Chewton Glen Hotel
I had a traditional, typical Xmas – i.e. a ghastly one.
Our son Tarquin, now married, stayed with his wife Hyacinth and their two young children.
Our other son – Humphrey – arrived with his new girlfriend Bracken.
Bracken, a moody, pouting girl, made it quite clear that she did not know what she was doing at Colthard Towers and wanted away.
I made the traditional “turkey and trimmings” and Ollie opened with much aplomb a Chateau Petrus.
As I was clearing away the lunch, I announced to Ollie that I could take no more and I was going to take a few days off as soon as the not-so-festive period was over.
Years ago I had stayed at the Chewton Hotel in a tree house when I had a hot affaire with an antiques dealer called Jocelyn.
It’s luxuriously set in the New Forest amongst acres of parkland – just the job for some “R & R” – and I booked up.
My initial impressions were favourable as I was well greeted with a show around and repaired to the bar for some sandwiches by the fire.
My only concern was the number of young families on hand – just the sort of people I was looking to get away from.
I opted (at great expense) for a junior suite.
I like both the extra space and the separation of a living room space from the bedroom.
The suite also had a terrace over the parkland but it was too chilly for me to sit out.
No complaints so far, aside from a few niggles: I was informed the “pre-authorisation” payment would not be taken, yet it was; the room was not ready until 3.00pm; and the young children were noisy and out of control. A nice touch: there was half a bottle of champagne with a candied orange, dates, a tangerine, choccies in a box that was a replica of the building – and also a warm welcoming message.
At the dining room I requested a quiet table. I ordered an Emmenthal cheese soufflé followed by a gamey venison with a glass of mellow Malbec.