The English Rose Knows: Country Weekends
Long weekends. Lost weekends. I’m just back from one. After three weeks coasting through Mediterranean waves stretched out on the gleaming deck of a yacht, plus a June never far from an Ibizan dancefloor, I craved traditional charms. The proposal of a friend’s house in the Cotswolds came just at the right time. Plus, now Matthew has Mr Plum by his side (border terrier, 3 months, eyes that melt your heart at every glance), we had to take him for a little skip (scramble) through the late summer hay fields.
Croquet, Pimms, tea on the lawn… England might seem quaint but away from the city everyone becomes twice as daring. Games become feats, drinks almost neat and men all… No, not cheat. But I’ve seen some heated after dinner games (and breakfast conversation to follow).
Think Downton Abbey meets Anita Pallenberg when you dress for dinner. My gown impressed my host at 7pm but its flowing skirt felt anything but formal at 5am dancing between toadstools by the summerhouse. This talking-point print top inspired our recovery picnic on Sunday as Mr Plum chased matching real-life ducks in the lake. The cocktails came, the sun went down, the picnic showed no sign of ending… Lost weekends – we all lost track of time and I lost my heart to England, all over again.