Avebury, HMS Belfast and Glyndebourne show the diversity of English attractions

The plunging pound may be killing my holiday spending power, but it's drawing foreign tourists to British shores like bees to a spring orchard. We've seen more American guests this summer than the total for several previous years. Before each arrives, I ask them about sightseeing preferences. The variety of answers illustrates why England has such broad appeal.

Culture vultures are ecstatic at the density of museums, theatres and galleries. The history nerds head to castles, country houses and re-enactments. Americans are particularly keen on Downton Abbey and royals, and there's still a surprising amount of Diana-themed tourism. Fashionistas, foodies, landscape painters, hikers, surfers and music lovers can all easily craft itineraries focused on their specific interests.

A surge in my own sightseeing levels over the past fortnight drove this point home. Three destinations with three different companions. All radically different. All wonderful.

AVEBURY: For the new age spiritualist and the countryside lover
More than 1.5 million people flock to Stonehenge every year. It's one of those Top 10 "must sees" that a lot of foreign visitors feel they need to check off their list to claim that they've "done" England. Yes, it's impressive. And a much better experience these days thanks to the 2013 addition of museum and visitors' centre. But it's also one of the most expensive tourist attractions in England (£19 for an adult entry), packed with jostling hoards of bus tours, and you can only stand at a distance and gaze respectfully at the stones. Venture 24 miles further northwest and you'll be in the middle of the world's largest megalithic stone circle, without a group tour in sight. At Avebury you can actually touch the stones, see much more of the original monumental landscape and have a charming old-world village thrown in as a bonus.

And you don't even have to give up Stonehenge to visit. Though there's always talk of running the road through a tunnel, for now the A303 passes within a few hundred metres of the more famous henge, giving passengers a chance to have a good look from the roadside without paying for admission. (There's no stopping on this stretch of road, but there's inevitably traffic that slows things down.) The additional half hour's drive takes you through some striking landscapes. Dramatic, broad sweeps of Salisbury Plain's vast rolling fields alternate with small wooded valleys and charming villages with a tourist-pleasing percentage of thatch. You might even see a tank: besides being a picturesque landscape, the army uses much of it as a practice range. Look carefully as you pass through and you'll realise many hills and ditches are too regular in shape to be natural; Stonehenge was just one monument in a massive complex of henges, tombs and ceremonial sites that spread across this area between 4,000 and 5,000 years ago. (Roughly the same time as the great pyramids were built and people were making legends in Troy.)

Avebury has three stone circles: the gigantic outer one that's more than 1000 metres around and 347 across, once made up of almost 100 massive blocks, and two circles sitting side-by-side within. All of this was surrounded by a deep ditch with a high bank on the outer side, and a single ceremonial avenue cutting through it into the main circle. You can make out most of this today, though at least half the stones are gone and there's a village tucked into half the circle. The remaining stones stand like ancient, petrified giants, twisted by eons of weather into fantastic shapes. Touch them, stand beside them in communion, picnic in their shadow; there's no one to stop you here. In fact, there may well be more sheep in the fields in which you're standing than fellow tourists. The views from the top of the encircling mound are fantastic and the walk around the half of the circle standing in splendid isolation is one of the best in England. You can even bring your dogs.

The village itself sits in the other half of the circle, perhaps most distinctive for its handful of "New Age" shops. Avebury, even more than Stonehenge, is the emotional home of modern paganism and those who seek to connect with an earthy spirituality. If you're in to wicca, crystals, animism, Tarot or anything along those lines, the small shops here are a treasure trove. The less spiritually inclined can enjoy The Red Lion, the kind of thatched, traditional pub that's everyone's fantasy of ye olde England. Nearby Avebury Manor is one of the most unique houses in the National Trust's care. An exquisitely mellow 16th century stone pile on the outside, its interiors weren't significant so the NT offered it up for a posh reality show in 2011 where academics and designers re-created rooms in five different historic styles. Thus you can sit on chairs, touch stuff and have a play at being lord of the manor.

There's no charge to wander the stones, but you'll need to pay for the car park. It's £5.60 for admission to the small museum and £12.30 for the manor; all free for NT members.

HMS BELFAST: For the WWII and nautical history buff
She's been moored on the South side of the Thames, just upriver from Tower Bridge, since 1971 and draws about a quarter million visitors a year. The Royal Navy cruiser has been preserved much as she was when in service, and makes a fascinating counterpoint to anyone who's scrambled around HMS Victory in Portsmouth. Though the technology is vastly different and they're separated by 200 years, there are striking similarities in their layout and the way they functioned.

Belfast shares a name with the city where she was built, in the famous Harland and Wolff yards that also turned out the Titanic. She launched in 1938, just in time for the WWII North Sea service that made her famous, later transferring to Asia and playing a big role in the Korean War before being decommissioned in the 1960s. The way she spans eras of technology makes her particularly interesting. Some of her "bones" are charmingly old-school, like the wooden main deck, the ship's bell and the elegant patterned weave of the sick bay's blankets. But the red-and-white checkered lino flooring throughout is pure 1950s, and her navigation and weapons technology was incredibly advanced for the '60s. (If you're at all interested in the history of communications technology the areas on display here are particularly fascinating.)

This is a magnificent venue to expend the energy of restless children and a no-go area for the disabled, since seeing the ship properly demands scrambling up and down at least a score of ladders. The highlights for me were the two bridges in the front of the ship (one for the captain of the Belfast herself, and another on the deck below from which the admiral of the fleet could command accompanying ships) and the gun experience aft, where you can climb into a gun turret to get a sense

of what working there in battle would have been like thanks to a dramatic film using interviews with real sailors, and some simple but dramatic effects like gun smoke and a rumbling deck beneath your feet. I was shocked to learn that the men working the guns had no sight of the outside world. More than 20 of them were essentially packed into a dark, heaving metal box, taking aiming and firing instructions from elsewhere in the ship. It must have been horrifying.

The Belfast's location means she also benefits from some of the best views in London, which she makes the most of with a cafe up top and lots of places to stroll, linger and look. Wandering amongst bristling guns makes for an odd pleasure garden, but that's what her decks can be on a sunny day.

Admission is £18 at the door (less when purchased online in advance) or free for Imperial War Museum members. That includes an audio guide. Or you can just wander and benefit from informative displays throughout.

GLYNDEBOURNE: For the gardener and opera aficionado
You'll need connections or deep pockets to get into this one. (I, thankfully, have the former.) Tucked into the rolling chalk downs above the Sussex Coast, Glyndebourne is the mother of the whole English Country House opera tradition. Given our regular involvement with Longborough (most recently covered here) I was fascinated to take a peak into these sacred grounds on a members' open garden day.

The lovely manor at the centre of things looks venerable, but is actually a "Jacobethan" shell built around an older house and its additions early in the 20th century. The open day included access into "the organ room" where Glyndebourne's love affair with opera started. Its enormous windows, wood paneling and blue-and-white ceiling make it a treat to get inside.

Owner and music lover John Christie built this barrel-vaulted, 80-foot long room to house one of the largest organs in the country outside of a cathedral, then started hosting opera evenings here.  Originally amateur affairs with friends, he decided to get more sophisticated by hiring a professional troupe, then fell in love with and married the soprano. Eventually a purpose-built theatre sprang up next door to show off her talents. That original was replaced by a 1,200-seat, four-level, horseshoe-shaped auditorium in 1994 with state-of-the-art acoustics and all the backstage sophistication needed for what, by then, had become one of the country's leading opera companies. This space was open as well, allowing us to appreciate the light wood paneling in thin, vertical strips which is both dramatic and elegant and, I suspect, great for sound quality.

The real purpose of this day, however, was what lay outside. Glyndebourne is surrounded by glorious gardens that are now famous as a venue for posh pre-operatic picnicking. Given the age of the house, it's no surprise to find lush, romantic borders of mixed perennials in a style similar to contemporaries at Sissinghurst and Hidcote. There's an aromatic rose garden that spins around a fountain memorable for a bronze of one of the founder's pugs taking a nap. Broad lawns sweep down from the house to a ha ha, that marvelous English invention of a sunken wall and ditch that keeps sheep off the lawns, beyond which the woolly flock grazes in pastoral scenery. Elsewhere there's a long reflecting pool dotted with lilies and a productive bit of the grounds with greenhouses, orchards and vegetable beds maintained with Chelsea Flower Show-worthy precision.

There's plenty of modernity and innovation here as well. The grounds are dotted with sculpture, the most striking pieces made of rusted iron sheets of  geometric shapes that contrast beautifully with the greens and blues in which they're set. The most surprising bit of the garden is a bit wedged into a slope between the old, formal gardens and the opera house. Part jungle, part fernery, it has an enchanted "secret garden" feel about it that makes it feel like something very alien and exotic has been hidden in the landscape. A bit like the opera itself...

Glyndebourne isn't open to the general public but it's a great reminder of the stunning gardens found throughout Sussex. Check out Great Dixter, Hever Castle or Parham House for some gardens with equal appeal in the same area.

WW2, please? Visitors drag my brain into the 20th century

From the day I moved to the UK, my cousin warned me that whenever he finally got over to visit, all the sightseeing would be about World War II. It's our grandfather's fault.

Our patriarch was scholarly but also loved swashbuckling drama, and we both remember delightful weekend afternoons as small children watching TV movies with him. (Inevitably to my grandmother reprimanding him. "Johnnie, they're too young for that!") Curiously, however, Gaga ... as we called him ... seems to have fed us different diets. Had he figured out our personalities even then? Did we indicate preferences? Or were we shaped by vagaries of late '60s and early '70s TV programming? All I know is that my cousin, Ron, consumed World War films while I drank in pirate flicks and medieval epics. Those weekend afternoons with Gaga are sacred in our memories and shaped our adult passions. I think I got the better end of the deal, naturally, since my movies led to castles, Caribbean beaches, sailboats, rum drinks and walled European cities. They certainly wired me to lose interest in any story set much after the Napoleonic wars.

But Ron was finally visiting. So I had to change my usual itinerary for visitors. We were going to the 20th century.

His No. 1 request? The Churchill War Rooms. These are a fabulously atmospheric look at how the government ran in London during the Blitz, seen today almost exactly as things were during the war. The prime minister and his cabinet retreated down here to run the war in ... as best they could ensure it ... relative safety. Having seen Hitler's bond-villain style network of massive tunnels carved into the mountain in Berchtesgaden before I got to the London site, I was surprised by the small scale and domestic humility of Churchill's space. It's not even that far under ground. At one point the curators strip back the ceiling panels to show you the iron bars and reinforced concrete, but it didn't seem like much compared to half a mountain. Then again, both spaces reinforce the tale we know. One side grandiose, dark and deluded, the other scrappy, practical and of the people.

The fact that these rooms are dressed pretty much as they were during the war, occupied by mannequins representing historic figures and described on an audio guide that features many authentic quotes adds to the charm. The map room in particular makes you feel like you've been dropped into the middle of a WWII film. The authenticity also fuels a sense of claustrophobia. These are small spaces. It's easy to imagine the fear and frustration as bombs pounded overhead and walls shook.

Though the core suite of rooms has been open to the public since the mid-'80s, additional renovations and restorations since the turn of the century have created what you see today. In addition to the main command and control rooms, you can see bedrooms for Churchill, his wife and staff, support offices, a warren of hallways and an atmospheric physical plant room that's available for event hire. (How did I miss this when I was still in charge of a large corporate budget and events in the IT sector?) There is also an impressive Churchill museum that tells the whole story of his life with artefacts, video and interactive displays. One word of warning: it's easy to lose yourself in here and run out of steam, not realising that the heart of the Cabinet rooms are still ahead of you.

A second word of warning: This is one of the few London attractions for which buying tickets in advance is absolutely essential. Those small spaces limit numbers. Advance ticket holders wait. People who just turn up wait longer, and may not get in. Only members of the Imperial War Museum skip the queue. (An adult ticket to the War Rooms is £22, annual IWM membership is £35. So if you're planning to add either Duxford or the HMS Belfast to your sightseeing within the year, buy membership instead.)

Though it has five branches, the main Imperial War Museum is across the river from the War Rooms and was also on my cousin's must see list. Though keeping it in the 20th century, I insisted that we start here with WWI. This museum shut down for a major renovation early in the decade, re-opening just before the centenary of the sadly mis-named "war to end all wars". The WWI exhibition created for that anniversary got rave reviews. So great, in fact, that we couldn't get in the first time we made the attempt back in 2014.  Now that it's been around for four years access is much easier, but it still deserves the praise.

This is modern museum presentation at its best, mixing artefacts with video, sound effects and interactive exhibits. You can play games to help you understand difficult concepts like how to provision an army, measure yourself against the height and weight of typical recruits, try on uniforms or walk through a loud, ominous trench. All of the displays are built around storytelling, whether it's peering into a case containing the personal effects of Edith Cavell, a British nurse who saved lives on both sides but was executed as a spy by the Germans, or sitting around a virtual campfire letting ghostly voices tell you about their experiences.

Given that the Imperial War Museum was a direct result of World War I ... established to teach lessons so that people would not repeat history ... it's no surprise that this is one of the most comprehensive WWI museums in the world. If you tried to take everything in, from causes and early enthusiasm through stalemate, horror, peace and the reparations that set us up for WWII, you'd have to spend a whole day here. Luckily, this is one of London's free museums so you can pop in to graze on what interests you most. Upper floors cover the second World War (with a great side-exhibit on intelligence and spies), the Cold War and modern conflicts, but none do as comprehensive a job at immersive, chronological storytelling as the museum's starting point.

To round out the story of early 20th century warfare we headed out of London, to a far lesser known but equally interesting site. The Army Flying Museum on the edge of Salisbury Plain isn't as good as the Imperial War Museum at Duxford (one of the best aviation museums I've ever been to, written about here), but if you can't get to that part of the country this is an excellent substitute. And the army has one important thing Duxford doesn't: gliders.

They were a stealth tactic to get men behind enemy lines in WWII. Build an airplane-sized glider out of balsa wood and paper, fill it with troops, tow it up into the air, then release it and ...  in theory ... let the pilots glide it smoothly and silently to a safe landing, after which the passengers could slip away into the night to perform their missions. Of course, with no engines these things were difficult to control, and their flimsy construction offered little protection from weather, rough landings or bullets once the enemy spotted you. It took a special, almost un-imaginable, kind of bravery to climb into a glider. Or maybe they were all just crazy.

Given their lightweight, throw-away nature, this is pretty much the only place in the world you can see original gliders from WWII; there are pieces of three of them ... one almost the whole thing ... with displays that tell the story of glider use throughout the war, from spectacular success to horrific sacrifice.

While unique and exciting, this is just the tip of the iceberg here. There are two hangars of aircraft with two floors of museum displays along each. Unlike the Imperial War Museum this is fairly old-school: artefacts and information boards. But it's interesting stuff, starting from the early days of aviation and going up through the modern day. The Royal Air Force split out from the Army at the end of WWI, so you get a comprehensive view of the start of military flight here (including balloons). Though the Air Force got the sexy fighter planes after that, there's plenty of interesting kit here including prototype drones, transport planes and fighting helicopters. Small simulators are dotted around and reasonably priced at £1 a go. Allowing me to confirm my hunch that flying an Apache helicopter is actually quite difficult.

There's a cafe here with a large terrace overlooking a grassy airfield still in use by the base next door, and they do flying exhibitions here on certain days. Tickets are £14 (not related to the IWM network) but good for re-entry over the course of a year, so a great deal for locals. We'll be back.

That trio was all we could fit in during my cousin's relatively short visit. I'm already thinking about what I could show him next. In addition to Duxford (naturally), there's the military command centre and warren of defensive tunnels under Dover castle, the HMS Belfast now docked on the Thames, all the fabulous intelligence stuff at Bletchley Park and more secret squirrel stuff in Disraeli's home at Hughenden, And that's before we consider crossing the channel to check out Normandy. (Read about my visit to the last one here.)

See, I can do the 20th century. It's not nearly as much fun as pirates and knights in shining armour. But I think Gaga would be proud.