At the risk of offending an entire community, I have to admit that what first struck me about the village of Ebrington was that it seemed a little soulless. Its thatched cottages are so immaculate, its sleepy lanes so spotless, I had a childish urge to do something, anything, to disturb its chocolate-box perfection.
Putting aside thoughts of running amok, I walked into the Ebrington Arms and realised how unfair first impressions can be. This north Cotswolds community does have a soul – it's in the local pub.
A noticeboard was advertising quiz nights, live acoustic nights, carol singing sessions, coffee from 9am, takeaway beers, and games nights – a clear sign that in the process of transforming this 400-year-old boozer into a gastro destination with five lovely rooms, owners Jim and Claire Alexander have not lost sight of its importance as a local hub.
It's hard to find a decent pub or restaurant in the country that doesn't pride itself on regional food, but the Alexanders seem particularly dedicated to supporting local suppliers. Hand and body washes in the bedrooms are made by the Little Soap Company (littlesoapcompany.co.uk) just down the road, while the Victorian-style white brick bathroom tiles are made by a local craftsman.
A good selection of local ales has helped the Ebrington Arms win the Camra North Cotswolds Pub of the Year three years running (and runner-up in 2012), and its wine list is restricted to small, independent vineyards in France, Italy, Spain and England, to avoid "wine miles".
We plumped for a bottle of Italian primitivo with dinner. Low lighting, flickering candles, high-backed wooden benches and an ingelnook fireplace created a cosy atmosphere for a wintry meal that was strong on seasonal produce.
While the aubergine-coloured walls of the dining room are decorated with a stuffed fox and mini metal antlers, the bedrooms are brighter and simpler, with rustic solid wood beds and expensive-looking chrome fittings in the bathrooms. A little bottle of sherry and glass jar of shortbread biscuits added a nice touch.
We woke to a dazzling blue sky and set off on a rather bling country walk. We passed, in quick succession, a grand country pile owned, according to Jim, by an American squillionaire who jets in for two weeks of the year, shoots a lot of pheasants and jets out again, and a gated mansion with a vintage Ferrari parked outside.
Back in the pub, things felt much more more down to earth and welcoming, so much so that we abandoned plans to leave at midday and, despite still feeling full from breakfast, ordered a lunch of fish and chips, and chicken, ham and leek pie.
