Cotswolds

Donnington

I grew up with a generation that drank beer from dimpled glass mugs. Now a well-documented supping receptacle of the hipster elite, the Great British dimpled beer mug is, for me, a relic of a simpler time. Before pop-up bars and men without enough testosterone tried to grow moustaches, we finished work at Manual Labour Ltd and headed for the local. I suppose it helped that my grandfather came from West Hartlepool, served in three branches of the armed services and did, indeed, drink from a P404. That was the factory name given to the humble mug in 1938 at the Ravenhead Glassworks in St Helens, Lancashire. My grandparents’ family…

Dryhill Farm

The Cotswolds. An area of south-central England renowned for its ability to attract American holidaymakers who are looking for ‘traditional’ England. Little do they know that ‘traditional’ England is a tourist attraction for the British too. I expect far too few of my countrymen will know the villages of Castle Combe or indeed Painswick. Small, limestone-filled, chocolate-box houses line the small cobbled streets, surrounded by roving hills and farm fields. Having lived in Bristol now for over six years, driving up to the Cotswolds for a flagon or nine with motoring editor Oliver Smith has become a regular occurrence. This perhaps may have desensitised me to the outstanding natural beauty…

Barton Farm – Luxury Cotswold Rentals

Unless you’ve been living under a rock or have just emerged from the Burmese jungle, the beauty of the Cotswolds probably isn’t lost on you. You’ll have been briefed on its sleepy pubs and honeycomb-coloured grand piles, so you won’t need my all-encompassing sales pitch to convince you of its restorative charm. In my experience, though, one does need a good sherpa of sorts: a wise man to guide you through the alpaca fields and the orchards to the decent pubs and eateries. With little time left in the diary late last year, and my significant other spending Christmas with her family overseas, it was the last chance we would…

Queen of the Cotswolds

As I hopped into the Austin Healy 3000, to drive to the Cotswolds on a sunny Friday afternoon, I didn’t really know what to expect – except for the faint waft of Farrow & Ball paint and more limestone than you can shake a stick at. I followed Smith, our motoring editor, up in his XK140, weaving our way through the rush hour traffic, as if we were holding a special classic car pass. Either that or the five o’clock commuters were too fearful of the insurance bill to fix the classics we were driving that day. As we headed up the M5, on our way to Painswick Court (known…