The entrance and hallway.
Chickens outside our bedroom window.
Gloriously green cavolo nero growing in the walled kitchen garden.
Duncan with wild ponies.
The Hampshire coast. Freezing sun.
On entering The Pig, we find the hallway cluttered with watering cans and croquet mallets. Fires crackle in every room. The whole place has a delicious, familiar smell about it of wood smoke and muddy boots; the best smell there is in my opinion. We are led off, bags in hand and grinning, deliriously happy to be so far from London, to find our room...
More to come on our trip to The Pig soon...