I won a trip.
To the unbelievably luxurious Buckland Tout-Saints country manor, set in 4 1/2 acres of countryside and woodland. In the Master Suite.
As soon as we were alone in our room, Dylan and I remarked simultaneously that the bedroom alone (yes, there were multiple rooms in our suite) was about twice the size of our London apartment.
This was our sitting room. Our sitting room!
We brewed ourselves some tea, opened the biscuits, and plonked ourselves straight into that window seat with a copy of Kinfolk. Not a bad view, eh?
A lovely old claw-footed tub and not one, but two sinks occupied the bathroom.
We were here for 3 nights. Some would sit around in the luxury, soaking up the glamour, the quiet mornings, the patter of rain on the glass. We did, of course – but we also explored. How could we not? We were close to Salcombe, the tiny windy town of Slapton, and the beach.
We drove down to the Sands, and then took a boat into Salcombe Harbour, bringing us into the tiny, colourful seaside town.
Lunch on a balcony overhanging the water, watching the boats come in and out.
When we took the boat back, Dylan got cut off by a good inch of water. The locals, I’m sure, were shaking their heads at him trying not to get his shoes wet.
We drove up around the coast, stopping off at Start Point Lighthouse.
Then upwards and onwards, through the tiny village of Slapton. We were heading for the Tower Inn, a 14th century tower pub known for their food. After about 20 minutes of weaving the car through the single lane, windy roads, edged tightly with stone walls (and a lot of reversing, seeing as all roads were two way) we made it into the tiny courtyard at the front of the Inn.
Hundreds of crows had made their nest in the tower – a gothic masterpiece.
Dylan had a staredown with a pheasant. I think he won?
The country roads are winding and narrow out there. The streets cute, straight out of Enid Blyton. The thatched roof cottages were only met in quaintness by the residents walking their Clydesdales down the streets.