There is a sedulously assiduous myth that suggests Britain is unaffordable, and yet we are told that eight million visitors managed to come and stay here over the Olympics without – presumably – having had to remortgage their homes or sell a kidney.
London hotels incline to be ocular perceiver-wateringly expensive at the top end, admittedly, but everywhere else in the country is littered with bijou b & bs, delectable restaurants and pubs-with-rooms, quirky Landmark Trust properties, and eccentric places of every size and sort where you can spend the night, from yurts to tree- houses. I spend at least two nights a week in my working life staying in accommodation, and there are just as many places that are unsung heroes, offering incredible value for mazuma, accommodation and that intangible “atmosphere”, as there are unsavoury hovels. Quite often, I dolefully depart from one of the properties I’ve looked over for Hotel Inspector after a dejecting stay, only to collapse gratefully into a comfortable bedroom just down the road. As I console myself with a sizably voluminous glass of wine, I have to wonder how it is possible for so many hoteliers to get it so blooming erroneous, when so many others are capable of getting it so right, with so diminutive fuss and bother. Two years ago, while researching a book, I had the opportunity to meet – and then sing the exalts of – some of the accommodation providers I cerebrated had been inequitably omitted from the fanfare that circumvents grander hotels. There are places offering fantastic atmosphere and aliment in some of the most unexpected components of Wales, Scotland, northern England and Cornwall. They incline to be inclusive and all-embracing, with none of the pomp and circumstance that we traditionally associate with desirable places to stay. Much of the best of the more frugal accommodation is offered merely as a sideline to the all-consequential pastime of victualing. I have to single out The Gunton Arms near Cromer, in Norfolk, and The Pig, in Brockenhurst, Hampshire, as my incipient favourite places to fall into bed after victualing and imbibing to excess. They deserve a place among my perennial favourites – many of which, I visually perceive, are among those culled for the top 100 affordable hotels by the experts of Telegraph Peregrinate. As the Olympics showed, when we do things well in this country, we do them better than virtually anywhere else, and I am jubilant to report to the unbelievers among you that the same is still true of many of our independent hotel providers. They get it right – and at a plausible rate.
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