundings — before Gretton used the fortune he'd made at the iconic Bass beer brand to employ the architect J. T. Micklethwaite. The brief was simple: turn Stapleford into a magnificent and luxurious country home.

Gretton died before his vision could be completed and his heirs eventually turned it into a visitor attraction, with miniature railway (still running today) and a wild animal enclosure (long gone). Not until Payton's purchase, and £4 million of further investment, did it become the palatial house that Gretton had imagined.

That is more or less the state that you'll find Stapleford in today, for in essence this magnificent house — which is about as close as you'll find to Leicestershire's answer to Versailles — isn't really a country house in the traditional sense.

There is a wellness centre, for example, with seven treatment rooms, a pavilion with changing rooms, four tennis courts and more. As well as the bedrooms — all 48 of them in the main house — there are four cottages within the 54 acres.

The big question here is 'what happens next?' It'd certainly be possible to get Stapleford Park up and running in the hospitality industry once more, but the potential is there for many other options.

‘Although the blueprint is here to revive a country-house-hotel business, or create an exclusive country members club, it’s not beyond the realms of possibility to restore the house to a private dwelling, should there be the appetite,’ says Mark Rimell, director of Strutt & Parker’s National Country House Department.

He's right: all it needs is a new owner with the vision to make that happen. And the deep pockets to allow them to do so.

Stapleford Park is for sale through Strutt & Parker — see more details.

The Country Life Quiz is published every weekday at 4pm.

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Keep calm and glow on

The ultimate luxury is coming home from a holiday feeling better than when you left. Thankfully, that no longer means confessing to your carbohydrate-guzzling sins and subjecting yourself to myriad tests at a medical retreat.

Wellness has ‘exploded into the norm,’ says James Bell, Turquoise Holidays founder and managing director. His highlights include Six Senses’s alchemy bars (where guests make their own massage oils), The Brando’s nest-like Fare Manu (Bird House) spa (above) in French Polynesia and Ladera’s Lévé spa, 1,000 feet above Sugar Beach in St Lucia.

Before check in, I used to peruse a hotel’s breakfast menu online. Now, I look to see what gym equipment they have. A poky room in the basement won’t suffice. My favourite is the one at Maybourne Beverly Hills in California — a light-drenched space with a wellness mineral pool.

World-class hotels Soneva Fushi in the Maldives and NIHI Sumba, Indonesia, have cottoned on and announced enhanced workout spaces — a real boon for sun-averse travellers like me who need something to do inside in the middle of the day, when the UV reaches stratospheric levels.

We also crave food that makes us feel good. Singita’s pantry concept means that, instead of sugary-snack-stuffed mini bars, guests have access to a communal 'delicatessant’ full of tasty, farm-to-table-inspired, sweet and savoury treats.

Then there is sleep, perhaps the most fundamental pillar of wellbeing. Sleep coaches, bespoke programmes, temperature-controlled beds and pillow menus are becoming as de rigueur as room service. At Gili Lankanfushi in the Maldives, guests can choose from 17 different types. After all, paradise is no place for a bad night’s sleep.

Cleared for take-off

British Airways has announced new routes and improved services on journeys to exciting winter-sun destinations, such as South Africa, Zanzibar, Brazil and Costa Rica.

Its Heathrow to San José service now operates three times a week, year round. Waldorf Astoria Costa Rica, on the dramatic cliffs of Punta Cacique, Hotel Fermata in Santa Teresa (it’s in front of one of the Pacific’s most consistent surf breaks), and Santa Lucia Jungle Hacienda in Carara National Park, are among the country’s notable openings.

The airline is also countering stiff competition by introducing a major refresh of its long-haul first-class experience. The ongoing mile-high arms race has spawned some of aviation’s most creative launches, including Qatar’s Qsuite Business Class, which was so successful that former CEO Akbar Al Baker suggested it had eliminated the need for first class.

The carrier has done a full 180 and, in the coming months, will introduce a private jet-inspired first-class suite. Look out for similarly opulent launches from Qantas, Air France and Lufthansa. AeroLOPA provides craft information and detailed, to-scale digital seat maps for major global airlines — so you can check exactly what you’re flying on before you book.

Off the beaten screen

The average person spends roughly 21 years looking at a screen over the course of their lifetime or more than 40% of their waking hours — a statistic that should horrify you as much as it probably does your optician. The good news is that, despite the rampant progress of addictive, brain-numbing technology, we still yearn, on a primal level, for human connection. Interacting with other people, in person, releases feel-good chemicals.

Last week, we reported on the boom in physical shopfronts in the capital, including Wiggy Kit, Loeffler Randall, Ulla Johnson and DeMellier this year alone. Now, Audley Travel is following in their fashionable footsteps. This autumn, the tour operator will launch its first-ever physical retail presence inside 12 John Lewis stores. Remember when tour operators dotted the high street, their posters of far-flung sunny shores a bright light on an otherwise grey commute?

These dedicated spaces will replicate that inspiration and give clients the opportunity to talk to Audley’s travel experts, face to face. After all, the algorithm can show you a picture of a beach, but it takes a person to get you there in style and comfort.

'It happened to be my daughter’s 17th birthday when I collected the first alpacas I rehomed,’ food writer and recipe creator Anna Stanford recalls. ‘She had friends over and it was hard to keep them calm (the friends, not the alpacas) when the four balls of fluff arrived.’ However, Stanford had underestimated how stubborn the new arrivals could be and they refused to get out of the horsebox. ‘We tried everything. Eventually, as I was straddling one, she suddenly took off with me on her back — my first rodeo experience!’

Traditionally kept as herd animals in South America and prized for their wool and hardiness, alpacas (Lama pacos) only came to the UK in any number about 30 years ago — perhaps with as much reluctance — but have grown in popularity to near 60,000. There are two types: huacaya and suri. The former is identifiable by its crimped, teddy-bear-like fleece and is more prevalent; the latter has long, silky dreadlocks. The blanket (the fibre that extends from the base of the neck to the tail and along the flanks) is highly prized for being soft, lightweight and warm; the finer and more consistent the fibre, the more valuable it is.

It transpired that the Stanfords were destined to find those particular alpacas. ‘They were introduced to us as Mia, Matty, Nora and Grunt. Mia is my daughter’s name, my nephew is called Matty and Nora was the name of my husband’s grandmother. I saw it as a sign,’ Stanford says. ‘Luckily, we don’t have a Grunt in the family, but that name suited him. He was such a character with big buck teeth and a fantastic quiff.’

For Olympian Dame Kelly Holmes, who acquired her six ‘boys’ when they were six months old — ‘I needed a field to be kept mowed and they are brilliant at that’ — she named them based on their fleece colour: Liquorice (black), Polo (white), Truffle (mid brown), Crème Caramel (two-tone brown and white), Toffee and Fudge (light brown).

Seventeen years later, and sadly without Fudge and Crème Caramel, it is evident how besotted Dame Kelly is with the animals, although the same can’t always be said for them: ‘Liquorice acts like Polo’s shadow and is very protective, so he tries to bite you or spit when you get close to Polo. He is a little sod! He still has all of his teeth, whereas the others have lost theirs, so he chases people and bites them, including the vets.’

Northamptonshire-dwelling Polly Westley wasn’t afforded the same opportunity when it came to naming. ‘I had originally planned to give our alpacas Spanish names as a nod to their Peruvian heritage, but when they arrived they already responded to the ones they had been given: Disco Inferno (thankfully shortened to Disco), Abbandando (after Genco Abbandando from The Godfather) and Liberace. Ironically, Abbandando is the gentlest, Liberace isn’t remotely flamboyant and Disco is a drama queen. He is the most handsome and he knows it — the moment he spots a camera, he turns and poses.’

Names were similarly established with Molly Raven’s current alpacas, as they were inherited from the Revd Richard Coles’s late husband, David, who lived within spitting distance in another nook of Northamptonshire. ‘David knocked on my door and asked if I knew where the alpaca lady lived (I had my three old ones at the time),’ remembers Raven. ‘He told me he had been given three, but that the church was selling the field next to their vicarage so asked if I could have them for a few weeks. He named them Anneka (after Anneka Rice), Belinda (a priest he knew) and Margo (I think after Margot Leadbetter). Sadly, David died months later, but he regularly came to see the alpacas and was great fun.’

Having previously owned sheep — ‘suicidal escape artists’ — Raven was drawn to alpacas after seeing them in Peru. ‘I found a lady who kept some and arranged to go when my husband was away. However, he got suspicious and asked to come, hoping to put a halt to more animals. Fortunately, he really liked them and so he bought me three for my birthday nine years ago.’ From having a herd of nine at its largest, she is back to three again. ‘We lost three old ones and sold three young as they were males and alpacas don’t really live in mixed herds, plus the unneutered males can be a bit feisty. Females also come into season when a male is present so it makes it hard work if they are being kept for fun.’

This isn’t the case for Tess Homewood and her husband, Mark, at Bonnington Farm in Kent, who have a serious venture going. After buying three alpacas in 2020, they now have 43. ‘We primarily breed huacaya, but also run British Alpaca Society-affiliated training courses, host farm experiences and take alpacas to weddings,’ Homewood reports. At her own wedding, ‘our cake featured a felted bride and groom created using fibre from our own alpacas and every table was named after one. With a loose theme of “creatives”, there are names such as Picasso, Björk, Marlon and Brontë among the herd’. Each cria (newborn) is given the same initial as its dam, making it easy to follow lines from one generation to the next.

‘Alpacas’ breeding behaviour is amusing,’ Homewood says. ‘When introduced to a male, a female leaves absolutely no doubt about whether she is receptive. If she isn’t, or is already pregnant, she will spit at him.’ Although tales of vets and neighbours being spat at suggest that this behaviour isn’t directed at male alpacas exclusively, the reputation for regular expectorating appears unwarranted.

A more noticeable indicator of their mood is their humming, as they use different tones to express everything from curiosity and contentment to uncertainty or irritation — and taking the time to observe and understand them is vital, as Dame Kelly discovered. ‘You don’t always know when they are ill, so it is important to observe changes in their character and demeanour,’ she advises. ‘I realised that Crème Caramel had an extremely bad neck and it was causing him to start choking on his food.’ Sadly, she had to have him put down, but her awareness of the issue reduced any suffering.

One thing alpacas certainly don’t seem to enjoy is a manicure. ‘For me, the most challenging part of the husbandry is toenail trimming,’ Westley admits. ‘They wriggle around and even sit on their feet to avoid it. They are strong animals, so it can be a bit of a task.’ Whether they are halter-trained or not doesn’t seem to make much difference. Whereas Dame Kelly holds her hands up — ‘You can tame them to a point that they can use a halter, but I never had time for that when I first got them’ — Raven washed hers of trying to make one alpaca biddable. ‘We attempted to take her to a pet service in the church we live next to,’ she recalls. ‘However, she didn’t want to leave the herd and was prancing everywhere, so we had to take her back. We took a stuffed turtle on a lead instead.’

The annual shearing is an equally challenging task, with the consensus suggesting it is not for the faint-hearted. ‘I will turn my hand to most things, but would not attempt to shear an alpaca,’ Stanford confesses. However, the results are worth it. ‘Their fleece is wonderful,’ Raven remarks. ‘I have about 20 bags of fleece in my loft waiting to be made into something lovely… perhaps next year.’

With such luxurious coverings, it is unsurprising that alpacas enjoy any opportunity to get wet. ‘The first summer we had Matty, I found her trying to get her entire body into her water bucket,’ Stanford remembers, ‘so I bought a padding pool, which they bathe in when it’s hot.’ Westley’s receive similar treatment: ‘We put the sprinkler out so they can cool off. Abbandando dances around it bucking in delight as the water splashes his legs and belly.’ Other bathroom habits are, fortunately, more controlled. ‘Alpacas may be elegant, but they produce an impressive amount of poo,’ Homewood laughs. ‘Thankfully, they are remarkably tidy and use communal poo piles, which makes the daily task considerably easier than it might otherwise be.’

‘If you are looking for a low-maintenance animal to enjoy then they are great, but they aren’t “no maintenance”,’ Westley concludes. ‘They require daily care, which is a commitment (although personally I enjoy the discipline of going out every morning and evening). If you are looking for a fun, affectionate pet, they also might not be the right choice, but if you want a peaceful animal to share your space with, they are perfect. I keep them for the sheer joy they bring. At dusk each evening they start “pronking” — a joyful, bouncing dance. It is such a treat to watch them frolic with obvious happiness.’

Homewood agrees: ‘They are inquisitive, gentle and endlessly entertaining, bringing a sense of peace wherever they are. Watching the herd together on a summer evening is one of life’s simplest pleasures.'

This article first appeared in the October 14, 2026, issue of Country Life. For more information on how to subscribe, click here.

James Lowsley-Williams looks at a model ship made by Italian prisoners during the Second World War and given by them to his great-great-grandmother, Beatrice Mary, née Savile.

The men were held in Prisoner-of-war Camp 89 at Easton Grey, just over the county border in Wiltshire. It was purpose built to a standard plan in 1942 or 1943 and operated with smaller satellite sites, known as hostels, to allow the prisoners to work locally. Until 1945, the camp accommodated Italians, who enjoyed friendly relations with the wider community. It closed in 1948 and was converted to industrial use.

‘For me,’ says Lowsley-Williams, ‘this thoughtful gift says a great deal about both Beatrice and the men themselves. During such a difficult time, they formed a connection that inspired this gesture of gratitude. That human story is what makes the ship so special to me.'

'My aunt, Caroline Lowsley-Williams, tells me that the prisoners converted one of the huts in the camp into a church and decorated it with paintings,' adds Lowsley-Williams.

'She also recalled that an Italian man called Franco Montanari returned in 1981 to present her parents with a plaque thanking the local community for their kindness.

'Those lasting connections make the story all the more meaningful. It is a lovely part of Chavenage’s history, and something I feel proud to have in the family.’

That history is extraordinary. Chavenage was originally church property taken by Henry VIII during the Dissolution of the Monasteries and passed to the Seymour family before it was surrendered back to the Crown. In about 1550, it was remodelled into the Elizabethan house it is today, but in the 1870s it stood empty.

George Williams Lowsley-Hoole, based in Sheffield, inherited property in the Cotswolds and to assure his inheritance he assumed the name George Williams Lowsley Hoole-Lowsley-Williams. However, he and his father weren’t enamoured with the house, so they rented Chavenage estate before purchasing it in 1891.

Fast forward to the present and Lowsley-Williams and his wife, Emma Lowsley-Williams, have picked up the baton.

His aunt, Caroline, is thrilled that it's remained in the family. ‘Primarily, Chavenage is a family home and we are delighted that James and Emma have taken on the challenge of moving it forward,’ she told Country Life in September.

Recent projects have included renovating the former service wing, opening a café, hosting weddings and creating accommodation. And all that has to be balanced with a busy filming scheduled: Chavenage has often been used as a location, notably in Poldark and the Disney+ adaptation of Jilly Cooper's Rivals.

‘An event space is also on its way, farming activities continue and James has a YouTube Channel called Life at The Manor, which currently has 168,000 subscribers,' adds Caroline.

‘The hidden costs of maintaining the house, insurance and professional fees are growing — and there’s always the roof. Yet, it’s been a privilege to grow up and live at Chavenage, ghosts and all… but that’s another story.’

Chavenage is well-known as a filming venue for shows including 'Poldark' and 'Rivals'. It is open to visitors on a very limited basis — see the website for more information.

This feature originally appeared in the October 14, 2026, print edition of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

Abraham Maslow’s pyramid of human needs starts with a broad base of essentials — food, warmth and the like — and builds up to an apex of art, literature and fashion. They may not be necessary, but these are the facets of life that define a culture.

In a hierarchy of dietary needs, staples such as potatoes and rice would be at the bottom, cakes right at the top. You don’t eat gateaux to survive, any more than you recite poetry to ward off marauding wolves, and, if pastries are nutritional civilisation, then macarons are its haute couture.

In Paris, they take fashion seriously and they take macarons seriously, too, debating where to go for what is best as they might the latest trends in coats or handbags. This was first brought to my attention when I began taking my daughter to Paris 30 years ago. We stayed in a two-room, third-floor apartment in the 1st arrondissement. The owner lived in the flat above.

Madame Mouret was a retired art teacher. A native Parisian, she loved her great city and, in particular, its cake shops and cafés. During every stay, we trooped up to her apartment and settled among the potted ferns and books on Degas and Matisse, sipping Chamberyzette and nibbling financiers bought at Hédiard rather than its more illustrious neighbour Fauchon because, our host informed us: ‘Hédiard is for food, Fauchon for theatre.’

During these visits, Madame Mouret would quiz us on what we had been up to, reacting always with great enthusiasm to our wanderings. She took much interest in what we ate, particularly sweet things. She had an encyclopaedic knowledge of her city’s salon de thé and uncompromising opinions on what you should order when you went to them. ‘At Angelina, you must have the Mont-Blanc, never the baba au rhum,’ she admonished. ‘You go to Maison Stohrer for that.’

When it came to macarons, however, even the redoubtable Madame Mouret sat on the fence. Would she pick Ladurée ahead of Gérard Mulot, who trained at Dalloyau (‘One goes there for the opera cake, of course’)? That fellow Jean-Paul Hévin at Le Petit Boulé, a farmer’s son from the Loire, was not to be discounted either. ‘Hmm, it is hard to judge,’ she would conclude eventually, ‘but you have time. Best you go to them all and decide for yourselves.’ We have been trying ever since.

Originally, the macaron was a simple biscuit, believed to have been brought to France in 1533 by the chefs of Catherine de’ Medici, bride of the future Henry II. The name comes from the same source as macaroni, meaning ‘fine dough’, and the first macarons were as plain as pasta — small and made from roughly ground almonds, icing sugar and egg whites. For several centuries, such macarons were a standard item on trays of petits fours, popular yet anonymous. All that would be changed at Ladurée.

Louis Ernest Ladurée had opened his first cake shop on the rue Royale in 1862. It was his second cousin, Pierre Desfontaines, who would transform the macaron in much the same way Prof Henry Higgins refashioned Eliza Doolittle. Searching for a means to revive his firm’s selection of petit fours, Desfontaines hit upon the splendid notion of sticking two macarons together with a toothsome layer of ganache. The result was a sensation, the appeal of the new double-decker macaron instantaneous. As the great French food writer Pierre Rival noted, the macaron is ‘small, discreet, and yet so appetising—without a moment’s hesitation in one mouthful it is gone — it is an innocent pleasure par excellence’.

There is something comforting about the macaron, too. It evokes nostalgia. Today, you can sit in the stylish verdigris and gilt upstairs parlour of Ladurée on the corner of rue Jacob and rue Bonaparte — the third branch of the shops to open — eating Desfontaines’s great culinary innovation and soon you’ll find yourself agreeing with those elegant Parisians who comment during turbulent times: ‘The world seems such a mess… but when you’re in Ladurée, you feel everything will be alright.’

Modestly, Desfontaines chose not to name his new creation after himself, nor, of course, could he patent his invention. Soon, his style of macaron was being copied all across Paris. Today, there are more than 1,600 patisseries in the French capital selling them.

Competition bred invention. A macaron that tasted of almonds and chocolates was not enough and the colour was, well, a little boring. Soon, the pastry chefs of Paris were refining the chewy little biscuit, making it pink with raspberry, green with pistachio and purple with blackcurrant. French gastronomy had been built on seasonal ingredients and the macaron adapted to the changing seasons — Alpine strawberries in the summer, blackberries in autumn, sweet chestnuts in the winter.

As the 20th century came to an end, the Parisian macaron experienced its own nouvelle vague. It was sparked by the arrival, at Ladurée in 1997, of renowned pastry chef Philippe Andrieu. Monsieur Andrieu introduced more exotic flavours: basil and lime, salted-butter caramel and Yunnan tea. He also followed the fashion houses and, each year, released special spring and autumn ‘collections’ of flavours. It was a necessary evolution because by now Ladurée had serious competition, not only from older rivals such a Gérard Mulot, who had opened his first shop in 1976, and Jean-Paul Hévin, who had burst onto the scene a dozen or so years later, but from a new breed of wildly inventive pastry chefs. Pierre Hermé, a man at the forefront of the revolution in French patisserie that was begun by his mentor Gaston Lenôtre in the 1970s, opened his shop in rue Bonaparte in 2001, creating a sensation with a crêpe-suzette macaron that fused caramel, orange and Grand Marnier.

Japan’s influence on French food began back in the 1970s when the godfathers of nouvelle cuisine, such as Paul Bocuse, rejected the elaborations of classical French food in favour of simpler, cleaner arrangements and flavours. Fusing the luxury of French pastry with the sobriety of Japanese aesthetics is not the easiest trick to pull off, but Sadaharu Aoki, who trained in Tokyo and opened his shop near the Jardin du Luxembourg in the first year of the new millennium, manages it in specialities that use Far Eastern ingredients, such as black sesame, yuzu and matcha.

Later, others would arrive on the scene. Hugues Pouget, formerly pastry chef with Guy Savoy, opened Hugo & Victor to great fanfare in 2010. He offers regular three ‘star flavours’ of chocolate, vanilla and caramel supplemented by five seasonally changing varieties that might include kaffir lime or citronella (from his own garden in southern France).

Former world-champion pastry chef Emmanuel Ryon, who made his name at the über-glitzy Franco-Muscovite Café Pouchkine, set up Une glace à Paris and, focusing on natural ingredients, Monsieur Ryon concocts the kind of flavours that might draw a nod of approval from Heston Blumenthal, including smoked vanilla with pine, strawberry and hibiscus and buckwheat, almond and nougat.

For those who don’t want anything avant-garde, the traditional macaron flavours remain, of course. In Paris, there is room for the classic vanilla macaron as well as those flavoured with jasmine, just as there is space for the Hermès scarf as well as the Miu Miu cone bra.

This article first appeared in the October 21, 2026 issue of Country Life. For more information on how to subscribe, click here.

If you went up to my attic today, you would find, well, not that much because I live in a block of flats and don’t actually have one. However, if I did, you would likely come across a suitcase with a missing wheel and Christmas decorations arranged by colour. What you would not find is an exceptional collection of antique and vintage jewellery — but that’s exactly what one Worcestershire family had stashed away in theirs for decades.

The treasure trove was rediscovered during a routine clear out and spans more than two centuries of jewellery design. The majority, though, is Art Deco in design, and highlights include a Cartier diamond bow and Egyptian Revival diamond brooches. The former, crafted in yellow gold and silver and set throughout with old-cut and rose-cut stones, dates to 1905.

The collection in its entirety is going under the hammer on Wednesday October 21 with Elmwood's.

'It is rare to encounter such a fine and cohesive selection of jewels from this period that has remained together,’ Joe Kendrick, head of sales at Elmwood’s auctioneers, says, ‘allowing us to appreciate the collection as a whole, rather than as individual pieces.’

An elaborate Edwardian diamond devant-de-corsage (also known as a stomacher) and a menagerie of Victorian-era animal brooches (below) are among the other intriguing items. Think a charging bull in silver and yellow gold with a ruby eye, a donkey, partridge, fox, greyhound and, somewhat more bizarrely, a sea gull. Animal motif jewellery was hugely popular in the 19th century, reflecting the Victorian people’s passion for nature, symbolism and the decorative arts. As in floriography — the Victorian tradition of using flowers to communicate secret messages, emotions, and declarations that were too intimate or improper to say aloud — animals were used to convey qualities such as strength, courage and loyalty.

The whimsical collection was started by the grandmother of the present owners. Subsequent members of the family are believed to have added to it, charting 200 years of changing jewellery tastes and design as they went. The total pre-sale estimate is £150,000.

Visit the Elmwood's website for more information and to bid.

The Country Life Quiz is published every weekday at 4pm.

Missed a day? Want more quizzes? Catch up on previous editions, here.

The last few weeks have been about as exciting as it gets for people who like sheets being pulled off of things, as Bentley, Jaguar, Tesla, Citroën, Alfa Romeo, and many more have all revealed new cars and concepts to the huddled masses of journalists, influencers and everyone else at home.

What is very clear is that we, the consumer of the car, are at a crossroads. Do we want futuristic things that can shoot compressed air and do backflips? According to Musk, we would be foolish to inhabit a world without them. But perhaps more intriguing than a glorified Hot Wheels created by the world’s richest man is how many makers have decided that to go forward we must go back. It’s a confusing world, the car one, when the conservative path is trodden not by Musk, but by the French, Germans and Italians. Go figure.

Tongues were wagging when the new Citroën 2CV rolled across the red carpet at the Paris Motor Show, a clear homage to the ubiquitous original, but they fell to the floor when Alfa Romeo unveiled the Cuorerosso concept, a four-door saloon powered by a hybrid V6 engine. And can you blame said tongues? Just look at it.

But if I had to pick a highlight from recent weeks, it is surely the Porsche Mission S, which has taken the idea of an analogue resurgence to the extreme. Here is a car that will sit above the 911 in the German maker’s range, it will come with a manual transmission, it has no screens and it needs an actual, physical, key to start it and stop it. Porsche has yet to reveal what will be powering this thing, but safe to say it will be fuelled by petrol. Again, just look at it.

What’s particularly intriguing about all these launches (bar the Tesla one, which we shall never speak of again) is how beautiful everything looks. The past few years have seen an influx of new EVs and hybrids from China that have been bought by punters in their droves, which is unsurprising considering that they work and that they are very cheap. Cheap things that work is usually a pretty successful strategy in getting people to buy things, and the message appears to have cut through in various boardrooms across the Continent that to compete, they must make things that people truly desire.

Necessity breeds invention. For the past decade, BMW, Peugeot, Alfa Romeo and all the rest have been resting on their laurels, at least when it comes to design, focusing too much on function and not enough on form. When everything looks the same, what else are people to do other than choose with their wallets?

So it’s nice to see a return to some proper car design. Shapes and angles and lines that you want to look at and be around, either because they are ‘retro’ and iconic, or because they just look so sexy you can’t imagine driving anything else. Go on, let’s look at the Alfa Romeo again.

And the Mission S, as a treat.

Obviously, many of these cars won’t make it to full production, and those that do will be very expensive. But they are the starting point for new designs, theories and directions, and one which allows the rest of us to differentiate what we drive and what we see around us, which is good because I spend a lot of time on the motorway, and it’s about time I had something nice to look at again.

What makes a car memorable is not what apps it has, or whether it can park itself or not. Those things are helpful, but they are not features that make you fall in love. What elevates the experience of driving is combining its utility with art; making the everyday exciting is the one thing that cannot be copied nor derived. You either have it or you don't. It's why heritage is so important, because it is a key foundation on form and feeling, and you cannot just draw it and build it in a factory in some province somewhere.

It's felt a bit hopeless recently, with new car after new car seeming bland and uninspiring, at least to drive, as firms rush to put more technology at one's fingertips, as if that is all that matters. It was time for a correction, and it feels like we've got one. As the nights close in and the temperature drops, the timing couldn't be better.

Bugatti, now in book form

If you are reading this, chances are you enjoy reading about cars, and potentially also like looking at pictures of cars. The good news is that there is are some new books that can help you indulge those desires.

First up is the Story of Bugatti, by Country Life’s very own road-going rake Adam Hay-Nicholls. He explores the story of the timeless EB Bugatti badge, from the Type 35 racer all the way to the Bolide of the 21st century.

'Bugatti built the most elegant cars of the pre-war period. Its works drivers were a courageous bunch, many of whom flew fighter planes in the First World War and several of whom were absolutely vital to the French Resistance in the Second World War,' says Hay-Nicholls. 'After the war the brand was as good as buried, but then resurrected itself with the help of VW to once again become the most decadent car builder in the world. Only thing is, instead of artists and aristocrats, spies and war heroes, they’re now bought by footballers and crypto bros. As Le Patron, Ettore Bugatti, stipulated: “Nothing is too beautiful, nothing is too expensive."'

It is the latest release in the bestselling Story of Cars series, and is out now.

Slightly less crypto bro-y, and certainly far more refined and English, is Aston Martin, which is the focus of the latest of teNeues ‘Milestones’ series. From humble beginnings in 1914, the British carmaker has built icons such as the DB4, DB5, V8 and Valhalla, and this latest book is surely a must-have for anyone partial to James Bond’s carriage of choice. Penned by Roland Löwisch, it’s on shelves from November 12.

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Here's a look at some of what you'll find inside this week's issue.

The legacy

Emma Hughes hails Ronald Searle, creator of Molesworth, the Curse of St Custard’s ; plus in the leader article, Nigel Molesworth shares his observations on Country Life in his own inimitable style

Can you keep a secret?

A new book on MI5’s archives reveals a world of subterfuge and untold stories for Emma Hughes

Country Life International

Julie Harding visits the historic Delft factory, Harry Pearson samples the best of Parisian macarons and confronts the monsters of Lake Geneva, Claire Jackson tunes up for the Concours de Genève, Corinne Julius finds the spice of life in Grenada and Holly Kirkwood highlights top properties for sale in sun-loving cities

A man of contradictions

A new exhibition examines the complex character of designer William Morris, reports Mary Miers

James Peill’s favourite painting

The Garter King of Arms picks the portrait of a man of means

Country-house treasure

John Goodall toasts the thirst-quenching cistern in residence at Halswell House in Somerset

Rule the roast

Who first cooked up our famous Sunday lunch, asks David Ellis

Luxury

Justine Picardie admires the hum-orous style of Elsa Schiaparelli and Amie Elizabeth White seeks shades of suede for autumn

High-tech as history

John Goodall tours the yellow, Modernist masterpiece No 22 Parkside in London, recently acquired by the National Trust

Interiors

Arabella Youens takes a shine to warm lighting in a utility room and Amelia Thorpe eyes lovely lamps

Weaving dreams

Tilly Ware meets the designer of the mesmerising perennial meadow at Shillies Barn, Suffolk

She sells sea salt by the seashore

Jane Wheatley visits Halen Môn on Anglesey and finds a thriving family empire well worth its salt

Countryside mysteries

Broomrape, toothwort and other such parasitic plants catch the ever-curious eye of John Wright

Travel

Richard MacKichan sails the Indonesian Flores Sea in style

Just sew stories

The fungi and lichen of the Surrey Hills are the source of artistic inspiration for Amanda Cobbett, as she explains to Catriona Gray

Arts & antiques

Carla Passino explores how the charming designs of Elizabeth, Lady Templetown helped her become the darling of Wedgwood

Setting the standard

James Graham serves up the best new play of the year as Michael Billington applauds a star-studded stage offering

Offices have come a long way in the past two decades, when many resembled the fictional Slough-based paper merchants Wernham Hogg in the BBC series The Office. The sitcom’s gaffe-prone protagonist, David Brent, was frequently depicted carrying out misjudged practical jokes on a bewildered team held captive in an energy-sapping environment of nylon carpet, faux wood laminate and towering in trays beneath harsh fluorescent lights.

Anyone who wanted to create a more elegant working environment faced an uphill battle against hard drives, monitors and printers, desk phones, Rolodexes, fax machines and battleship-grey filing cabinets. Fast forward to today and, thanks to the advent of cloud storage, powerful slimline laptops and mobile phones, these have now been rendered obsolete. With the greater flexibility ushered in by covid, many offices have been transformed beyond recognition.

On a nondescript stretch of Hammersmith Road in west London stands one of the most aesthetically pleasing examples of this evolution. It would be easy to miss the handsome Grade II-listed house flanked by towering multi-storey office blocks; the property has had various incarnations, including a stint as the home of a now-defunct Conservative club once visited by Winston Churchill, a dance hall and the HQ for a defunct airline.

In 2020, it stood unoccupied, when it was chanced upon by interior designer Beata Heuman and her husband, John Finlay, with whom she runs the business. After a three-year renovation, No 188, Hammersmith Road is now a working studio, an office, a laboratory for trying out new designs and a basement kitchen where the team eats together.

The building also provides a showcase where clients can discover the designer’s approach. ‘I wanted somewhere that had a creative energy rather than a classic showroom environment,’ she says. Her own office is decorated in her Willow Tree wallpaper and furnished with an antique wooden desk surrounded by paintings and pot plants. ‘Where we work affects us so much that I don’t understand why anyone wouldn’t decorate an office properly.’ She cites Nancy Lancaster’s Yellow Room in Sibyl Colefax and John Fowler’s former premises in Mayfair as an inspiring example. ‘Obviously, if you work in the world of design, it makes sense to make an office look as nice as it possibly can.’

Moving east, the headquarters of architectural and interior-design studio Ben Pentreath can be found on Lamb’s Conduit Street in Bloomsbury. What started as a one-person practice in 2004 has expanded to a multidisciplinary team of 50, who work across what their founder describes as a ‘warren of office spaces’ that stretches across buildings, as well as a shop run with the decorative artist Bridie Hall.

‘In the early days, I needed a workspace, and the architect William Smalley needed a flat,’ explains Pentreath. ‘Together, we rented a property on Lamb’s Conduit Street.’ It was the start of a long relationship with the street and its landlord, Rugby School, which owns an eight-acre slice of the area, hence the name of the adjacent Rugby Street.

As the company has grown, Pentreath has accumulated more space, including Lamp Office Court, a double-height room lit with top lights and a hangar-like roof, created by covering over the gardens that sat behind the row of handsome neo-Georgian townhouses, many of which were damaged during the Blitz. ‘If you look at John Rocque’s maps of London, this street was originally residential, but, as the wealthy moved west and north, it became more commercial and many gardens were built over,’ says Pentreath. He thinks the current structure was possibly erected in the 1920s.

Today, it’s where most staff work, with some of the usual trappings of office life: long, shared desks, swivel chairs and desktop monitors. However, compared with offices of old, the space feels personal, thanks to successive trips to New Covent Garden Market to acquire houseplants, various framed architectural drawings on the walls and a lighting scheme designed by Sally Storey of John Cullen Lighting that ensures there’s not a single striplight in the building. Other personal touches include Pentreath’s mother’s studio pottery collection, dating from the 1950s and 1960s.”

‘I think it’s really important to feel visually stimulated, but I’m not hugely in favour of offices that are too curated or polished where computers are hidden away,’ says Pentreath. ‘Some, particularly in America, look like something a Hollywood set designer would create. They have a degree of unreality about them that I find unsettling.’

Lulu Lytle, co-founder of Soane Britain, works in an office above her family home in Bayswater, where she plans new collections of furniture, fabrics and lighting. It’s a fairly recent upgrade from the previous arrangement, which involved hot-desking at the company’s Pimlico Road premises or working at her kitchen table. ‘I’m someone who needs lots of things around me — which isn’t compatible with a functioning family home,’ she says.

The office is an attic flat with a tiny roof terrace where she works alongside her assistant, Isabella Darnton, who has introduced some rigorous discipline. ‘For the first time in my working life, I really appreciate a tidy environment and she has created a clarity I didn’t know I needed.’ Because of its position at the top of the building, access to the office is challenging, so much of the furniture arrived flat-packed. Everything is filed in ordered boxes, with projects stored in specially commissioned wicker baskets made in Somerset and organised by subject: new fabrics, lighting, rattan projects, marketing and so on.

Although there are concessions to modern working methods — she uses a laptop and often works sitting on the sofa next to her dog Panther — there are some processes that date from when she launched the business 30 years ago; letters are still written by hand and she has an archive of antique fabrics dating back to the 17th century within reach. Across one wall is a particular favourite: an Oushak Saph fragment from the late 17th century, from the Ulu Cami of Bursa in western Anatolia. ‘I love to be surrounded by beautiful things,’ she says.

When not travelling from project to project or attending building sites, most of George Saumarez Smith’s work takes place at the Winchester offices of ADAM Architecture, a Grade II*-listed building restored by the team at ADAM in 2011. ‘One of my reference points is the architecture office established by my grandfather Raymond Erith in a ramshackle group of cottages in Dedham, Suffolk,’ explains Saumarez Smith. ‘It was very low key and not at all aligned with the rather grand projects on which he worked. He took Quinlan Terry on as a pupil in the early 1960s and Quinlan’s room, which I visited often, had a writing desk and a drawing board. It was hung with pictures and had a single window — that was my idea of what an architect’s office was.’

Today, he tries to use technology as smartly as possible, but without relying on it completely. ‘I love drawing by hand; it’s only once removed from the physical act of constructing the building itself. That’s how plans originate before becoming digital models.’

In the 15 years of working in his Hampshire base, Hyde House, very little has changed decoratively. A drawing board large enough to carry A0 paper stands by a sash window. On the walls is a large drawing of the building he designed for fine-art dealer Richard Green on London’s New Bond Street in 2011. ‘I’m about to move into a new office, but the principles will remain the same: very little technology, only a long table and an adjustable drawing board, my pencils and my iPad.'

But for a laptop sitting discreetly on an 18th-century table in the corner of the room and flanked by two table lamps, little would give away that the converted saw shed next to the Hampshire home of Country Life's Interiors Editor Giles Kime is, in fact, his office.

As are many country-house annexes, this structure, which spent 50 years as a weaving studio, is now multifunctional, morphing from an entertaining space to a home office. Having distilled his working needs down to three essential components, a laptop, mobile phone and a small library of interiors, architecture and design books, Kime has created the most agile of workspaces. ‘The critical thing is that it’s separate from the main house. I’m lucky enough to have physical and psychological distance between my personal and professional life.’

This feature originally appeared in the October 14, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

Here at Country Life we don't write about all properties, but we do write about a pretty wide variety. Sometimes it's a sprawling estate, sometimes it's a Victorian glasshouse, and sometimes it's a medieval relic with a hot tub.

Once in a while, though, we cover country homes that can best be described as metal boxes. It doesn't happen much, but it does happen — and today is one of those days, as we take a look at Druim Na Cracaig, a magnificently bonkers property that's in one of the most remote places in the UK mainland. It's for sale through Savills at £750,000.

If, for some reason, the pictures on this page won't load for you, it's a dinky little home that looks like a cross between a submarine, a UFO and an Airstream caravan, all situated in as wonderful a Scottish country setting as you could imagine. It's on an unspoilt hillside that overlooks the Sound of Mull, where the only thing that can interrupt your Highland idyll is the view of the ferries plying their way from Oban to the Outer Hebrides.

It's about as far from the typical Scottish manse as you could imagine, yet it's become something of a smash on the holiday rental market, with the agents describing it as 'one of the most sought-after and wish-listed Airbnb properties in the United Kingdom.' It's not a place you would — or perhaps even could — live permanently, but for a few days getting away from it all, it's hard to imagine somewhere that offers a better blend of whimsy and natural beauty.

All that success prompted the owners of this wacky little home to build two more similar places, both of which are included in the listing. The original home has been dubbed 'Airship 002' (despite there only being one of them, so far as we can see), with the other two buildings called 'The Captain's Cabin' and 'The PilotHouse'. No, that's not a typo: PilotHouse is presented as a single word with a capital H in the middle. If I could figure out how to type a 'shrug' emoji, I would have added one here.

Dubious grammar aside, the other two places to stay here, while not as eyecatching as the original Airship 002, are just as fun, and better suited to larger groups. The PilotHouse looks like a corrugated metal pencil sharpener, while The Captain's Cabin looks to our eyes as if an ancient croft building — it's actually an chapel where the owners live at the moment — decided to wear a giant metal top hat.

They're being sold as a trio, and with a suggestion that they'd attract holiday rental income of around £100,000 a year. Clearly keeping all that metal polished and shiny would cost a fair bit, but it still seems like there's a decent business to be run here. A very decent business.

'Together, the properties represent an exceptional lifestyle and business opportunity, combining award-worthy design, established trading success and an unforgettable setting on Scotland's west coast,' say Savills. 'The sale offers the rare chance to acquire one of the country's most distinctive hospitality enterprises, with a proven reputation and significant ongoing appeal to domestic and international visitors alike.'

Obviously, you could ignore the letting possibilities completely, and live in these wacky little homes yourself. But for those looking to run this unusual trio of places while living nearby, the owners are also selling a pair of more traditional Highland homes, the four-bedroom Tigh Darach, at £525,000, and the three-bedroom Tigh Na Mara, at £425,000.

Ronnie Wood needs a coffee. He has just arrived at the Handel Hendrix Museum in Brook St, London, to introduce his latest paintings of Jimi Hendrix and his forthcoming conversation with music journalist Paul Sexton calls for a spot of caffeination.

Steaming cup in hand, hair as wonderfully jagged and bouffant as ever, he is ready for a riveting trip down memory lane. Because, as it turns out, the Rolling Stones lead guitarist not only knew Hendrix well, played music with him and painted him repeatedly — but even shared a flat with him and his dog.

Wood says he first met Hendrix at London club The Speakeasy in 1966. Word about the American had spread quickly, with Eric Clapton telling Wood he ought to see this new talent in town. What he heard blew the Rolling Stone guitarist’s mind: ‘It was like somebody swivelled the Earth a little bit more on its axis.’

He recalls that the American didn’t like his own singing voice: ‘And I said, you don't have to worry about your singing voice, Jimmy, when you play guitar like [that].’ Hendrix did play the guitar with his teeth, but that’s not what Wood is referring to: ‘Everyone takes a leaf out of his book, including me. I have little flourishes where I think, “Oh, that's like a Jimi riff”... But when it comes to interpreting the blues and rock and roll, like Jimi did, no one did it like him.’

He and Hendrix kept bumping into one another and even played together when Wood, who was then touring the USA with the Jeff Beck group, had temporarily switched to the bass: ‘There used to be a gathering place for everyone after the gigs and the Jeff Beck group were no exception. We got up and played a bit, me and Rod and Jeff, and then Jimi would turn up …and he'd say, “Hey, Jeff, let the bass player play, man, let him have a solo.” Every time Jimmy got up with us, he'd let me have a solo.”

It’s after Hendrix had begun making waves in London that the two shared a flat in Holland Park belonging to singer P. P. (Pat) Arnold. Not that it was a regular flatmate experience: ‘Food was never an option. We had a few peas to shove around the plate. I think that's about it. Everybody in rock and roll just shoved a few peas around the plate.’

Instead, they would play guitar, with the otherwise quiet Hendrix doing so both right- and left-handed: ‘Bobby Womack did that, too, but Jimmy was so fluent with it, without being deliberately showy. The guitar was like having a beautiful dog to him, you know, he did tricks, playing with his teeth or playing over the neck, upside down. Then he ran out of ideas and eventually set his guitar on fire. Follow that.’

However, there was also a real dog in the picture, which, as it happens, was not house-trained. As a result, says Wood, the flat sharing only lasted a few nights ‘because his dog would poop all over the house and Arnold threw us out’. Heading out on tour, Hendrix gave the pooch to Wood: ‘Loopy was the name. It was a Basset Hound, ears dragging on the floor. Lovely dog. I kept [her]. She was a girl.’

Hendrix fascinated his one-time flatmate — who had trained at Ealing Art College and has long pursued an artistic as well as a musical career — as much for his face as for his skill — ‘a bit like Mick, he's pretty hard to capture and so it's always a challenge.’ Which is why Wood has continued to paint Hendrix over the years. His two most recent portraits take pride of place, together with prints of earlier works, in one of the exhibition rooms at the Handel Hendrix Museum, the same house in which the legendary American musician lived for three months on the top floor.

In Wood’s pictures, a forever young Hendrix — he died on September 18, 1970, when he was only 27 — looks intense as he plays the guitar, but also relaxed, almost innocent, in a seated portrait, hat tilted on his head. Colours are always bright and that’s deliberate: ‘There's a picture of him somewhere…where he's wearing bright clothes. That's the Jimmy I knew,’ says Wood.

‘He always was wonderful — spread of colour everywhere, jewellery. He wasn't showing off, it was just a natural thing…He just loved to swing a saree on the bed and tie a handkerchief around his kneecap, wearing silly hats and stuff — because he could wear hats. I can't wear hats.’

The night Hendrix died is etched in Wood’s mind: ‘I was at Ronnie Scott's …and he was walking away with his arm around a girl, and I said, “Hey, Jimmy, say goodbye,” and he kept walking. I said, “Jimmy, say goodbye.” So he turned around and he went, “Bye.” And that was goodbye…My goodbye.’

‘Ronnie Wood: The Jimi Hendrix Portraits’ is at the Handel Hendrix House, 23 Brook Street, London, until April 11, 2027

The Country Life Quiz is published every weekday at 4pm.

Missed a day? Want more quizzes? Catch up on previous editions, here.

It's always exciting when a windmill comes up for sale. So much so that we always write about them when they do, and thus the thought came to me this morning that if I had a pound for every story I've written about a windmill for sale, I'd have enough money to buy a windmill next time one comes up for sale.

I had a look back through the Country Life property archive, and it turns out that this would be a bit of an exaggeration. I'd actually have three pounds. Even if you add in windmill stories that our other property writers have done since I started here, it'd still only be about £12.

That said, each one of those windmills was an absolute classic (as you can see here, here and here), which is something they have in common with the latest windmill to come up for sale: Sutton Windmill, near Stalham in Norfolk. Sowerbys quote £1.5 million for this beautiful place.

As a connoisseur of windmills for sale, the first thing that struck me about Sutton Mill is its sheer size. This is one of the tallest surviving windmills in Britain, if not the tallest: nearby Moulton Mill is usually cited as the tallest, but Historic England records Moulton's height at eight storeys, and Sutton Mill's height at nine storeys.

Either way, it's a true local landmark. Stalham is in one of the flattest parts of Britain — this is the heart of the Norfolk Broads National Park — and this fine building, with its proud white sails, means you need never fear getting lost on a post-lunch walk.

Historic England's listing also gives its original construction date of 1789, though it was rebuilt in 1859 following a fire, and repaired again after a lightning strike in 1940 that stopped it working for good.

The milling business's loss turned out to be the property market's gain: the windmill's restoration began in the late 1970s, and it's been continually improved and updated since then. The current owners have carried out a significant restoration project, which included converting the neighbouring granary into the main body of the home.

And the home is really something: six bedrooms, 7,000 square feet of space and full of original features, from wonderful old timber beams to huge inglenook fireplaces and exposed brickwork.

The sense of space is at its height in the huge kitchen / dining / sitting room, which at almost 90 feet long (that's 27 metres for any Gen Z readers) is one of the biggest rooms we've seen in Country Life all year.

There's also a gym, playroom, another sitting room, a second kitchen and a utility room on the ground floor, three bedrooms on the first floor, three more on the second floor, plus two more smaller spaces that could also be used as bedrooms. And all that's before we've mentioned all the floors of the windmill's tower itself, all of which are accessible.

Should you need even more space, there's a charming three-bedroom holiday cottage in the grounds as well. And for those who don't need extra space, Sowerbys have had a quote from a holiday rentals agency suggesting that the cottage could bring in well over £50,000 a year.

They also ran the same sums for the main house itself, suggesting that rental income for the granary could be around £120,000 a year. You don't need to be Hannah Fry to work out that an annual return of £170,000 is quite the projected return on a £1.5 million purchase price, even after the costs of running it as a rental business are taken into account. Obviously, it'd be a shame to own a property this beautiful and not live in it yourself... but it's useful to know that this could be a wonderful lifestyle business waiting to happen.

Sutton Mill is for sale via Sowerbys at £1.5 million — see more details.

'A pocket square offers one of the simplest opportunities for individual expression,’ says Tom Williams, London retail manager of British tailor Turnbull & Asser. ‘A jacket has a breast pocket for a reason and leaving it empty can feel rather like leaving a corner of a beautiful work of art unpainted.’

The company, founded in 1885 and located on Jermyn Street, since 1903, has been providing the wherewithal for nearly a century.

Lengths of exclusively English silk are hand-printed in Cheshire using a mix of traditional screen-printing techniques and digital methods (for ‘largest colour impact’), before being cut into individual squares. The four edges are rolled and stitched by hand in an intricate process that gives a strong and refined finish.

Described as ‘a canvas on which our designers have unleashed their creativity’, the styles range from bold with bright patterns to simple and subdued. Some are inspired by archival prints and others are collaborations with artists and illustrators. Bespoke monogramming is also available.

The finest arrangement of the pocket square is The Turnbull Rose, created by pushing the centre into a semi-closed fist, before the remaining silk is gathered and ‘picked’, much as one might pick a flower. The silk is lifted from the hand and the remaining fabric gently twisted to create the stem.

Once placed into the pocket, the gathered centre remains visible above it, forming the distinctive rose shape — an English emblem, as Williams puts it, ‘rendered not in petals, but in silk’.

Silk pocket squares from £85. Visit the Turnbull & Asser website for more information and to purchase.

This feature originally appeared in the October 14, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe

In 1961, Country Life published two architecture articles by Mark Girouard on a striking Scottish property called Abercairny Abbey, in the same number of weeks.

The first article described the house as: 'Perhaps the finest example in Scotland of a Gothic abbey of the early 19th century.'

However, these were no ordinary architecture articles. They were the building’s obituary because in 1960, on the orders of its owner, Abercairny was paid a short and terminal visit by the demolition men.

Abercairny was situated deep in the bucolic Perthshire countryside, a few miles from the spa town of Crieff. It, like so many others, stood on the site of another building, demolished to make way for a newer model.

Colonel Charles Moray inherited the Abercairney estate from his brother, in 1784, initially employing Thomas White — Capability Brown’s former foreman — to tame the Scottish landscape. It is presumed that White was responsible for the picturesque lake and main planting schemes.

Satisfied with the land, Moray turned to the house. He tinkered around with plans to extended and enhance the existing property, but finding no solution that pleased him, was determined to begin again. He would settle on a grand and very fashionable Gothic-Revival abbey.

It took a few years for Moray to find the right architect. He eventually plumped for Richard Crichton, who had trained under the exacting eyes of Robert and John Adam. His accolades include the Bank of Scotland building on The Mound in Edinburgh, Balbirnie in neighbouring Fife, and Dunglass in East Lothian.

The building work began in 1804, but its progress was slow — hampered by supposed tensions between architect and client. The latter had one too many opinions. It was still a shell when, on October 18, 1810, Moray died.

Work began again, a few years later, on the instruction of a descendant, Colonel James Moray. According to contemporary newspaper reports, he introduced curling to his lake, to entertain local farmers during the frosty winter of 1812.

Crichton died, aged 46, in 1817, and the Abercairny project was handed to Richard and Robert Dickinson of Edinburgh. The house and stables were finally finished five years into Queen Victoria's reign. If it had survived, it would've have been a contender for the set of The Traitors.

Inside, stucco was moulded and painted to imitate more conventional, but expensive wood and stone carvings. They were executed by David Roberts — who started his career designing theatrical sets.

So intriguing was the castellated mock abbey that on September 12, 1842, Queen Victoria, passing through, alighted from her carriage to inspect it. She was said to have only got out 'for a moment', so it's hard to gauge what her reaction was.

Subsequent heirs made changes to the striking building, including the 1869 addition of a tower by Charles Stirling Home Drummond Moray.

This Charles, who also owned Blair Atholl, died in 1891. After this date, the building, which was, by now, no longer fashionable, fell from family favour. In 1904, adverts to rent Abercairney appeared in Country Life. By the mid 20th century, it was suffering from neglect.

It was requisitioned as a hospital for the majority of the Second World War, but managed to hang on to its original, Victorian gilded wallpapers, heavy damask curtains and stucco ceilings. Following the war, and with little protection in place for Victorian piles, the family decided to move to a smaller house on the grounds and do away with the expensive-to-maintain property.

Country Life’s photographs are considered to be the most complete visual record of this remarkable building.

The Country Life Image Archive contains more than 150,000 images documenting British culture and heritage, from 1897 to the present day. To search and purchase images directly from the Image Archive, please register here.

‘Our vines span 230 acres,’ beams Sarah Perrin, a tour and tasting guide at Rathfinny wine estate in East Sussex. It’s a grey autumn afternoon and a gusty sea wind hailing from the nearby Seven Sisters smacks us across the face. A hawk cries overhead. ‘The Romans always said the ideal spot for a vineyard was three miles from the sea,’ Perrin explains. ‘It diminishes the risk of frost, which can be fatal for vines not only in winter, but in spring.’ What about the hawk? ‘He scares away smaller birds,’ she laughs, ‘more cheaply and efficiently than would our plastic coverings.’ Inside a warehouse is a wine factory with towering basket presses in fashionable stainless steel.

As the wine harvest draws to a close, England’s vintners have cause to celebrate. ‘2026 has been a landmark vintage for Rathfinny,’ says the estate's co-founder, Mark Driver. ‘We’ve brought in top-quality fruit from across the estate that will be vinified and aged in our cellars, then sold in 2030/2031.’ The company is hoping to make roughly 30,000 cases of Sussex Sparkling this year, released through restaurants, hotels and independent merchants. ‘Our yields are up 30% from 2025 and akin to 2023,’ Driver explains: a year that produced what's known as a bumper crop.

He and his wife, also called Sarah, bought the farm where Rathfinny now sits in 2010 after both had made a fortune in the City. They converted the barns into accommodation and decided to become winemakers. A business such as theirs can take 15 years to become profitable — assuming there are no snags. Years like 2026 are few, far between and play an outsize role in ensuring that things break even.

Forty miles away at Nyetimber, the atmosphere is equally ebullient. ‘The year is tracking very closely to 2025,’ says Cherie Spriggs, the estate’s head winemaker (last year’s crop, though not as bountiful as 2023’s, was sweeter and of higher quality due to an exceptionally sunny summer). ‘We should produce about 1.5 million bottles this year,’ she continues, of which many will go to overseas markets such as China, Japan and Scandinavia. ‘It pairs well with the stalwarts of their cuisine,’ Cherie notes of these jurisdictions, ‘primarily fresh fish.’

Although Nyetimber does not yet allow purveyors to buy bottles en primeur, such an allocation could easily become more desirable for English wines in the future, Cherie warns. As vintners like herself celebrate outlier status in a landscape that has borne, overall, less than it usually would, this is a space well worth watching.

This feature originally appeared in the October 14, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

Somewhere along the line, cars lost their way.

It’s 2026, and they are bigger, heavier, more powerful and more technologically advanced than ever. This isn’t a good thing. Today you can buy a 1,000bhp family SUV, with a series of giant screens that can play YouTube and FaceTime your aunt in Australia. It will park for you and ‘ding’ every time you trickle over the speed limit. It will likely be electric, weigh nearly three tonnes and cost upwards of £100,000.

It’s not just SUVs that have gotten out of hand. Most sports cars are simply too big and heavy for proper, enjoyable driving. There’s that famous Colin Chapman quote, ‘simplify, then add lightness’. Today, it seems the opposite is true. Companies endeavor to ‘complicate, then add weight’.

Morgan didn't get the memo. This British company has been quietly hand-building its sports cars in Malvern since 1909. They are small, lightweight, analogue machines, without distracting touch screens and plastic body panels. Designed for driving first and foremost, they are built the old fashioned way; its current workshop has been in operation since 1918, with its workers still hand-beating body panels and carving wooden frames as they have for decades. It might now be majority owned by an Italian investment group, but Morgan is distinctly old school and proudly British.

‘Every car is coach-built in Malvern, with a significant amount of the work carried out by hand’, says a spokesperson for Morgan. ‘More than 90% of the parts used across our cars are sourced from within the UK, with more than half coming from the Midlands. Just as importantly, there is a continuity of skills and knowledge here. Craftsmen and women work alongside designers and engineers, passing specialist techniques between generations while continuing to develop them. Morgan is a global company, but that concentration of design, engineering, craft and manufacturing in Britain remains central to who we are.’ Walk through the orange brick walls of its Edwardian workshops and you’ll notice there is no hint of AI or autonomous robots. As a result, its lineup of cars looks like it hasn’t changed since the 1950s.

This is certainly the case outside the Bergen Børs hotel, a grand 19th century former stock exchange building in Norway’s second largest city. There are brand new Plus Fours, as well as the Supersports, Morgan’s latest and most advanced model. The unmistakable burble of a V8 idles gently under the bonnet of an early 2000s Plus Eight, a time when its engines were bought in from Rover. A retro futurist Aero 8 comes to life with its own V8 growl, while a British Racing Green 4/4 looks elegant with its longer silhouette designed to house two small adults, or more realistically, extra luggage, in the back.

I am here for Morgan Explores Norway, a four day drive through west Norway, which will take in the finest roads, landscapes and hospitality this part of the country has to offer. It’s one of a series of trips Morgan organises, with previous destinations including the Dolomites, the Pyrenees and Scotland, allowing enthusiasts to enjoy the view from behind their own Morgan or one rented from the company. For Norway, I am joining owners from across the world who have arrived in their pride-and-joys, spoked wheels and chrome bumpers gleaming in the early sub-Arctic sun.

My car for the week is a 2026 Plus Four. Finished in a dashing shade of Alpine Bleu Paon, it too looks right at home on the cobblestone streets of Bergen. Its wheels aren’t spoked; rather they are silver painted alloys inspired by the steel wheels found on the Jaguar D-Type, giving it a purposeful, sporty stance. Its familiar long louvred bonnet and extended side wings look straight out of the 1950s, while the round front LED lights cleverly integrate the indicators and side lights, giving a subtle minimal update on the classic Morgan front end.

Like all Morgans, it’s the kind of car that stops people in its tracks. I am reliably told by more than one owner that the first question people ask them is ‘what is it?’, quickly followed by ‘how old is it?’. I later find this out myself, with my interrogator stunned when I tell them it is brand new.

The Plus Four isn’t made to be just looked at. It’s been designed as a driver’s car, without any of the technological inconveniences that plague more mass-produced machinery. Because it’s built to low numbers, it doesn’t have lane assist or speed limit warnings like many of its competitors. Meanwhile its low slung driving position and outstanding visibility immediately inspire confidence, so anticipation builds as we leave the city.

Getting onto bigger open roads, the Morgan comes into its own. Its precise steering allows you to place the car accurately through a long sweeping bend, with the car’s small body meaning you can play around with different lines. ‘We deliberately prioritise lightweight construction, feedback and connection rather than simply pursuing headline performance figures’, says the Morgan spokesperson. ‘The Plus Four’s strength is the purity and familiarity of the traditional Morgan sports-car proposition. It retains a particular lightness, simplicity and immediacy that are enormously important to us.’ While electronically assisted, the handling has plenty of feel, bolstering the Plus Four’s analogue approach. Furthering this is the beautifully designed cabin, complete with old school dials, smooth wooden detailing and not a touchscreen in sight. The only downside is the gear selector and plastic paddles behind the wheel.

While you can spec a Plus Four in manual for the full analogue experience, mine is automatic, featuring the well regarded eight-speed ZF gearbox. This is paired with a BMW 2.0-litre turbocharged inline-four engine, which produces 255bhp, helping the car hit 60mph from standstill in 4.8 seconds.

This doesn’t seem especially quick when you compare it to the pace of some aforementioned SUVs, but as it weighs only 1,040kg, it is seriously agile and fun. It doesn’t try to overwhelm you with straight line pace; rather its lightweight character makes each journey exciting. ‘You're not isolated from the driving [like other new cars]’, says Dennis Glavis, managing director of Morgan West in Santa Monica, who is participating in the drive. ‘Even though it's got power steering, it's so light and nimble that you know exactly what the car is doing. It's got that connection that a lot of new cars don’t.’

This is especially true around the fjords surrounding Sandane and Øye and on one of Norway’s most famous roads, the Trollstigen, or ‘Troll’s Ladder’. A picturesque mountain pass, it took 20 years to carve the road into the jagged landscape, beginning in 1916, when other parts of Europe were at war. The full road, with its 11 hairpins and 9% incline wasn’t finished until 1936, by which point cars were significantly more advanced. While too tight to be a true driver’s road, the Morgan makes light work of the twists and turns, careering around each hairpin like it’s on rails. Accelerate out of each corner and hear the whooshing of the turbo and feel the wind in your hair. Don’t forget to take your eyes off the road for a second to admire the Stigfossen waterfall plunging alongside you.

The Morgan is part driver’s car, part vessel for exploration. It’s not dissimilar to a motorcycle in that sense; drive one and you are exposed to the elements in the same way. It’s this sense of adventure and the resulting camaraderie that clients enjoy, both about these trips and wider Morgan ownership. ‘A car that's fun to drive attracts a certain clientele and personalities’, says Brian Lewis, a Morgan owner from the USA on the trip. ‘If it was a high-performance race car, the people would be different. But this is a very fun, generous group, and after every trip we talk about where we’ll go again.’

‘We did the Dolomites, the Pyrenees, and came straight from Morgan Explores Scotland to Norway for this’, said his partner Marlene. ‘I enjoy the people that you meet and their stories. What I really loved is all the people on the side of the road watching these cars go down in all these different colours, smiling and waving.’

For others, it’s the history and image that appeals. ‘It's the soul and the heritage’, says Christian Hallan, lifelong Morgan enthusiast and former dealer. ’It's handmade, still in the same production facilities as it's been since 1919. It's unique that they have survived, and also that it's socially accepted everywhere. You turn up somewhere in a brand new Morgan and everybody thinks, "Oh, you have restored a nice old car”, when in fact it’s the opposite.'

That’s one of the interesting things about new Morgans. They might look vintage, but they aren’t complete luddites. There’s the engine and gearbox, which are decidedly modern, powerful and efficient. There’s double wishbone suspension, a setup still used in Formula 1, and the aforementioned electric steering. A bonded lightweight aluminium chassis keeps weight down, while interior luxuries include heated seats and a bluetooth stereo.

The latest model, the Supersport 400, even has serious performance, with 400bhp from its BMW 3.0-litre turbo inline-six. These combine with fancy adjustable Nitron dampers for proper track ability and a power-to-weight ratio similar to a Porsche 911 GTS RS. That’s possible because it only weighs 1,170kg. The Supersport is the most advanced car to ever leave Malvern, but at heart it’s still a simple, lightweight British sports car.

In some ways a Morgan is the antithesis to modern car ownership. In buying one you are compromising slightly, whether on all-out comfort, luggage space or tech. But that is precisely the appeal. They offer something that is lost on other new cars — fun. And that’s true whether you’re traversing Norway’s Atlantic Ocean Road or the B roads of Kent.

‘A cynical person, asked to solve the conundrum, “When is a bulldog not a bulldog?” might be disposed to reply, “When he is a Bouledogue Français,”’ quipped Country Life at the turn of the 20th century.

Citing the French bulldog’s ‘bat ears’, less projected jaw, lack of furrow in the skull, and large eyes, the author nonetheless went on to conclude that ‘as all these characteristics were present in the small English bulldogs of fifty or sixty years ago, there is substantial ground for the belief that both are of the same stock’ — thus overturning the conclusion of a different article a year earlier, that ‘the word “bulldog” applied to this breed is a misnomer’ as ‘the Bouledogue Français certainly resembles more closely the Boston terrier’.

Despite its name, the Frenchie does not solely owe its existence to dedicated breeders in France. In the past, perhaps unsurprisingly, French breeders hotly contested the role the British played in the dog’s origin, but it is now generally accepted that the breed is a descendant of the English bulldog and its lineage traces back to the British toy bulldogs of the 1850s that had long been popular in the Midlands.

When Nottingham lace-makers emigrated to France during the Industrial Revolution, they took their little bulldogs with them. There, they are thought to have been crossbred with other short-faced types, eventually resulting in the ‘Frenchie’ as we know it. ‘It is quite understandable that the Parisiennes, with their love of the bizarre and the petite, may have welcomed these little dogs,’ Country Life reported in 1957.

It was not long before the vivacious little dog ‘full of courage, yet with clown-like qualities’, captured the hearts of locals, being first prized by street traders and courtesans. The breed would appear in paintings by Degas and Toulouse-Lautrec — the latter would depict a French bulldog, Bouboule, at the Moulin Rouge in several works — and soon they became a status symbol of the upper classes and wealthy Americans travelling to Paris in the late 1800s.

According to the ship records of RMS Titanic, a French bulldog named Gamin de Pycombe, belonging to US banker Robert Daniel, went down with the ship in 1912 (his owner survived). In the early scenes of the 1997 film, a Frenchie is shown boarding the boat.

In Britain, King Edward VII was a great admirer of the breed and owned several, notably his beloved brindle dog called Peter. This royal patronage may have had some influence with The Kennel Club, who unbent slightly in 1905 and allowed bouledogues français to be registered as a ‘sub-variety of Foreign Dogs’, and in 1912 the club capitulated and acknowledged French bulldogs as a separate breed.

Country Life would celebrate the ‘neat little Frenchman whose contour seldom brings to mind a roly-poly pudding, or is disfigured by blubber that effectually destroys any shapeliness’ and advised that ‘the ideal French bulldog is smart and cobby, strongly built without being coarse, and displaying an activity that is superior to that of the English bulldog’.

By 1939 Country Life accepted that French bulldogs presented a very distinct type, a fact that caused the late Colonel F. Romilly to write: ‘The essential characteristics of French bulldogs are as redolent of France as the bouquet of her wines, combining the exquisite quality of Bordeaux, the glorious vitality of Burgundy, the exhilarating sparkle of Champagne with the culminating satisfaction of an eau de vie of purest Cognac.’

Clownish is also a description long associated with the Frenchie — Will Judy wrote of the breed in the 1936 Dog Encyclopaedia: ‘He may look serious but he is a laughing philosopher ... He is always a clown.’

Enthusiasm for this cheerful, wrinkly-nosed dog may stem largely from its endearingly comical appearance — with its big bat or ‘tulip-shaped’ ears, sturdy body, and exaggerated features — but also from its role within celebrity culture.

The breed has always had a certain je ne sais quoi that appeals to the rich and famous. Yves Saint Laurent owned four; D. H. Lawrence wrote poetry about his ‘bat eared dog’, Bibbles; and Nancy Mitford had three, presumably inspiring Plon-plon, the little French dog in The Pursuit of Love. The breed even appealed to Russian royalty — Ortipo, the mischievous Frenchie belonging to Grand Duchess Tatiana Romanov, daughter of Tsar Nicholas II, is mentioned frequently and fondly in the family diaries.

In recent years, the Rockefellers, the Morgans, the Bloombergs, Lady Gaga, Reese Witherspoon, Martha Stewart, Hugh Jackman, Leonardo DiCaprio, the Beckhams, and Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps have all been confirmed Frenchie fans.

The late Carrie Fisher’s therapy dog, Gary, was a popular fixture on the red carpet, and renowned dog lover and actor Tom Hardy even took his French bulldog Blue to a film screening in 2021, posing for photographs in Leicester Square, London.

This is an extract from 'The Country Life Book of Dogs' (Rizzoli, £50) by Agnes Stamp.

Cheshire — £17.5 million

Agents call this 'one of Cheshire's finest houses'. What it lacks in age (it was built in 2015) it makes up for in grandeur as a modern 'Georgian' mansion in sprawling parkland.

Seven bedrooms, a magnificent indoor pool and enormous living spaces.

Even the garage is really quite something. What a place.

For sale via Savills — see more details and pictures.

Northamptonshire — £2 million

Six bedrooms, six bathrooms and five reception rooms at this recently-built country home in the Notswolds. Just under two acres of land, a triple garage and a village location add to the appeal.

For sale via Michael Graham — see more details and pictures.

Hampshire — £2.6 million

Surrounded by fields and woodland, this house comes with almost 20 acres of the South Downs National Park to call your own.

There's a pond, an indoor pool and six bedrooms, plus plenty of Edwardian charm.

For sale via Strutt & Parker — see more details and pictures.

West Sussex — £13.25 million

Absolutely breathtaking, this eight-bedroom masterpiece sits in 11.6 acres on the slopes of Blackdown, in the South Downs National Park near Haslemere.

Designed by Ian Adam-Smith, it has a wine cellar, cinema room, swimming pool and gardens to die for. Idyllic.

For sale via Knight Frank — see more details and pictures.

Somerset — £1 million

A medieval farmhouse with its own orchard? This is the stuff of country house dreams.

For sale via Roderick Thomas via OnTheMarket — see more details and pictures.

Derbyshire — £1.575 million

This gorgeous Queen Anne House, built in 1703, is a joy, with seven bedrooms, grand reception rooms and fine gardens.

For sale via John German via OnTheMarket — see more details and pictures.

Hartforth is a hamlet that stands a few miles north of Richmond above a little valley with a beck, the most northern tributary of the River Swale. Running through it is Jagger Lane, a road once busy with packhorses exchanging lead from Swaledale for salt and coal from ports on the River Tees. This once bustling scene has given way to a placid Georgian landscape and the surrounding grassy slopes are enlivened by field barns and other small buildings given a Gothick dress during the Regency. They were perhaps inspired by the spectacular Gothic Temple at Aske Hall, an adjoining estate to the south, which was designed for Sir Conyers Darcy in 1745 by Daniel Garrett, and Garrett’s coeval Gothick Culloden Tower at Richmond and Gillingwood Hall in the same valley. All this has given the Hartforth estate a Gothick genius loci that was a part-inspiration for the new house completed there in 2008 by Sir Josslyn Gore-Booth to the design of Digby Harris of Francis Johnson and Partners.

Home Farm is a Janus-faced new house in the spirit of Castle Ward, Co Down, or Castle Goring in West Sussex. It sports a Gothick façade towards the valley landscape (Fig 1) and a more severe Palladian entrance elevation (Fig 2) enclosed by historic farm buildings, including a listed cart shed, granary and a horse engine shed. This format was suggested by a set of drawings by Francis Johnson who, when awaiting his army call-up in 1943, had dreamed of an ‘Ideal House’ for himself and his lifelong partner Edward Ingram. It reflected their different characters: Gothick for Ingram and more restrained Palladian for Johnson. Like many youthful jeux d’esprit, it never made it to construction, but the discovery of the drawings in the firm’s architectural archive was an inspiration for Johnson’s business partner and successor Mr Harris when he was asked by Sir Josslyn to design a small new country house on his estate in North Yorkshire in 2004. Planning permission was unanimously granted for the out-of-the-ordinary design.

The scheme, however, had been long in gestation. Sir Josslyn inherited the Hartforth property unexpectedly more than 50 years ago at the nadir of the post-war English country estate. It had been the childhood home of his grandmother Mary, Lady Barnard, under whose welcoming roof and battlements at Raby Castle in Co Durham he had been born and brought up. Hartforth Hall, a Georgian house extended with the coal money of her Straker father, remained the home of his childless widowed great-aunt Mrs Cradock when he inherited the farms and woodland. It was by then reduced to characteristic post-war decay, its contents largely dispersed and dry rot rampaging.

The future of Hartforth did not look assured in the 1970s. Shortly after, Sir Josslyn found himself shouldering another heavier responsibility in the form of Lissadell, the Greek Revival family seat in Co Sligo. It was then in a state of near dereliction, with a leaking roof and rotten structural timbers. The remarkable story of Lissadell’s revival will be told in a future article, but the Gore-Booths eventually sold the property and, in December 2003, returned to the North-East of England. By then, Hartforth Hall had been sold and was being run as a small hotel. In the event, the focus was soon the Home Farm, overlooking the hamlet with its little green.

As far back as 1984, Sir Josslyn’s imagination had been fired by a small, but almost evangelical exhibition ‘Classical Survival: Classical Revival’ at the Building Centre, London WC1, showcasing the then underappreciated architectural achievements of Raymond Erith, Johnson, John Simpson and Quinlan Terry. Soon after, at Mr Harris’s suggestion, John Cornforth published three articles on Johnson (Country Life, October, 11, 18 and 25, 1984), who was then at the height of his game at Garrowby and Sunderlandwick in East Yorkshire and Settrington in North Yorkshire. These and other publications, sowed the seed that was to come to fruition at Hartforth 20 years later.

Sir Josslyn’s feeling that a manageable new house designed by the Francis Johnson Practice might be the best policy was confirmed when, as a Raby trustee, he recommended Mr Harris for the major refurbishment of Selaby Hall on the Raby estate. The result was impressive. They first met on site at Hartforth in 2004 on a snowy Ash Wednesday and agreed that a ‘model farm’ would complement the listed farm buildings. The adjacent farmhouse was not listed, being a plain stone structure with a sole claim to historical fame: that the young William Hague had been the tenant there for six months when first elected MP for Richmond.

The concept of a miniature Palladian villa with a centralised plan in the manner of the architects Sir Robert Taylor, Sir Edward Lovett Pearce, Thomas Ivory or John Carr seemed the perfect solution. Sir Josslyn, having a strong interest in architecture and Georgian culture in general (he was a trustee and treasurer of the Georgian Group for many years), played a large role in the conception. A plan was gradually conceived with a central geometrical staircase (the spandrels being useful for services), flanked by drawing room, dining room and, not a library as in Taylor’s houses, but a large modern kitchen. It led to a perfect partnership between client and architect. As Mr Harris commented: ‘It is rare for client and architect to be completely in accord, but when it does happen it makes for the happiest of jobs.’

This constructive symbiosis is manifested at Hartforth in both the excellence of the general concept and the perfection of every detail. It is not an exaggeration to say that Home Farm is an architectural masterpiece of the 18th-century revival. This has been recognised by the Georgian Group Award for the ‘best new building in a Georgian Context’ and Hartforth’s inclusion in the revised ‘Buildings of England’ volume Yorkshire: The North Riding (2023), where it is described as Johnson’s ‘most successful North Riding design… a composite of Georgian and Gothick ably brought to life by his successor Mr Harris’. The contractor responsible for the excellent construction work was Steve Mellows from Castle Bytham in Lincolnshire.

An integral part of the scheme was the surrounding valley landscape, which has been treated as a seamless extension of the Georgian parkland around Hartforth Hall. Before work began at Home Farm, the opposite side of the beck was marred by an unsightly pig shed. This was demolished and the area grassed and dotted with clumps of trees. Mike Ibbotson of Colvin & Moggridge was the landscape consultant, but Sir Josslyn had a large personal input.

The informal avenue on the central south axis, derived from Sledmere, East Yorkshire, was his concept. Peter and Sal Sharp, for whom Mr Harris had remodelled Borwick Lodge in Lancashire, initially advised on the planting scheme of the garden, which includes the courtyard and a formal layout to the east with a central stone-edged canal, leading to the orchard with a Gothick folly, screening the pre-existing farm cottages, with later help from Prunella Scarlett and Debbie Collier. The new and extended landscaping at Hartforth provides a perfect setting for the new house and helps incorporate it into the historic surroundings.

The design of the house faithfully fulfils Johnson’s ‘Ideal’ on a larger scale, with a castellated south front complete with balconied bow overlooking the new landscape and ogee-headed windows, constrasted by a severer Palladian courtyard elevation with a giant pediment enclosing a Diocletian window. Extra distinction is achieved by the use of sandstone from Witton Fell Quarry in Wensleydale for the exteriors, complementing the rubble of the subsidiary retained ranges.

There is a Doric cornice derived from Robert Adam’s Lansdowne House in London, in the rectangular entrance hall (Fig 3). A pair of symmetrical niches flank the door to the central full-height staircase hall beyond. The plan of the stair is a Pythagorean Ellipse, a form reflective of Sir Josslyn’s love of geometry at school (Fig 7). There are subtle Gothick touches in here, such as the arched steel handrail and the blank arches at first-floor level. The stairs are a marvel of cantilevered Tadcaster limestone. Another feature of all the main rooms is the superb mahogany joinery, by Houghtons of York with French polishing by David Podmore: the panelled doors and the curving hand rail of the stair which, in Johnsonian manner, ends in an elegant scroll inlaid with an ivory disc. (The architect kept an old Victorian billiard ball for this purpose, sliced as required.)

The north-south axis is continued in the central D-shaped dining room (Fig 4). This room has a Gothick ceiling embellished with cusped arcs. The new stucco work in here, as throughout the rooms, is by Stevensons of Norwich. An especially splendid feature is the parquetry timber floor, reflecting the ceiling pattern. Such luxurious parquetry is a revived craft instigated by the restoration of the George IV floors at Windsor Castle. It was executed by Weldon Flooring.

Another eye-catching feature is the set of Gothick dining chairs made by Pascal Silvestre of York, based on an 18th-century design, which were first discovered in a local saleroom. They were painted appropriately by Charles Hesp, who was responsible for all the specialist painting in the main rooms. Tom Helme, who made Farrow & Ball paint into a national brand, came out of retirement to advise on decoration.

To the west is the simple Classical kitchen, treated as a principal room in the way of most modern houses, with a Serlian arch into the pantry (Fig 6). Beyond in a retained single-storey range, with reused Yorkshire sliding sash windows from the old farmhouse, is the sitting room, back hall and laundry.

The whole of the east side of the house is taken up by the drawing room (Fig 9) with perfect Palladian proportions, 36ft by 18ft and 12ft high, with a canted bay overlooking the east garden (Fig 5). This room was designed to contain a display of paintings in elaborate Florentine frames collected by Sir Robert Gore-Booth on a second Grand Tour of Italy in 1837; they are a survival of the collection originally in the Picture Gallery at Lissadell. The chimneypiece was designed by Mr Harris and carved by Jose Sarabia; the marbled painting was executed by Mr Hesp.

On the first floor are four principal bedrooms and bathrooms, all with lovely views from the windows, but the final surprise of the house is the top floor, which comprises Sir Josslyn’s library with fitted bookcases and the Diocletian window overlooking the courtyard, village green and all comings and goings. There are also views over the landscape from delightful round windows (Fig 8).

Home Farm, Hartforth, is a remarkable creation: the joint work of a client with sophisticated tastes and a traditionally skilled architect at the height of his powers. The whole concept with its designed landscape and beautifully finished and arranged interiors is in the best English country-house tradition. It has Irish touches too; not only the retained contents from Lissadell, but the general character of a compact Georgian house.

The greatest tribute of appreciation comes, perhaps, from the walkers who have replaced the pack horses on nearby Jagger Lane and over the picturesque stone-arched bridge across the beck: they tend to think the house is 18th century and has been there for 200 years, rather than 20.

This feature originally appeared in the September 30, 2026, print edition of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

The coast of North Devon is beautiful. It has wide, sandy beaches, charming villages and beautiful, unspoilt countryside on the doorstep, in the form of the Exmoor National Park.

It's also home to one of the most unsual properties for sale in Britain today: The Manor House in Lynmouth. It's set in a seaside village that's tucked away amid slopes steep enough to earn the area the nickname 'Little Switzerland'. And while it's a pretty place, it's not exorbitantly expensive by most standards; a four-bed semi-detached home costs £350,000, for example, and for £500,000 you could own a guest house.

Not everything on this stretch of coastline is quite so affordable. Just around the headland from Lynmouth you'll find Glenthorne, one of the most striking homes in the West Country, for sale at £6.5 million and located in a place dubbed 'the most beautiful spot on Earth' by its former owner.

That makes it all the more incredible, then, that local estate agents Stags are listing The Manor House at just £350,000. So what's the catch? Is there a catch?

Well, yes: of course there's a catch.

The Manor House comes with a separate coach house, two cottages, an acre of land, outbuildings and more — but it also comes with a vast amount of work to do, a leasehold agreement, and a ground rent of £30,000 a year. There are just under 110 years of the 120-year lease remaining, and as the listing states, 'the tenant is obliged to carry out considerable renovations'.

That's putting it mildly.

As the pictures show, those renovations have started in parts of the property, and some rooms appear to have been finished up — but others are still largely building sites. This is a huge project to take on, returning a place that has been run both as a hotel and a care home to profitable use.

It could become a hotel once more, but the agents add that it could as easily become a restaurant, wedding venue, wellness centre or anything else, subject to planning and permission. And while £30,000 a year is a lot, a successful business would potentially be able to recoup that amount and then some.

One thing is for sure: the new buyer will need a great team in place — architect, builder, lawyer and more — before they even think about submitting a bid. The phrase caveat emptor has rarely seemed more appropriate.

With the housing market running slowly, prices wobbly, and interest rates causing headaches for anyone either buying or remortgaging, there's no surprise that The Manor House in Lynmouth is far from the only interesting fixer-upper on the market right now.

There's another great example in Margate, the Kent seaside town that has seen huge gentrification in recent years, not least thanks to local girl Tracey Emin. Here, you'll find a three-storey, six-bedroom townhouse for sale via auction with a starting price of just £135,000.

As well as the work that needs doing, there's also a lot to get your head around — both in terms of the space, as well as the effort required. The house is on an angled plot, and several of the rooms, as shown in pictures and floorplans, are parallelograms rather than rectangles. It might be quirky, but in a town now full of modern art it seems fitting. And if it doesn't bother you, this seems an incredibly reasonable price for a house close to the Old Town, the beach and the station.

Slightly more expensive, but just as much in need of TLC, is this farmhouse on the wild north-east coast of Scotland, half-way between Brora and Wick.

Listed at 'offers over £160,000', it has a gorgeous setting overlooking the North Sea, and it's enormous, with seven bedrooms.

That's the good news. The pictures make the bad news pretty clear.

Still, the potential is massive, and the house is also just off the main NC500 tourist route around the coast. The route's popularity has brought traffic and people to places not used to either, and that has caused friction. But it's also created huge opportunities to do new things with buildings in amazing settings such as this one.

For brave buyers willing to look part the problems and take on a big project, it'll be a tempting prospect.

The Manor House and Estate in Lynmouth is for sale via Stags.

The house on Charlotte Square, Margate, is for sale via Miles & Barr.

Shantry Farm in Latheron is for sale via Yvonne Fitzgerald.

3am

There’s hardly a soul about in Mayfair and the streets are inky-dark. Halfway down Brook’s Mews, however, the lights are about to come on. One of London’s top floral wholesalers is pulling up in a van outside Claridge’s Flowers, which, as well as selling bouquets, creates all the arrangements for the hotel. The vehicle is laden with seasonal blooms, including bunches of British-grown irises and dahlias. So long-established is the relationship that the florists have their own key.

4am

Two doors down, the Claridge’s Bakery is coming to life. ‘We’re working with something alive, so you’re constantly having to adapt to things like the weather,’ says head baker Fred Doncel-Latorre, who has been up since 2.30am, as he refreshes the hotel’s sourdough starter. Boules are rising in a giant steam-oven heated to 260ºC, which can take 40 loaves at a time (the hotel gets through 100 per day).

Meanwhile, 50 of the 300 croissants required for breakfast are baking in a kind of glass-fronted walk-in wardrobe, wafting a heavenly scent. Around the corner, the dough for tomorrow’s pastries is being laminated with butter; three days’ work goes into each croissant.

5am

In 1812, there were two hotels on Brook Street: Mivart’s and a second, belonging to William and Marianne Claridge. The Claridges bought Mivart’s in 1854 and, in 1860, their hotel hit the headlines when the Empress Eugenie, one of history’s first brand ambassadors (for Louis Vuitton), entertained Queen Victoria there. Today, with guests flying in from all over the world, it’s a 24-hour operation, but, in as much as there’s ever a lull, it’s now. Reception is still quiet, apart from the tinkle of cutlery being set out for breakfast in The Foyer and a pianist practising for teatime. This is a good time for maintenance; on the landing, a gilt picture frame is being painstakingly touched up with a tiny brush.

6am

Plenty of people staying here still want a good, old-fashioned newspaper delivered to their door before breakfast: the concierges drop off between 150 and 180 every morning along the hotel’s 2½ miles of corridors. International guests ask for the news from home, even now that they can read it on their phones; The New York Times is popular despite being a day behind, as the copies are flown over on publication day.

7am

Breakfast is served in The Foyer, with its intricate mirrors and plush curvilinear chairs. It’s a best-of-British hit parade — Cacklebean eggs from the Cotswolds, smoked salmon from the Severn & Wye smokery, Stornoway’s finest black pudding — but I spot everything from waffles to a charcuterie plate. My eye is caught by the ‘Japanese breakfast’, with rolled omelette, miso soup, pickles and green tea.

8am

Guests who have landed in London on red-eye flights are beginning to arrive, their suitcases discreetly whisked upstairs. They themselves will travel to their rooms in one of London’s oldest lifts, which still has the dial over the door and a sofa inside. Trolleys glide along unobtrusively: with 269 rooms and suites to look after, housekeeping is an around-the-clock endeavour.

9am

Is Claridge’s ladies powder room London’s best-preserved Art Deco space? The burnished woodwork, flattering mirrors and comfy chairs also invite indiscretion; the last time I was in here, I overheard an incredible piece of celebrity gossip. Outside in the lobby is one of the magnificent seasonal arrangements for which the hotel has been famous since 1859, when floristry was brought in house. ‘We’re part of the theatre,’ Claridge’s Flowers CEO Richard Eagleton tells me.

10am

Hero is 27 and she comes to Claridge’s once a week to sit on the roof. She has deep-brown eyes and is, in case you hadn’t already guessed, a Harris hawk. ‘She scares away pigeons and gulls, which can play havoc with the exterior of the building and its air-conditioning units,’ says Phil Huzzey, with whom Hero lives and who has been working with Claridge’s for 12 years.

11am

While I’m up here, I jump at the opportunity to have a look around the extraordinarily opulent, 11,840sq ft penthouse, which takes up the entire ninth floor, with general manager Thomas Kochs. Built in 2023, it has its own swimming pool, a private gym and 360-degree views of the city (the bespoke sofas move on tracks to capitalise on this). I think it would have won over even Sir Winston Churchill, who, when he and his wife took over the then sixth-floor penthouse, complained about being so high up (he did, however, make sure that the hotel’s railings were never melted down for the war effort).

12 noon

Back downstairs, lunch is already in full swing. ‘A hotel is always judged on its club sandwich,’ culinary director Simon Attridge tells me — and I spot several winding their way to tables, alongside Caesar salads and seafood cocktails (if you really want to push the boat out, there’s a lobster Wellington for two). Employees dine at Muse, the staff restaurant, which is run by the same team and uses exactly the same suppliers. Unlike many hotels, which are notably stingy when it comes to staff meals, the offering is unlimited and, I gather, is one of the reasons so many people have stayed for so long.

1pm

As well as handling some 1,600 staff uniforms and all the laundry from guests (some of whom travel with their own bedding and bed linen), the linen room deals with monogramming and personalisation requests for everything from dressing gowns to teddy bears; often initials, but recently the Crystal Palace FC crest. Overseeing everything is seamstress Afkar Ismail, known to all as Fifi, who arrived 24 years ago after stints with Liberty, Amanda Wakeley and Jaeger. ‘My husband asked me why I wanted to work in a hotel, but as soon as I came here it felt like family,’ she says. Her dedication is extraordinary; she recently stayed late into the night to alter a guest’s wedding dress.

2pm

A few floors further down is the spa, which, in a crowded field, must be one of London’s most luxurious. The pale-pink marble and concentric wooden circles on the ceiling of the sauna hark back to Art Deco, but the state-of-the-art heated pool is infused with electrolytes so you bob around as if you’re in the Dead Sea. The team kindly fits me in for a massage, which is so soothing that I fall asleep and wake myself up by snoring.

3pm

The words ‘hotel business centre’ are normally a heart-sinker, but, at Claridge’s, guests with work to do can sequester themselves in the handsome Map Room, named for the walnut marquetry one inlaid in a wall. A tray of freshly baked madeleines arrives on the dot of 3pm.

This is only the tip of the teatime iceberg: downstairs in the kitchen, I find executive pastry chef Thibault Hauchard scrutinising miniature pineapple-and-lime sables. ‘I’ve never known a hotel like this in terms of attention to detail,’ he says. A high-tech tempering machine works its magic on 40lb of chocolate and a sous chef is painstakingly microplaning the base of meringue nests, which will become peach and lemon-verbena pavlovas, so they sit flat.

4pm

Patisserie is flying off the pass — guests enjoy some 300,000 cakes each year — together with perfect, crustless sandwiches. These are overseen by an industry legend: Volodymr Tokaryk. Nobody seems to know exactly how long he’s been working for the hotel (‘28 years? No, 31…’), but he is estimated to have made more than a million sandwiches in his time, each measuring precisely 10cm by 2½cm. Yes, there’s a special ruler.

5pm

On the first floor, in a wood-panelled office like a ship’s cabin, I find Kate Hudson, hotel archivist. Since 2007, she has been the custodian of Claridge’s history and one of her favourite parts of the job is scouring auctions for its promotional fans, dance cards and luggage labels: ‘I’m permanently on the lookout.’ She shows me issues of Country Life that covered the then-new 1920s interiors; our anonymous diarist, Mademoiselle Sans-Gêne (‘Without Restraint’), also reported on a ‘soul-satisfying’ dinner there in the April 1, 1899, issue. A woman after my own heart.

6pm

The black-and-white chequerboard floor of the lobby is full of visitors arriving for dinners and drinks parties. There are events in the hotel every night of the week, including weddings. No two are alike: Attridge recently devised a Caribbean menu for one couple and another celebration saw a late-night outing for the Claridge’s burger trolley, laden with individually foil-wrapped burgers and fries. This year’s Christmas lunch has already been finalised, but not everyone wants turkey. ‘You’d be amazed by the number of people who want a pizza,’ he laughs.

7pm

Ada Coleman, who supplied the Bright Young Things with their Hanky Pankys, began her bartending career at Claridge’s (‘It was a Manhattan that I made first… it was Fisher, the wine butler, who gave me my first lesson,’ she once said). Her spirit lives on in the hotel’s three bars, but oenophiles will have their heads turned by the wine-tasting room, temperature-controlled home to some 800 bottles. There are almost double that number in the hotel at large: for the first and almost certainly last time in my life, I find myself inches away from a bottle of Château Pétrus.

8pm

For a long time, the Ballroom was Claridge’s see-and-be-seen spot: it was here that this very magazine held a star-spangled party to mark the then Duchess of Cornwall’s turn as Guest Editor. Today, the celeb-magnet is Dante, an outpost of the famous New York restaurant, which began as a pop-up, but was so popular it became permanent. Every table is packed on a mid-week evening and shrimp cocktails, steaks and flambéed sticky-toffee doughnuts are flying out of the kitchen. I’m trying to pace myself, but someone I know was moved to attempt a five-martini dinner here recently.

9pm

Outside on Brook Street, doormen direct black cabs like orchestra conductors. Among them is Craig Debell, who has been with the hotel for 13 years. He and his colleagues take great pride in being the ‘face’ of the hotel. ‘First impressions last,’ he remarks simply. He spends 12 hours a day out here in all weathers — ‘the trick is good insoles’.

10pm

The cigars are long gone, but The Fumoir, Claridge’s smallest bar, has kept its dark good looks and Lalique glass panelling. The director of bars, George Raju, recently obtained an extremely rare 1930s bottle of vermouth. He uncorks it for a very special vodka martini that comes with a pot of caviar on the side and goes down with dangerous ease. (‘Try not to end up in the duty manager’s log book,’ a Claridge’s regular warned me when I said I was having a drink here.)

11pm

Service may be winding down in the restaurants, but in the kitchen the night team is only just getting started. As well as prepping for breakfast, the staff are in charge of the room-service menu, which leans towards home comforts: roasted tomato soup with a cheese toastie, spaghetti bolognese, apple crumble. Some guests are staying here for a long time, after all.

Midnight

Most of its guests might be in bed by now, but Claridge’s never sleeps. One hundred and twenty feet below the ground floor, on a level with parts of the Underground, is the plant room, the hotel’s nerve centre. Excavating the space was a multi-year project and involved a team of miners hand-digging tunnels through London clay; incredibly, the hotel remained fully operational throughout. The pipes for hot and cold water and gas are all colour coded and the space is strikingly clean and tidy. This is the nicest boiler room I’ve ever been in, I tell Mihai Toma, director of engineering, who is showing me around and he tilts his head as if to say: ‘Of course.’

1am

Making my way back upstairs, I pass a wall of watercolours of notable visitors, including The King. ‘Claridge’s is Claridge’s and everywhere else is everywhere else,’ once said the artist behind them, David Downton. In a few hours, I will be reluctantly returning to the latter — but, right now, one of the cloud-like beds upstairs is calling me…

This article first appeared in the October 14, 2026, issue of Country Life. For more information on how to subscribe, click here.

It is impossible to not fancy David Gandy, but not for the reasons you’d think. Yes, his supermodel looks and remarkable physique — immortalised in Dolce & Gabbana’s Light Blue campaigns in which he was frequently seen frolicking in tight white swimming trunks off the coast of Capri — obviously play a part. But it is his ambition (which allowed him to become, arguably, the world’s most famous male model), his self awareness and sheer good manners that make him truly attractive.

After my colleague met him at a recent event, he couldn’t stop singing David’s praises. He too had fallen under the model's spell. The David Gandy effect, it seems, is not limited to straight women and gay men. ‘That’s very sweet,’ David replies modestly. ‘Making an impression after a 10-minute conversation is always lovely.’

Life is not as jet-setting and international as it once was for the era-defining model. His two young daughters, Matilda and Tabitha, are now his main priority. ‘One of them just started big school a couple of weeks ago, and my other daughter became house captain,’ he gushes proudly, before adding, ‘I am not quite sure what that means, but it sounds impressive.’

‘That’s pretty much my life, being a dad, and then in between a few other little projects, here and there.’ One of these projects is his work with Hackett, fronting their Nº14 Savile Row AW26 campaign. Focusing on ‘a modern expression of British tailoring’ meant David was an ideal choice. ‘Tailoring is a passion, which came from my dad. My first suit was a hand-me-down from him. My dad didn’t have expensive suits — he doesn’t buy expensive clothes — but for some reason he had a tailored suit from East London,’ David says.

‘My grandfather and father came from quite impoverished backgrounds, but they were always perfectly dressed. They were smart, they had the perfect half Windsor tie and made the best of what they could. They understood about shining your shoes and I still sit around and do that with my daughters.’

David’s career began quite unexpectedly while he was a student at university studying multimedia and computing. A friend of his entered him into a modelling competition, which he hadn’t considered as a career before, but first place changed his mind. Like Kate Moss, Naomi Campbell and Cindy Crawford, he is one of the most recognisable faces in the business; and one of the rare male celebrities who was a model first and foremost, rather than being an actor or musician.

Many expected him to turn to acting. David was sent the script for the film adaptation of Fifty Shades of Grey by the book’s author before it was cast. ‘I got to read the script, but Jamie Dornan is a great model and his passion for acting was far more than mine. He's a great actor.’ He pauses, then adds: ‘I don’t think I was particularly prepared for that opportunity. It would have maybe been exciting.’ He has the rights to a book about Winston Churchill’s bodyguard and would love to see it made into a film, ‘then I would probably put myself forward for that part, because that would interest me… I always do things that are a passion of mine, and I think that is, more than anything’.

Whether David will turn to acting or not, he has already established himself as a notable figure in British culture. Aside from fashion he has been working with Battersea Dogs & Cats Home and with Crisis, helping set up pop-up shops on Savile Row. His fashion brand Wellware has collaborated with Marks & Spencer and is, according to David, 'going from strength to strength’. And if anyone has the qualifications to make smart, flattering clothes for the average man, it is him.

The first question in this column is always ‘Who is your aesthetic hero?’ Time after time, my interviewees have listed David as their choice. ‘If they saw me on the school run at 8:30am in the morning they probably wouldn’t,’ he says. Perhaps at the school gates he’s not looking exactly like he did in those Light Blue adverts, but I doubt he blends seamlessly into the crowd. David was born to stand out.

Your aesthetic hero

It’s an easy one to answer and it’s Paul Newman, specifically for how he dressed. That era of people dressing — of Steve McQueen, Paul Newman, Cary Grant — they way they dressed wasn’t trend driven. It was sort of utilitarian-seaque. They were, to me, the best looking and some of the coolest guys who have ever lived on this planet. Whatever they put on, they looked great.

If you ask me for a more modern day choice, I think there are some people who stand out. I think Ryan Gosling constantly does it very well. I think Brad Pitt does it very well — it’s a bit quirky, but it’s individualistic, and I like it. They’re the modern day guys that I think are good.

The last thing of note that you bought for yourself

God, this is going to be boring, because I’ve recently got into gardening, so I’ve just bought us an aerator cartridge for the lawn mower. It was about £300. Over the last three years we have been working on our garden in London. I’ve planted about 4000 plants, including 500 white hydrangeas. There is lots of pruning in the spring, put it that way.

The possession you’d never sell

Everything’s a bit material in some ways, so I don’t have things that I would never sell. I mean, my classic car which I got restored, which is a 1954 Jaguar named after my daughter Matilda… I don’t think I could ever sell Matilda. That would be quite hard. When my daughters were born I also got two watches, Jaeger-LeCoultre Reversos, which I had engraved with their initials and dates of birth, I would never try to sell those.

But also, little things that wouldn't be worth money to anyone, you know, things that my daughters made me, and little messages between each other. Everything else, I suppose, can be replaced, but those things can’t.

An exhibition that has really impressed you

One of my favourite artists is David Yarrow. I love photography. He is known for these incredible, sort of, beast portraits — of polar bears, elephants, lions etc. I’ve actually got to work with him a couple of times now, which is fun, but his animal collections are the thing that have impressed me the most.

A book you’ve found inspiring

There’s a book I love, which is now a TV show, called SAS: Rogue Heroes, which is about the start of the SAS during the Second World War, and not many people knew of the book at the time. That was an inspiring book. There are also a few books on Ernest Shackleton, about what he and his team went through when they were exploring and got stuck in Antarctica on a ship for what they thought would be six months, but actually turned out to be two years. Absolute madness. They’re both inspiring in many ways. There’s also a great book called Churchill’s Bodyguard, which is a fab story that should be made into a TV series or film.

The music that you work to

I love music. I have music on in the morning, normally Classic FM playing in the kitchen while we’re getting ready for the day, and then my music is quite old school. I was brought up with soul and Motown, and a thing now that people call yacht rock as well, which is like The Doobie Brothers, Michael Macdonald and Hall & Oates. I generally don’t work to music when I’ve properly got to concentrate on stuff, but at all other times there’s always music playing in the house. It’s always old school, which drives my wife slightly round the bend. She likes ‘newer crap’, as I call it. Things that sound like a load of noise.

The last podcast you listened to

Louis Theroux, that was probably the last one that I listened to, because I just think what he does is absolutely brilliant. Desert Island Discs is another great one. I have listened to so many.

The person that would play you in a film of your life

Oh my goodness me, I have no idea. I mean, I’m still alive and I am not that old, so maybe I could play myself if there was enough AI to look 20 years younger?

What you’d take with you to a desert island

If I could I would take my children, my dog and my other half, that’s all I really need in life. That’s where I’m happiest. If I couldn’t take them, probably just a good bottle of gin, some nice tonic and some ice, and I’d just enjoy the desert island, likely half cut which would be very British.

Your favourite painting

I don’t know if I have one. All my art is photography, so I probably don’t have one, even though I studied art. I used to like the artist, Edward Hopper. His piece Nighthawks is what I’d pick if I had to.

What gets you up in the morning

My children. They’re generally quite early risers, or they get into bed with us.

The items you collect

We have a lot of antiques in the house that I’ve collected for years. And then cars, so my vintage car collection. I have just finished having an original Mini restored. I’ve got a Porsche, a Jaguar and a Mercedes. I think cars are my biggest collection.

The hotel you could go back and back to

There’s a place called Dunton Hot Springs in Colorado, and it was an old mining village originally, but when you go there it is like going back to the original mining town. Obviously, it’s lavish luxury, and you’re in the middle of the mountains and surrounded by beautiful hot springs. There’s fishing, horse riding and skiing. It is just the most fantastic experience.

The most memorable meal you’ve ever had

I ate piranha in the Amazon rainforest. It was muddy and bony and fishy and horrible, but when you're in the middle of the rainforest and you’re staying in a hut with tarantulas on the roofs, and that’s what they eat there, you can’t be picky. So I caught it and they cooked it.

The best present you’ve ever received

I was at an event with Jeremy Hackett, and he gave me a wooden model of a Jaguar XK120 exactly like mine. It’s just a lovely present.

To shop Hackett’s Nº14 Savile Row AW26 campaign, fronted by David Gandy, visit their website.

The world is divided into two groups of people, those who have never been on a cruise and cannot hide their horror at the idea and those who have actually been on one. More than 80% of people who have been on a cruise intend to do it again. These are remarkable figures. I first went on a cruise some 20 years ago, with my son Charlie. My main memory of it was of 1,000 people singing Tom Jones’s Delilah as they entered the main restaurant. It was a truly remarkable sight — people swayed on tabletops, clutching at their cocktails and new best friends. I decided, at the time, that it was not something I should write about for Country Life because I wasn’t sure it would appeal to the readers — but I couldn’t deny that all the guests were having a wonderful time.

What the cruise critics need to understand is that there is a type of cruise for everyone. To deny one is like saying that you would never go anywhere ever in Spain because the Costa Blanca didn’t appeal. This time around, my trip was from Rome to Monaco, on Evrima, part of the Ritz-Carlton Yacht Collection. Evrima has 149 suites and accommodates only 298 guests. She was dwarfed by other yachts when we were in port, but seemed big to us, with a lift to 10 different floors.

The size provided spaciousness and a relaxed sophistication, with both a good spa and a well-stocked cigar humidor on board — you can take your pleasure in many different ways. The food was of remarkably high standard, especially in SEA, designed by three-Michelin-starred chef Sven Elverfeld. My wife, Rachel, and I both agreed it was one of the best dinners that we had had anywhere — on land or at sea. Better still, there are no buffets among the yacht’s four other restaurants.

After boarding Evrima on our first afternoon, we slid out of port so gently that we didn’t realise that we had left — it was like being in The King’s Rolls-Royce leaving Royal Ascot after a day at the races — and headed to the Italian island of Elba. By the morning, we had arrived and caught a tender to the shore. It was at this moment that I ‘got’ cruising.

What it does, at its best, is take you to places that you wouldn’t normally go to, but have always sort of wanted to. The sort of places that you only need a half day or a whole day to explore so, therefore, never plan a whole holiday around. The smaller the yacht, the smaller the place you can visit. I knew Elba from my history teacher at Summer Fields, who delighted in a palindrome attributed to Napoleon who was exiled there for 200 days: ‘Able was I ere I saw Elba’, which reads exactly the same forwards and backwards. Elba is a sleepy place; men play cards outside cafés, little fishing boats dot the harbour and, above, the land folds into green hills.

We were taken by car — our excursions were created just for the two of us, with a guide — to Tenuta delle Ripalte, a winery on the east coast of the island where they make the famous Aleatico Passito dell’Elba, a ruby-red dessert wine that is quintessential to the island. From here, we could see the flat island of Pianosa, known as the Alcatraz of the Tyrrhenian Sea, where top-ranking Mafia bosses were once held, and the Toblerone-shaped island of Montecristo that inspired Alexandre Dumas’s classic adventure novel of counts and hidden treasure.

Our next sunrise was in Bastia, Corsica, on the day the French were celebrating the end of the Second World War in Europe. This is a place with a remarkable history, from Genoese rule and Napoleon’s birth to, most interestingly, its role as a laboratory for Enlightenment under the inspirational Pasquale Paoli. He established one of the world’s first modern democratic constitutions in the 18th century that included early female suffrage. This golden age inspired everyone from Rousseau to Voltaire.

Onwards to Florence, about 60 miles from the ugly port of Livorno. Florence doesn’t need any further gloss from me, except to say that through the guides we were able to visit an ancient mosaic workshop still practising the skills that Michelangelo drew upon so wonderfully in the Cappelle Medicee, as well as the Giardino Torrigiani. The latter is an almost unknown 17-acre, English-style garden within the city walls, steeped in Masonic symbolism, with ancient statues, a large Gothic tower and an escape tunnel for if you needed to get away from the Medicis in a hurry.

Then we had a bit of luck — that night, the wind got up and it was decided that we couldn’t stop at Portofino, and would have to head for Genoa instead. I had never been before, but I would now arm wrestle anyone who disagreed that Genoa is the most underrated city in Europe. Without being on a cruise (and having the fortunate storm), I would never have seen The Caruggi, the vast maze of medieval alleyways, visited the black-and-white cathedral or strolled down Strada Nuova, a UNESCO World Heritage-listed street filled with 16th-century aristocratic palazzi to rival its great enemy, Venice. This is the birthplace of pesto, focaccia and trofie pasta — the food is the rival of anywhere in Italy and there are very few tourists. Go Genoa.

After Genoa, Cannes was a disappointing traffic jam of people attending the film festival, from which we retreated to the sanctity of Evrima and then finally along the coast to Monaco, where our trip ended.

Would I go on a cruise again? Yes, but on a boat such as Evrima. A smaller craft that can go to smaller places. The whole point of cruising, to me, is to discover places you don’t know much about. You will get what you pay for, but luxury onboard is important. Plan your shore visits; be adventurous; make sure you do what you are interested in and tell your guide what that is.

A similar, seven-night journey with Ritz-Carlton, from Rome to Monaco, starts from £9,900) per person per suite, based on double occupancy. The fare includes a private terrace, dining, beverages, access to water-sports equipment and a suite ambassador service to help with tasks such as unpacking, garment pressing and in-suite dining.