Chilling in the Cotswolds

A helicopter in the car park is a sure sign the hotel you’re staying at is something special. Although, with Washbourne Court in Lower Slaughter, the clues were there before we’d even entered the hotel gate. The former Eton cramming school’s location is on the banks of the sleepy River Eye, which drifts through the Cotswolds’ prettiest village, for starters. And the sight of contented guests basking in the sun, drinking Pimm’s and watching the ducklings, was another indicator that my husband and I were in for a relaxing – and indulgent – couple of days.

Because if there’s anywhere in the UK better for indulgent relaxation than the Cotswolds, I’d like to know about it. Only a 90 minute drive from London, the pace of life (helicopters aside) couldn’t be more different. After a leisurely lunch by the hotel’s duck pond (it’s an unspoken rule of the region that every activity be preceded by the adjective ‘leisurely’), we set out to explore sunny Lower Slaughter by foot. Twenty minutes later, having admired the miniature footbridges, adorable flower-encrusted cottages, and the so-picturesque-it-hurts water mill at a glacial pace, we discovered a path behind the mill that led through the fields, punctuated only by kissing gates and the odd fellow walker. After half an hour we were gazing down the hill towards another helicopter, parked on the lawns of a beautiful manor house that turned out to be the Lords of the Manor hotel in Upper Slaughter, Lower Slaughter’s hillier sister. According to Upper Slaughter’s rustic village notice board, residents could watch a screening of Slumdog Millionnaire in someone’s front room, or go for a free swim in someone else’s pool. Community spirit at its best.

Back at Washbourne Court, the two televisions in our river-view suite allowed for an argument-free simultaneous viewing of the rugby (him) and Come Dine With Me (me). Which set us up nicely for dinner in the hotel’s Eton restaurant. My husband’s starter of pan-fried scallops with pumpkin puree and confit was pronounced ‘mmmm’, and I wouldn’t allow him a single mouthful of my truffle oil-infused Jerusalem artichoke soup. My main course of free range Leble Anglais chicken with wild mushrooms was succulent while still leaving room for roasted apple Bavarois and cinnamon ice-cream, and my husband’s pork tenderloin and slow braised pork belly with white asparagus followed by oozing chocolate fondant with Nutella ice-cream kept him silent for 10 whole minutes – possibly a record.

The next day, loathe as we were to leave Lower Slaughter and Washbourne, it was time to drive west to our second Cotswolds destination, Cowley Manor, a five-star country manor hotel in the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it village of Cowley, 10 minutes from Cheltenham. Although it’s deep in the countryside, I was pleased to learn this didn’t mean a preponderance of chintz. Quite the opposite, in fact: we’re talking urban chic – contemporary furniture by young British designers, a funky snooker room and a spa (C.Side) which, as I discovered the next day, offers the most bliss-inducing deep tissue massage. Only the papier-mache ‘hunting trophies’ on the wall reminded us that we were in fact a full, er, 10 minutes from civilisation.

After helping ourselves to the wellies lined up outside the front door we explored the grounds (which included a go on the swing) to build up an appetite for another slap-up dinner. Lucky we did, as it allowed me to finish every mouthful of my melt-in-the-mouth steak, and scrape the bowl of my burnt Trinity cream (crème brulee, but renamed at Cowley to reflect the pudding’s supposed origin at Trinity College, Cambridge, which, as this was where I went to university, I felt honour-bound to order and can now heartily recommend).

The rest of the night was spent ordering ever-more outlandish cocktails from the room service menu, and watching DVDs from the hotel’s extensive collection, without a moment of guilt; like I said, the Cotswolds is all about indulgent relaxation.

On the way home the next day, despite having just inhaled a full English breakfast at Cowley Manor, we stopped for a must-have cream tea in The Dial House Hotel, the oldest building (built 1698) in the charming village of Bourton-on-the-Water, home to an adorable model village and a few hundred more ducks. There was even time for a bit more leisurely strolling and some leisurely window-shopping before heading back to London where, sadly, our lawn was bereft of helicopter.

By Emily Murray