I recently had the exceptional good fortune to stay at a place I've been in love with for a very long time. Ickworth House, near Bury St Edmunds, is beautiful. Once the home of the Hervey family, it was passed to the National Trust back in the 1990s and now, for the very good fortune of all those who wish they'd been born with a silver spoon in their mouths, the East Wing has been turned into an extremely comfortable hotel by the Luxury Family Hotels group. It's been done with a light touch, though, so a stay here feels as if you've gone to visit some very well-heeled chums. The library is stocked with books floor to ceiling, with some unusual family artifacts – we noticed a pair of ancient, obviously many-times worn soft shoes in a glass case; there were some framed newspaper articles about various Hervey family members and a box of toys had been left by a sofa. The sitting room has much the same feel, with groups of exceedingly deep, comfy sofas and armchairs, with tables placed at just the right distance to hold your aperitif or digestif, and through this you can take yourself to the elegant dining room – probably the only child-free room in the place (have I mentioned children are positively welcomed at The Ickworth?).


Outdoors there's a swimming pool – again, open to families at all times – a playground, formal gardens, acres and acres of grounds to roam – and there's free bicycle borrowing – a National Trust tea room and shop, plant sales and free entry to hotel guests to the Rotunda, where well-informed guides can talk you through each room or simply answer any questions you might have. A visit here is a real glimpse into how the other half– OK, the upper echelon – live, but because you can skip next door to the 'house', it all feels a bit yours.

What a surprise! Forget the image you might have of a quaint old market town. Maybe because it's the site of the signing of the Magna Carta, maybe it's because it's always done quite well through the local brewery, but this place feels sophisticated. And, fittingly, it has an extraordinarily good French restaurant serving a modern take on this cuisine.
Owned and run by a French couple, chef Pascal and front-of-house Karine, the decor is all French grey, white tablecloths and touches of dark wood – very grown-up and soothing. Except for two facts – all the staff speak English with lovely French accents and the produce is mostly sourced from the British Isles – you could be eating in France. Every detail has been considered, from colour to taste to texture and we very quickly realised that Pascal must be something of a chemist. Flavours were juxtaposed just so, to bring out the essence of each ingredient. For instance, our amuse bouche was a cauliflower tartare with parsnip crisp. Slightly more than a mouthful, it was exquisite and definitely had us sitting up, excited for what was to come.

I relied entirely on the sommelier, who paired just the right glass of wine with each course, and recommend you do this as well, to get the full experience.

For mains, I had the filet of Isle of Gigha halibut, celery, shallot confit, soft meringue; my companion filet of Devon coast line-caught turbot, buttermilk, lemon confit, samphire grass, grilled spring onion. Suffice to say, they tasted as good as they sound. The fish was cooked to perfection – never dry or tough, always moist and full of flavour. For our sides, we chose crushed purée of Hall Farm potato and a dish of the vegetables of the day.

At this point we were seduced by the cheese trolley. The only word to describe it is heaving and part of the pleasure is having each one described by a pretty voice overlaid with that French accent.... There are blues, creamy ones, soft ones, hard, goat, sheep, cow, strong, mild... You get five, which are served with grapes, caramelized red onion chutney, red onion with sage in chilli jelly, honey and fig biscuits.

Do you remember the start of this entry? About how only bad experiences are interesting? Well, if you hold with that, then you may take some schadenfreude from reading this: I was almost too full. Yes, my eyes had been bigger than my stomach. The trouble is, I can't tell you what I wish I hadn't eaten, because it was all so good.
How wonderful then, to waddle out into the night and head back to our stately home. Ah, yes, how the lucky ones – us this time, you next? – get to live...