There you’ll find a very pleasant bright and airy bar stocked with all the necessary liquors, along with all the trimmings: sturdy brown chesterfields, an afternoon’s worth of newspapers and magazines, chatty barmen and various bar snacks to keep you drinking and (not?) thinking until dinner. Speaking of which, the restaurant is equally enticing, if a darker, more old-fashioned affair. This hotel dates back to the 14th century, and the restaurant vies with the narrow, winding staircases (apparently the oldest in Britain) for the ‘most history-book worthy feature’ title.

It’s not all historic hauteur though – far from it in fact. When Mr C and I arrive, straining under the weight of our over-packed weekend bags, the general manager, Martin, welcomes us with laidback bonhomie. The reception area is a work in progress at the moment, but Martin chats away affably as he logs us in and then takes us to our room, Willow.

This cool, calm room is decorated in soft, citrusy off-white shades. I think I spy a little patch of damp (which prompts a discussion of the problem of owning a historic building, not a concern Mr C and I really need much worry about), the TV is a leetle small for our liking and the biscuits are disappointingly chocolate-free, but everything else is in order: fluffy bathrobes, big, fat bath and a respectably sized double. 

However, when Mr C and I crawl into this several hours later, we don’t get any sleep. Sadly, that’s not because we’re buying our way to hell with a night of passion – the truth is that we overindulged at dinner and as a result, can’t move, but can’t not move. Tricky. Somehow, we get through our sleepless night. The full English the next morning is the perfect pick up, even if the milk jug looks a little dusty. Fat sausages, juicy tomatoes, salty bacon and perfectly cooked eggs – breakfast this good should be the mandatory start to every day.
(Stays are £85-£105 a night, including Full English breakfast.)