Linda Evangelista once famously said she wouldn't get out of bed for less than $10,000. Well I won't get off my sofa to stay anywhere if I cannot see reasonable pictures first. Despite being alerted early to The Ragged Cot's new ownership - a dynamic company called the King's Club - all that appears on the internet for several frustrating weeks is a murky snap.
This company has successfully transformed old boozers in Bristol, but The Ragged Cot, by the elevated expanse of Minchinhampton Common, is its first foray into offering rooms too. Finally, I get promising preview shots. Off the sofa, then, and into the car.
Banter at the bar briefly lulls when I walk through the porch (lots of wellies) and push open the door. Reception's through a passageway (bypassing a sheepskin-lined dog basket). Locals, wellies, dogs welcome. Good start.
"Can we bring you anything? Tea? A piece of cake?" asks manager Shaun, delivering me to an upstairs room called Phantom Lobster (all 10, including a suite, are named after the Penguin Classics whose orange covers are framed on a wall downstairs).
Mmm. "Understated modern good looks with country touches," I scribble. What Phantom Lobster doesn't have is tea things, so I accept Shaun's offer of room service (there is even a nightcap menu, I later discover). The bathroom is clad in wood and tile, and there are clever touches, like a silk curtain concealing hanging space and wooden shelves built in to the bedhead, hiding power points below, but I fail to locate anything to plug in (like a hairdryer).
My friend Bea is still negotiating Friday-night traffic. Some of it is hurtling past my window right now.
The noise won't bother me but someone passes at eye level on horseback, fortunately looking the other way, as I recline on my bed watching the news.
Finally Bea bashes on my door. Her room's overlooking the garden at the rear, she says. "It's all done so beautifully . . . and there's quite a sophisticated Sky package."
We grab a corner table in the bar - busier now, with pre-dinner drinkers. "Lighting's too bright," I remark, just before someone dims it. "Are you wearing a concealed mike?" asks Bea.
"He looks like Prince Andrew," I say, nodding towards the bar. Bea swivels on her aubergine tweed banquette. "That's Peter Phillips," she hisses. "The one who sold his wedding pics to Hello! Gatcombe's only over the road."
A mouthwatering menu hints at using the best of what's local without banging on about it. "I'm either having the lamb, the pork or the duck," says Bea, decisively. Finally, with help from a clued-up waitress, we plump for cauliflower soup and something called bruschetta of courgette caponata. Then sirloin steak ("All our steaks are aged five weeks by Peter Broomhall," it says on a blackboard) with triple-cooked chips, watercress and peppercorn sauce, and lamb three ways, creamed mash and baby carrots.
The restaurant is light, vaulted and relaxed, clearly a newer addition to the 17th-century inn. We feel as though we've struck gold - a proper pub, great rooms, several well-behaved diners with dogs, and as for the food, we agree it's one of the best meals in ages. "Order it, but don't let me have any," commands Bea, when we learn that the "Board of Melissa's cheese" is made a stone's throw away. I'd leave my sofa to come here any day.
• Cirencester Road, Minchinhampton (01453 884643, theraggedcot.co.uk). Doubles from £100 B&B. Three-course dinner, approx £29 excluding drinks.
