Stow's a winner, but our new summer bolthole eludes us

We matched Longborough's Coronation of Poppea with two nights at The Porch House in Stow-on-the-Wold. Like the opera, much of this place's appeal lies with its antiquity. It claims to be the oldest inn in England, in operation since 947. It has abundant architectural charm and a prime location in one of the Cotswold's most picturesque market towns.

While the walls may be ancient, the decoration is modern and up to a standard (neutral colours, designer fabrics, luxury linens, mid-century repro fixtures and fittings) that earns the coveted boutique hotel designation. It allows dogs (saving us more than £100 in kennel fees for the weekend) and its dog-friendly rooms lead directly out onto a courtyard for fast and easy walks. Unfortunately those rooms are almost claustrophobically tiny, with minuscule windows that allow little air flow, thus creating a room temperature several degrees hotter than outside. Unsurprising in an ancient building, but deeply uncomfortable in the middle of what may become England's hottest summer on record.

This was the last of three options we tried this summer in a search for a new regular accommodation for the two or three weekends we attend the Longborough Festival Opera each summer. (A search that started when the owner of our long-time favourite, Windy Ridge, decided to stop doing B&B.)

The Porch House came in last in this summer's contest, not so much for the size and temperature of its rooms but for its somewhat soulless atmosphere and the haphazard approach of its genial but often absent staff. They tend to ignore email, are hard to get on the phone and are rarely present at the front desk. One of them insisted they didn't take American Express, even though I'd successfully pre-paid for the room on that card. The place feels less like an inn and more like a pub and restaurant with a few rooms up top; the staff are clearly more focused on serving diners than lodgers. Though they do a bustling business for lunch and dinner, guests have to cross the street to eat breakfast at their sister hotel, The Sheep. (Which we may try for lodgings next summer.) Despite the fact that their gorgeous hall with two enormous fireplaces on both sides, standing empty all weekend, would be a lovely breakfast room. There's little effort or incentive to entice hotel guests to lounge here, or in the cozy snug beside it, missing the communal living room element that's also essential to that boutique categorisation. What's the point paying to stay in an historic inn when they don't use ... and thus you don't spend time in ... the historic rooms?

In second place came the Old School in Little Compton, to which we returned after a pleasant stay last year. And probably would have, lazily, occupied for all three of this year's weekends had they been able to accommodate us. But being forced to try other options was a good thing, exposing the Old School's three flaws: they don't allow dogs, there's not much in walking distance and they're a 15-20 minute drive to Longborough.

Otherwise, it's pretty much perfect. And if my objective were a leisurely stay in the heart of the Cotswolds, rather than the opera, this would be my first choice. Luxurious bedrooms, wonderfully comfortable sitting rooms you're encouraged to make your own and owners who are hosts rather than staff. Add home-made cakes at tea time and generous breakfasts with eggs provided by the chickens at the bottom of the garden.

Meaning, much to my surprise, the winner of this summer's showdown was the Cotswold Cottage. This former bed and breakfast has gone down the AirB&B route: they have no web site or customer-facing front end, let their rooms and manage their finances through 3rd party booking sites, and provide no service on site ... just the room. As a guest, you pre-pay, have a narrow arrival window to pick up the key, and never see the owner again. It certainly doesn't sound welcoming.

But the room was gorgeous; the most spacious and beautifully decorated of the three with an expansive view over one of Stow's main streets enjoyed from a cushioned window seat. We never failed to grab an overnight parking space (free) just outside for the evening. Dogs were welcomed. Best of all, the elimination of effort and service on the owner's part translated to prices more than 30% below the other two options. The absence of an included breakfast isn't a bother thanks to an excellent cafe around the corner called Speedwells, which provides more variety than you'd get at a B&B anyway.

The only major drawback: no relationship with your host means no ability to refrigerate your opera picnic. Thus a return to this place ... or a stay at any of the other "boutique rooms" establishments hanging their shingles out along Stow's golden stone streets ... demands assembling your picnic on the day (as we did) or buying in to one of Longborough's dining options. So despite its first place position, the Cotswold Cottage is not a sure thing for next summer.

The undeniable winner of the experiment was Stow-on-the-Wold itself. At just 2.6 miles from the opera ... a straight shot down a single main road ... it's quick, an inexpensive taxi ride or an easy journey for even the most hesitant driver. (It's one of the rich ironies of the wine-loving Bencard clan that the only member who doesn't really drink, absolutely hates to get behind the wheel, especially at night.) Given the proximity, a quick dash out of the opera and a speedy change out of formal wear can put you in one of Stow's numerous picturesque pubs for more than an hour or two of post-performance analysis before bed.

Stow is one of the most picturesque towns in the Cotswolds, anchored around a large, arrowhead-shaped market square surrounded by picturesque buildings built from the region's characteristic golden limestone. There's a grand town hall in the centre that looks Medieval, but I'm guessing is Victorian revival.

The town's position atop an 800 metre-high hill, at the intersection of several stone age paths that became Roman roads, has made Stow an important and affluent market town for most of British history. Today the locals trade in tourists rather than sheep, but Stow's legacy gives it a rare density of pubs, inns and restaurants. The tourist trade contributes to an unusual percentage of independent boutiques rather than chain stores, and this is one of the few towns in England that still has a thriving number of antique shops. Yet there's still a slightly sleepy feel about the place, particularly at night after the day trippers have left. Perhaps it's because there's no mainline rail station here. Moreton-in-the-Marsh just up the Roman road claims that amenity, and it has an altogether more bustling, crowded feel to it.

So many hotels and B&Bs welcome dogs because this is also a popular centre for walking. On Saturday morning I set off on an idyllic three mile loop down the Tewkesbury Road towards Upper Swell, followed the Cotswold Way path over fields to Lower Swell, then back up the B4068 to Stow. Once off the main road, civilisation disappeared. There was only calm, and landscape. Though walking between two fairly busy roads, once I was in the fields the folds of the hills screened out the traffic noise. I spent an hour hearing only the wind through the trees, the panting of the dogs and the rhythmic clacking of a harvester bringing in the wheat a few fields over. Even when joined back to the road, the local Council has cut a path into the woodland about 10 feet above the road surface to keep things both safe and picturesque. You do, however, feel every one of those 800 metres as you ascend.

Fuel yourself for the climb at the Golden Ball in in Lower Swell. This tiny 3-room pub is resolutely local and obviously dog friendly; I think I was the only tourist, and my dogs were two of nine in the place. And in that way of small world coincidences that tends to happen in the Cotswolds, I knew two of the locals. One had been a favourite exec at the job that originally brought me to the UK. The other was Nick, the owner of Windy Ridge whose retirement had kicked off the summer's experiment in the first place. It was great to see him. We miss him. Wonder if he might consider "boutique rooms"?

Confronting the new: Old School B&B is a hit, Fidelio misses

REVIEW: The Old School B&B, Fidelio at Longborough Festival Opera

It was all change to start of our seventh season at the Longborough Festival Opera. A new (to us) opera, and a new B&B, pushed us out of our comfort zone.

From our discovery of this magical operatic venue, we'd stayed on a neighbouring estate called Windy Ridge. It played an important role in our courtship, we briefly considered holding our wedding reception there, and our regular visits were the first tradition we established in our married life. I spent a poignant, and very special, Thanksgiving weekend at Windy Ridge with my mother just three months before she died. We were the only guests and the owner gave us the run of the place, treating us as ladies of the manor. Five years later, we hired the whole house out to stage a 1920s-themed murder mystery party for my husband's birthday; one of the best events we've ever hosted. We called it "the summer house". Windy Ridge was a special part of our lives.

But things change. The owner decided to retire from the hard work of hospitality, and we had to find a new home for our annual country house opera weekends. The Old School shows strong potential to step into the beloved spot that our departed summer house has left vacant.

This understated yet luxurious B&B is on the A44 just east of Moreton-in-Marsh. The building started life as a Victorian schoolhouse; the original, cathedral-like school room is now divided into two stories, both lounges for guests' use. The upper one, with its exposed beams, church-style window and overstuffed sofas is particularly lavish, and relatively private considering that there are only four bedrooms for guests. Bookshelves are stocked with plenty of tomes you're tempted to dip in to, glossy magazines grace table tops and board games are stacked beside the sofas. The bedrooms have a House and Gardens Magazine feel about them, all oatmeal and cream neutrals enhanced by gentle watercolours, crisp white linens and luxurious fabrics. Our bathroom had a big tub (with shower) and multiple windows letting light flood in. There's a lovely traditional garden out back with places to eat outside or snooze amongst the flowers.

It's the kind of place you could easily settle into for long hours and forget the temptations of sightseeing.

Hostess Wendy Veale takes care with the little touches, from dressing gowns and bottled water in a bedroom fridge to reaching out a fortnight in advance of your stay to offer local knowledge, restaurant reservations, etc.  She was mindful of our anxiety over moving to a new place and was tremendously helpful with refrigeration for our opera picnics, sorting taxis, booking overflow guests and generally giving us the lay of the land.

Come mornings, Wendy pushes well beyond the traditional B&B breakfast, though if you opt for that you will be both delighted by the quality (the eggs all come from an enormous chicken enclosure at the bottom of the garden) and embarrassed by the quantity. Even hearty appetites are likely to be defeated by the mountain of sausage, bacon, black pudding and fried bread that accompany the less sinful eggs and veg. The next morning I downshifted to smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, but could have selected from a broad menu including omelettes, porridge, "eggs royale", eggy bread (aka French Toast) or pretty much anything I could dream up. A groaning sideboard held the usual array of fruit, cereal, yogurts and juices, if you could make a dent in them. (Or cared to go continental.)

So we successfully faced the anxiety of change. We are looking forward to a return visit to our new Cotswolds home next month and hope to become regulars at The Old School in future seasons.

We were less enthusiastic about the new opera.

Fidelio was my least favourite of any production we've seen in seven seasons at Longborough. Given that I've raved with appreciation over almost every past visit, they had set high standards for themselves. The fault was partially with the opera itself, a bit with the performance and a great deal with the director's choice of staging.

While the singers were excellent (particularly Elizabeth Atherton's Leonora/Fidelio and John Paul
Huckle's Rocco) but the orchestra started out surprisingly timid. A shame, since the overture is the only memorable bit of this opera that most people will know. It sounded like a handful of key players were trapped in traffic and didn't make it for the start time. It could simply have been opening night nerves and a young guest conductor, Gad Kadosh, but it wasn't until the second act that the orchestra pit was delivering its usual rich sound.

None of our party of six had seen Beethoven's opera before, and we were all looking forward to it. We all left feeling a bit underwhelmed. While the plot is a good one ... plucky, faithful wife goes under cover as a man to find and spring her missing husband from political prison ... there isn't a lot of action to stage. It is mostly small groups of people singing at each other in a couple of rooms within a prison. A greater surprise from such a famous composer: the music is pleasant rather than memorable. Beyond the overture, there's simply not an aria that you'd walk out humming, much less demand an encore of. In fact, some of it seemed remarkably derivative. One of the most beautiful bits, where a duo becomes a trio and then a quartet, seems like a blatant rip-off of a similar scene in The Marriage of Figaro.

Perhaps we would have appreciated the music more if we hadn't been so distracted by the staging. Without reading the programme or the reviews, my interpretation was a bit off piste. The stage is set with what's obviously a drug production factory. We open with a line of women packing drugs. They leave and Leonora's husband, Florestan, investigates the scene. The bad guy, Pizzaro, catches him. A fight ensues. Pizzaro gets shot and ends up in a wheelchair, Florestan gets thrown into a lower cell. Shift to Act 1, it's two years later and Leonora ... now disguised as Fidelio ... is working in the prison while the male prisoners (but not Florestan) stand around the back hooked to glowing lines that fed into a big, central machine.

My interpretation: Pizzaro was supposed to be managing a prison, but was making a mint by also running it as a meth lab staffed by the free labour of his prisoners. I thought the glowing lines showed the unfair robbery of labour from the prisoners for his nefarious ends. With this interpretation, the plot zipped along as an entertaining episode of Breaking Bad or Hawaii 5-O with a Beethoven soundtrack. Complete with shoot-out ending and a near death before the bad guys get their just deserts and the good ones live happily ever after. It was an enjoyable romp at the time, but all seemed quite lightweight. Leonora's great paeans to fidelity, which are supposed to be the emotional hook of the piece, got lost in a straightforward, fast-paced episode of a crime drama.

Afterwards, we learned that the glowing lines were supposed to be pumping the drugs IN to the prisoners, and it was all a big commentary on the unfairness of incarceration and the prevalence of drugs in the prison system. I think I'm glad I didn't know that in advance.

We also had issues with the lighting. The programme notes say they were going for oppressive gloom. Anyone who's seen a Caravaggio knows that you can do gloom, anxiety and drama while still bathing your main characters in light. The design here washed everything in a dim half-light so murky that one of our party with vision problems could see nothing at all of the second act, and little of the first. (I'm quite sure they jacked up the light for the press photo I've used here.) Perhaps unsurprisingly, our partially-sighted friend appreciated the music more than the rest of us.

I didn't hate Fidelio.

At the time, I was highly entertained. But I wasn't moved. My emotions remained untouched, both by the music and by the plot. I suspect that's not what Beethoven was going for. I'll give Longborough's Fidelio this: it's the first opera here from which I've emerged keen to take in another production, to see if I'd like someone else's interpretation more.

I am now a tiny bit nervous about next month's Magic Flute. Brace yourselves.