William Wolfe’s 100 Best British Hotels

Claridge’s is less a hotel than a state of mind, and a very agreeable one at that. The Art Deco foyer, the black and white marble, the doormen who remember your name and, more alarmingly, your last visit: it is the closest thing London has to a royal residence that actually wants you there.

Take a martini in the Fumoir, a room so dark and so discreet that marriages have been both saved and ended within its walls. Small dogs are received with the same courtesy as visiting minor royalty, which is to say very graciously indeed.

The Connaught is the quiet aristocrat of Carlos Place: polished mahogany, a staircase you could propose on, and a bar that has, I am reliably told, produced the finest martini in the world. I have tested this claim with scientific rigour on many occasions and see no reason to dispute it.

Service is anticipatory to the point of clairvoyance. Dogs are welcomed under the benevolent gaze of the Connaughty Hound, and the patisserie next door makes breakfast in one’s room seem a little unadventurous.

The younger, more fashionable sibling of Claridge’s and The Connaught, The Berkeley wears its glamour lightly and its rooftop pool rather less so. It is where one stays when one has business in Knightsbridge and would prefer nobody to know quite what it is.

The Blue Bar, painted in Lutyens blue, is one of the great London rooms for a discreet drink. Afternoon tea arrives as a parade of cakes dressed in the season’s couture, which is the only way I shall ever be persuaded into fashion.

A Belle Époque fantasy of marble, ormolu and pink velvet, The Ritz remains the definition of the grand hotel in the minds of the world. There is a great deal of gold. There always will be, and thank heavens for it.

Stay for the dining room, which has a fair claim to be the most beautiful room in England, and for the Rivoli Bar, which is Art Deco by way of a Tamara de Lempicka canvas. Jackets are required, which in my view should be the law of the land.

Family-owned since 1910, which in London hotel terms makes it practically feudal. The Goring is the last great hotel run by the family whose name is over the door, and it shows in every polished brass fitting and every perfectly judged ‘Good morning, sir’.

The garden is the largest private one of any London hotel, the bar is full of discreet Belgravia gossip and the dining room serves the best eggs Drumkilbo in the kingdom. The Queen Mother approved. So do I.

London’s oldest hotel, where Kipling wrote and Alexander Graham Bell made a telephone call that he presumably regretted for the rest of his life. Brown’s is grand but homely, a combination only the English can pull off without a hint of irony.

The English Tea Room is panelled, hushed and quite perfect; the Donovan Bar is where I go to remember things I should have forgotten. Dogs are welcomed with a bed, a bowl and the kind of attention most of us only receive at christenings.

Tucked into a gaslit courtyard off St James’s Place, Dukes is the hotel equivalent of a well-cut tweed jacket: understated, comfortable and much admired by people who know.

The bar is the stuff of legend. Ian Fleming is said to have found the inspiration for ‘shaken, not stirred’ here, and the unofficial limit is two martinis. I have tested that limit. It is a wise one.

Owned by the same family for nearly a century, Durrants is a Georgian townhouse hotel that appears not to have noticed the 21st century, and is all the better for it. Leather armchairs, hunting prints and a porter who has seen everything twice.

It is wonderfully unfashionable in the very best sense and remarkably good value for a house so close to the Wallace Collection. The Grill Room serves a Dover sole that would make a man of the cloth weep.

A Regency palace at Hyde Park Corner where every room comes with a butler. The first time this happened to me I was slightly alarmed. By the second night I was wondering how I had ever lived without one.

The Library Bar has one of the finest collections of rare cognac in the world, and the staff can tell you the provenance of each without once making you feel like the amateur you are. Dogs are treated with similar devotion.

The Savoy is theatre with a river view: the only street in Britain where one drives on the right, the American Bar where the cocktail more or less came of age, and a lobby that has watched everyone from Monet to Marilyn sail through.

Ask for a river-facing suite and spend an hour watching the Thames do its thing. The Beaufort Bar, all black and gold, is where I take people I wish to impress, and occasionally people I wish to confuse.

An Edwardian palace on High Holborn with a carriage courtyard that makes arriving by taxi feel like arriving by landau. Rosewood has given Holborn a glamour it never knew it was missing.

Scarfes Bar, with its caricatures and log fire, is one of the best bars in London. Dogs are welcomed with genuine enthusiasm, a bed and a menu, which is more than can be said for some members’ clubs.

The Dorchester has been the backdrop to more Hollywood romances, royal engagements and ill-advised business decisions than any hotel I know. The Promenade is a long, gilded runway on which to see and be seen.

Recently refreshed with great skill, it remains the grand old dame of Park Lane. The Vesper Bar is a handsome place to argue about James Bond, and the views of Hyde Park from the upper floors are worth the price alone.

Hidden down a lane off St James’s Place, The Stafford is the definition of a gentleman’s hotel: quiet, assured and in possession of a 350-year-old wine cellar that served as an air-raid shelter during the Blitz.

The American Bar is hung with ties, caps and curious memorabilia left by grateful guests. I added a cufflink once. I have not been able to find it since, which seems a fitting tribute.

Three Georgian houses on Frith Street, all creaking floorboards, four-poster beds and Victorian bathtubs. The essayist William Hazlitt died here in 1830, and I suspect he would happily have stayed a little longer.

There is no restaurant and no need for one: Soho is outside the door. The honesty bar in the library is the most civilised arrangement in London, provided one remains honest.

A Georgian fantasy in Spitalfields, hung with portraits, panelled in oak and furnished with a bathroom so theatrical it deserves its own review. The sister hotel of Hazlitt’s, it does the 18th century better than the 18th century did.

Ideal for a City meeting followed by a slow lunch at St John. The library, with its fire and its honesty bar, is the perfect place in which to think of something witty to say about a hedge fund.

A Clerkenwell row of 18th-century houses converted into a warren of panelled rooms and antique beds. The Rook’s Nest suite, perched under the eaves, is one of the most romantic bedrooms in London.

It sits a stone’s throw from Smithfield and the meat-loving joys of St John, which suits me perfectly. Small, dim and deliciously eccentric.

Kit Kemp’s riotous interiors in a leafy courtyard just off Piccadilly Circus. Ham Yard has its own bowling alley, imported from Germany, which is perhaps the only German thing I have ever seen in Soho behave with complete restraint.

The roof terrace is a secret garden above the din, and the staff have that knack, peculiar to Firmdale, of being charming without being cloying. Dogs are welcome and thoroughly spoilt.

A row of white stucco townhouses in South Kensington with a garden so pretty one forgets the museums entirely. Number Sixteen is the hotel I recommend to friends who claim to dislike hotels.

Breakfast in the conservatory, a stroll to the V&A, lunch at Daquise. A perfect London day, with a dog at heel if you wish.

A red-brick Victorian confection facing Kensington Palace, run by the Tollman family with the kind of personal attention that has all but vanished elsewhere. The staff appear to know your preferences before you do.

Few hotels in London are more devoted to dogs; there is a pet concierge, which tells you everything. The Stables Bar, once the actual stables, is a cosy hideaway for a whisky.

Lillie Langtry lived here and Oscar Wilde was arrested in Room 118, which gives The Cadogan rather more scandal per square foot than the average Sloane Street address.

Today it is a gracious, well-mannered Chelsea hotel with a lovely garden square at its disposal. The bar is a fine place to read the papers and wonder what Oscar would have made of it all.

The Old War Office, where Churchill paced and Profumo misbehaved, is now a hotel of almost absurd grandeur. One sleeps where generals once plotted, which does tend to improve one’s posture.

The corridors are long enough for a cavalry charge, the restaurants are many and the spa is subterranean and superb. Whitehall has never been so comfortable.

An Art Deco townhouse off Grosvenor Square with the louche glamour of a Twenties Manhattan hotel. The Colony Grill is a time machine with a very good chicken pot pie.

The American Bar is small, dark and convivial. The room called ROOM, an inhabitable sculpture by Antony Gormley, is for those who wish to sleep inside a work of art. I preferred my own bed, but I admired the ambition.

Lutyens’ magnificent Midland Bank, turned into a hotel and club of Gatsby-ish scale. The banking hall, now a hive of restaurants, still has the old teller counters, which lends a certain irony to one’s bar bill.

Descend to the vault, with its 20-ton door, for a drink among the safety deposit boxes. It is the only time I have ever enjoyed a visit to a bank.

Europe’s first grand hotel, opened in 1865 by the Prince of Wales. Conan Doyle and Oscar Wilde dined here on the same night and both left with book deals, which is more than most business lunches achieve.

The Palm Court claims afternoon tea as its invention. Artesian, the bar, has been crowned the best in the world more often than is strictly decent.

A Victorian palace between Trafalgar Square and the river, with a lobby chandelier the size of a small Baccarat factory. Corinthia is grand without being gloomy, which is rarer than it should be.

The spa is one of the finest in London and the Northall serves very British food indeed. A good place to stay when one has an early meeting in Westminster and no intention of being on time.

A Georgian country house on the edge of the New Forest, a short stroll from the sea, with treehouses in the woods for those who never quite grew out of Swallows and Amazons. Chewton Glen has been the gold standard of English country hotels for as long as I can remember.

Dogs are welcome, though, rather like luggage on a helicopter, they are subject to a weight limit: the hounds of the Baskerville persuasion should telephone ahead. Small dogs are adored, large ones are discussed, and nobody minds a muddy paw on the croquet lawn.

A Regency hunting lodge deep in the New Forest, where ponies wander past the windows and the interiors are a lesson in expensive informality. Lime Wood is the country hotel for people who own very good wellington boots and rarely use them.

Hartnett Holder & Co serves Angela Hartnett’s Italian cooking with the forest outside, and the Herb House spa is a temple of steam. Dogs are positively encouraged.

The original Pig, a rambling country house with a kitchen garden that dictates the menu and a radius of 25 miles for everything else. It started a movement and remains the best of the litter.

Shabby chic done properly, with wellies by the door and a potting shed for treatments. The cocktails are made with whatever is growing outside, which is a fine argument for gardening.

A pristine Georgian mansion with contemporary interiors at once ultra-chic and soothingly low-key, set in 400 acres of parkland. The farm supplies the kitchens and the kitchens supply a kind of bliss.

It is serene to the point of sedation. The cinema, the wine cellar and the lake all compete for one’s afternoon, and I have never once regretted a long walk followed by a longer lunch.

The Astors’ palace above the Thames, where the Profumo affair began beside the swimming pool. Cliveden has been the scene of more political scandal than Westminster and with considerably better catering.

The Great Hall, the parterre and the river below make it one of the most theatrical hotels in Europe. Dogs are welcome to explore 376 acres of National Trust gardens, though they are asked not to re-enact anything.

A Georgian mansion in 240 acres beside Windsor Great Park, with its own polo fields and stables. Coworth Park is where to stay for Royal Ascot if one wishes to arrive by horse, or at least to give that impression.

The spa is eco-minded and excellent, the staff are Dorchester-trained and dogs are welcome to share in the country life with gusto.

Lord Beaverbrook’s country house, where Churchill, Kipling and half the Cabinet came to plot over dinner. Now a hotel of great style, with a Japanese grill, a golf course and a private cinema.

Less than an hour from Mayfair, it is the ideal escape for those who cannot quite bear to leave London behind. Dogs are welcomed with a bed and a biscuit, and have their own country walks laid on.

The Duke of Richmond’s hotel on the Goodwood estate, the most sporting 12,000 acres in England: horses, motor cars, cricket, golf and aeroplanes, all within a short stroll of one’s bedroom.

Stay for the Revival or Glorious Goodwood and dress accordingly. The farm-to-fork cooking comes from the estate itself, and dogs, being sporting animals, are entirely at home.

A 900-year-old castle with a working portcullis that is lowered each night. There is nothing quite so reassuring as being locked in with a good bottle of claret and a resident pair of white peacocks.

The rooms are suitably baronial and the South Downs roll away from the battlements. Every chap should spend one night in a castle. This is the one.

An Elizabethan manor house set within William Robinson’s celebrated garden, the birthplace of the English natural garden. In June, the borders are so beautiful as to be almost impertinent.

The glass-walled restaurant looks onto the flowers and serves food of Michelin-starred precision. There are only seventeen rooms, which is exactly the right number.

A Georgian house, a deer park, a cyder press and a garden of such scale and ambition that one half-expects Capability Brown to wander out of the hedge. The Newt is the most extraordinary country estate opened in England in a generation.

Rooms are calm and luxurious, the food comes from the garden, and the apple orchards are a sight to behold in blossom. One goes for two nights and starts to plan a life of cyder.

The country house that taught London how to relax. Babington is a Georgian pile with a lake, a cricket pitch and a crowd of creative types who have left their phones somewhere in the long grass.

The Cowshed spa is still the place for a lazy afternoon, and dogs are welcome everywhere except, I think, the pool.

A Palladian mansion at the end of a mile-long avenue of beech and lime. Arriving at Lucknam Park is one of the great English experiences, the motor car equivalent of a slow curtsey.

There is an equestrian centre, a fine spa and a cookery school. Dogs are welcome in the grounds and in the cottages, and will consider the avenue their personal property within minutes.

A Cotswold stone manor with gardens divided into rooms like a very well-planned house. Whatley Manor is quietly, determinedly luxurious, with a spa that takes one’s stress very seriously indeed.

The dining is ambitious and the service warm. It is one of the most dog-friendly hotels of its calibre, with a list of walks and a jar of treats at reception.

Behind the honey-coloured façade of the most famous crescent in Europe lies a secret garden and a hotel of great charm. One feels compelled to have a thought worthy of Jane Austen, though I generally manage only a thought about lunch.

The spa is housed in a former coach house and the Dower House restaurant overlooks the lawns. Bath has never felt more like itself.

A Gothic house in four acres of gardens, a short walk from the centre of Bath yet as quiet as a country estate. It is a hotel for grown-ups who like antiques, oil paintings and a proper bath.

Service is attentive and the dining room charming. Ideal for a weekend of the Assembly Rooms and the sort of conversation Bath has always encouraged.

A Georgian dower house, enlarged by Thomas Hardy himself, in a village of such Dorset perfection that one expects Tess to pass by with a milk pail. Summer Lodge is gentle, generous and very English.

The wine list is extraordinary for a country hotel and dogs are welcome with genuine affection. Afternoon tea is served in quantities that would make a farm labourer blanch.

Built as a rustic retreat for the Duke of Bedford in the early 19th century, this prettiest of all country house hotels sits in 100 acres of idyllic grounds landscaped by Humphry Repton.

Olga Polizzi has furnished it with the eye of a collector and the instincts of a hostess. There are grottoes, follies and a river for the fishermen, and dogs are as welcome as any duke.

An Art Deco seaside hotel straight from the pages of Agatha Christie. At high tide, a sea tractor ferries guests the short distance from the mainland to the island itself.

Dinner is black tie on Saturday nights, which is how it should be everywhere. Pack accordingly, and try not to murder anyone.

A Tudor-style house on the edge of Dartmoor with a river at the foot of the lawn and moorland stretching beyond. Gidleigh Park has long been one of the great gastronomic destinations in England.

Walk off lunch on the moor, then return for a fireside nap. Dogs are welcome in several rooms and come home thoroughly muddied and entirely content.

A small but extremely stylish seaside hotel in St Mawes, one of Cornwall’s prettiest villages. Light, bright and airy, rooms feature antique furniture and works by local artists.

The hotel has its own vintage sailing yacht, the Pinuccia, and a terrace made for long lunches of crab and Cornish rosé. Well-behaved dogs are welcome in several rooms.

Perched on the harbour wall in St Mawes, The Idle Rocks feels like a Riviera hotel that has taken up sailing. Every window frames a boat, a gull or a sunset.

The food is excellent and fishy, the service gentle and the welcome for dogs effusive. It is Tresanton’s younger, breezier neighbour and the two make a fine pair.

A family-owned hotel on two miles of golden beach, where surfers and grandparents mix with great ease. It is relaxed to the point of barefoot, which is unusual in this guide and entirely deliberate.

Dogs are allowed on the beach and in many rooms, and the Swim Club spa looks out over the Atlantic. I recommend it for families and for those who wish to pretend they still surf.

On the wildest edge of the smallest inhabited Scilly, Hell Bay is about as far from Piccadilly as one can travel without a passport. Atlantic breakers, white sand and the kind of silence one forgets exists.

The art collection is surprisingly fine and the seafood is caught within sight of one’s table. Dogs are welcome and think they have died and gone to heaven.

An Elizabethan fortress built in the shape of an eight-pointed star to repel the Armada. It is now a hotel with a much warmer welcome than the Spanish ever received.

Dine in the old officers’ mess, drink in the dungeon bar and walk the ramparts at sunset. Dogs are welcome in the garden rooms.

A dream-like manor house set in gardens designed by former owner Rosemary Verey. Relaxed and peaceful, it caters exclusively for grown-ups. Young children are not permitted.

The laburnum walk in late May is worth the journey alone. There is a private cinema and a spa in the garden, and the village pub across the road is one of the best in the county.

A whole Cotswold village of honeyed stone, run by one family with exquisite taste. Rooms are scattered among old farm buildings, the Ox Barn is the prettiest dining room in the county and the cookery school will teach you to make a sourdough you will never make again.

The Swan, the village pub, is the sort of place one used to find everywhere and now finds almost nowhere. The water meadows are made for a long, slow walk.

A 16th-century coaching inn on the high street of Broadway, where Cromwell and Charles I both stayed, though not, I imagine, at the same time. Low beams, great fires and creaking corridors.

The Lygon Bar & Grill is warm and convivial, the spa is a modern surprise, and dogs are welcomed in a way that suggests the hotel has always known they are the most important guests.

A 17th-century farmhouse on the escarpment above Broadway, with views across the Vale of Evesham that improve with every glass. Family-owned and quite unpretentious.

There is a fine spa and the Potting Shed pub, and dogs are welcomed with a bed and a guide to the local walks. A cosy, reliable bolthole.

A 14th-century farmhouse and its barns, now one of the best family hotels in England. Children are entertained, adults are left in peace, and everyone is fed rather well.

The Gumstool Inn is a proper country pub and the spa is a sanctuary. Dogs are welcome in several rooms, and Highgrove is just down the lane for those who wish to admire a hedge.

Lady Bamford’s Cotswold inn, all limewash, oak and beautiful knitwear. The Wild Rabbit is a country pub as imagined by a person of very great taste and slightly greater means.

The food comes from Daylesford farm nearby, and the farm shop is a dangerous place for a man with a credit card. Dogs are welcomed with a bowl and a biscuit.

A Jacobean-style manor of almost absurd ambition, with a Roman bathhouse, a library, a farm and a dining room inspired by the great English houses. Estelle Manor is a members’ club with rooms that welcomes non-members to stay.

The Eynsham Baths are worth the visit alone: a vaulted, candlelit temple to soaking. It is very glamorous and very English, in the way of a country house party that never ends.

A village of cabins on a farm in Oxfordshire, populated by television executives in matching bobble hats. It ought to be dreadful. It is, annoyingly, wonderful.

Bicycles, a heated pool you can swim out of, a fine Italian restaurant and enough wellbeing to last a fortnight. Dogs are welcome, and dress better than their owners.

Raymond Blanc’s manor house, where the gardens are as celebrated as the cooking and the cooking has been celebrated since 1984. A pilgrimage, not a weekend.

Each room is themed, some with more conviction than others. Take the garden tour, eat the tasting menu and do not plan to drive anywhere afterwards.

About as authentic as English country house hotels get, this magnificently appointed pile boasts a world-class spa.

Louis XVIII lived here in exile, and one can see why he was in no hurry to leave. Owned by the National Trust, its staircase is one of the finest in England and its dining room serves food of corresponding seriousness.

A Victorian hunting lodge on a peninsula in Rutland Water, run by the same family for more than forty years. Hambleton is the quintessential English country house hotel, polished by long and loving care.

The cooking has held a Michelin star for longer than some chefs have been alive. Dogs are welcome, and the walks around the water are among the best in the Midlands.

Five thousand acres of Suffolk, restored with immense care, with a collection of houses and cottages from Georgian mansion to thatched hideaway. Wilderness Reserve is for those who like their privacy on a ducal scale.

There are lakes to swim in, woods to walk and chefs on hand when required. It is an escape in the truest sense.

A Norfolk pub decorated by Robert Kime and hung with original works by leading contemporary artists. The restaurant caters locally sourced meat and seafood of the highest quality.

Venison is grilled over the open fire in the Elk Room, the deer park outside provides the inspiration, and dogs are as much a part of the furniture as the Tracey Emin.

A flint-walled house near the salt marshes of north Norfolk, where Galton Blackiston has cooked for decades with a Michelin star and absolutely no pretension. Dinner is a single tasting menu and one surrenders gladly.

Take a seal trip from Morston Quay in the morning. The skies here are enormous and the welcome, including for dogs, is warm.

Nestled in the heart of one of England’s most picturesque cities, this historic townhouse hotel combines grandeur with comfort. The best rooms command views of the ancient cathedral.

The garden runs along the city walls themselves, which makes for the most historic gin and tonic in England. James I is said to have stayed. He did not leave a review.

A William III house of perfect proportions on the edge of York, now owned by the National Trust. Middlethorpe is serene, beautifully furnished and staffed by people who still believe in turn-down service.

Close enough to the racecourse to walk to the Ebor and quiet enough to recover afterwards.

A castle in 20,000 acres of the Yorkshire Dales, owned by the Cunliffe-Lister family for generations. There is fishing, falconry, a cookery school and a spa, which should be enough for anyone.

Dogs are welcome and will thoroughly enjoy the deer park. Masham, home of two breweries, is close at hand for the purposes of research.

A coaching inn on the Duke of Devonshire’s Bolton Abbey estate, furnished with pictures from Chatsworth and set in some of the finest walking country in England.

Walk along the Wharfe to the priory ruins and return for tea by the fire. Dogs are welcomed as members of the family, which on a ducal estate is no small compliment.

On the edge of the Chatsworth estate, with views across the park that could have been painted by Constable. The Duchess of Devonshire herself chose the furniture, and it shows.

Walk to Chatsworth after breakfast. Dogs are welcome, which is fitting for the Devonshires, who have always held dogs in higher esteem than most people.

A family-run Lake District hotel with garden suites that have their own hot tubs, which is a very good way to look at a fell in the rain. The Cunliffe family have run it with charm for decades.

Dining is excellent and the service sincerely warm. Dogs are welcome in several of the rooms and the walking is, of course, magnificent.

An Edwardian house above Windermere with possibly the finest view in the Lake District. The restaurant, Henrock, is excellent and the bar has a terrace for watching the light on the water.

Sophisticated without being stuffy. One of the few Lakeland hotels where I feel equally at home in tweed or black tie.

A 17th-century house in 200 acres of parkland and knot gardens, with views to Snowdonia and Conwy Castle. Owned by the National Trust, it is gracious, timeless and quite wonderful.

Dinner in the panelled dining room, a stroll through the rose garden, a nightcap by the fire. Dogs are welcome in some of the cottages.

A Victorian mansion in Snowdonia where Queen Victoria herself stayed, and was apparently thrilled by the bath. The interiors are rich, the welcome is genuine and the cooking is serious.

Dogs are welcome in many rooms and have their own menu. The countryside is wild and splendid, and a gin by the fire afterwards is non-negotiable.

A Jacobean house remodelled by Clough Williams-Ellis on the banks of the Wye, once the home of Sir Bernard Ashley of Laura Ashley fame. It has the comfort of a private house and an art collection to match, with Whistlers on the walls.

Dogs are made very welcome. Fish the Wye, walk the Black Mountains and return to dinner from the hotel’s own kitchen garden.

Clough Williams-Ellis’s Italianate village on the Welsh coast, a feat of whimsy so complete that one is not entirely sure one has left the Riviera. The Prisoner was filmed here. I can quite see why nobody wanted to leave.

Stay in the hotel on the estuary or in one of the village cottages. Some rooms welcome dogs, which take to the colour scheme surprisingly well.

As its name implies, a historic hotel of baronial grandeur set in the bustling heart of the Scottish capital. All the major attractions are within comfortable walking distance of its door.

The clock above the door runs three minutes fast so that nobody misses their train, a kindness I have often relied upon. J.K. Rowling finished the final Harry Potter here, and the whisky bar, Scotch, has more than 500 bottles.

A 17th-century baronial house in its own parkland beneath Arthur’s Seat, decorated in a riot of red, gold and black that would make a Venetian doge feel at home. Peacocks wander the lawns. Highland cattle graze nearby.

It is the most theatrical hotel in Scotland and the most romantic. Rhubarb, the restaurant, is named for the fact that rhubarb was first grown in Scotland here. One learns something every day.

A cluster of gothic suites at the gates of Edinburgh Castle, all tapestries, four-posters and candlelight. It is wickedly romantic and wholly unsuitable for anyone with a sensible disposition.

Breakfast arrives in a hamper; dinner, downstairs in the panelled Witchery restaurant, is a feast of Scottish game and claret.

Synonymous with golf, Gleneagles is so luxurious, and abounds with so many facilities, that guests need never look at a set of clubs during their stay. A legend for very good reason.

There is falconry, fishing, shooting and a gundog school, which tells you how seriously it takes the canine guest. The American Bar is a glamorous refuge after a day on the moor.

A Victorian coaching inn in the Cairngorms, transformed by art dealers Iwan and Manuela Wirth into one of the most extraordinary hotels in the world. There is a Picasso in the drawing room and a Lucian Freud in the hall.

It is wildly eccentric, beautifully done and close to Balmoral, should one wish to drop in. Dogs are welcome, and the Flying Stag bar is a proper Highland pub.

A Scandinavian-Scottish farmhouse in the Cairngorms, where the design is pared back and the landscape is not. Owned by Wildland, it is part of a vast project to restore the Highlands to their natural state.

Rooms are calm and simple, meals are communal and delicious, and the silence is profound. Dogs are welcome to share the hill walks.

A Victorian castle at the foot of Ben Nevis, where Queen Victoria stayed and declared she never saw a lovelier or more romantic spot. She was not wrong.

The dining room has furniture gifted by the King of Norway, the service is old-fashioned in the best sense and the views of the loch at dusk are unforgettable.

A Victorian shooting lodge on the shores of Loch Torridon, framed by some of the most dramatic mountains in Britain. The whisky bar has more than 350 bottles and the Highland cattle outside have impressive fringes.

Family-run, cosy and full of genuine warmth. Dogs are very welcome and the walking is spectacular.

A Scottish baronial castle above the sea on the Ayrshire coast, with views to Ailsa Craig and the Mull of Kintyre. Glenapp is intimate, antique-filled and staffed with great devotion.

Walk the walled garden, play croquet, then dine on Scottish beef and lobster. It is the perfect castle for those who think they do not like castles.

The ancestral home of the High Chiefs of Clan Donald, on the shores of Loch na Dal on Skye. Kinloch is a family house that happens to take guests, with portraits of ancestors, peat fires and serious Scottish cooking.

Dogs are welcome and the island is theirs to explore. Bring a waterproof and a sense of adventure.

A Victorian mansion in 34 acres near Dunblane, owned by a local tennis player of some renown. Cromlix has a private chapel, a fine restaurant and a tennis court of predictable quality.

Dogs are welcomed with enthusiasm. It is close enough to Gleneagles for a round of golf and far enough to avoid the crowds.

A pink farmhouse at the end of a single-track road in the Trossachs, run by the Lewis family with irreverent charm. The food is excellent, the views are wild and the welcome is enormous.

Dogs are adored. Rob Roy is buried in the churchyard nearby, and a walk to pay one’s respects is the perfect prelude to dinner.

Andrew Carnegie’s Highland castle, now the Carnegie Club, where guests are treated as house guests and the bagpiper wakes you in the morning. One stays first as a guest, then, if invited, as a member.

Golf, fishing, shooting, falconry and a swimming pool under glass. It is as close as one gets to being a Victorian millionaire, minus the steelworks.

Overlooking the 17th hole of the most famous golf course in the world, the Road Hole, where many a reputation has been lost. Even non-golfers will find the view hypnotic.

The spa is superb, the bar has an encyclopaedic whisky list and St Andrews itself is a delight. Bring a putter, if only for show.

A Victorian bank in the Cathedral Quarter of Belfast, now a hotel of great opulence, with a domed Great Room that would not be out of place in Vienna. The cocktail bar is famous across the world.

It is the grandest address in Northern Ireland and a fine base for the Giant’s Causeway. The staff are charming in that particularly Irish way that makes one want to stay for one more.

A 14th-century manor house in a wooded valley in Jersey, owned by the same family for three generations. Longueville is gracious, quietly luxurious and as close to France as one can get while still using sterling.

The kitchen garden supplies the restaurant, the wine cellar is exceptional and dogs are warmly welcomed. Jersey Royals in season are a religious experience.

An Elizabethan manor at the end of a long drive through a Devon valley, with oak panels, enormous fireplaces and the Pig’s inimitable kitchen garden. It is grander than its siblings and, to my mind, the finest of them all.

Lunch in the old stable yard, a walk in the deer park, dinner by firelight. One leaves feeling three pounds heavier and ten years younger.

A Jacobean-style mansion built for Viscount Hambleden of W.H. Smith fame, set in 275 acres of Dartmoor National Park. There is a golf course, falconry, fishing and an Art Deco Cathedral Room for dinner.

It has the jolly air of a 1930s house party. Dogs are welcome and the moor is their playground.

A 14th-century manor house in what is often called the prettiest village in England, and I see no reason to argue. A golf course, a river and 365 acres of parkland complete the picture.

Walk down to the village for a pint at the White Hart and back in time for dinner. It is the English countryside of the biscuit tin, done with genuine charm.

A 15th-century manor house overlooking Cheltenham Racecourse, which makes it the only sensible place to stay during the Festival. One can practically hear the hooves from the bath.

The Great Hall is magnificently panelled and the spa is a balm for the losing punter. I have been both, and found it equally comforting in either condition.

The ancestral home of the Lowther family on the edge of the Lake District, a Grade I listed hall with a kitchen garden, a swimming pool and a restaurant of real distinction.

It is relaxed, aristocratic without a whiff of stuffiness and very welcoming to dogs. The ruins of Lowther Castle are a short walk away.

A Victorian manor in the Ribble Valley that has been one of the gastronomic powerhouses of the North for decades. One goes for the food and stays because standing up seems unwise.

The wine list is outstanding and the service is warm and brisk in the Lancastrian way. The Forest of Bowland is on the doorstep for remedial walking.

A Georgian and Arts and Crafts house in the green hills of Pembrokeshire, beautifully restored and run with great devotion. The restaurant is one of the best in Wales.

Pembrokeshire’s coast is close at hand for walking off the tasting menu. A gem of a hotel.

A crofter’s cottage on the shore of Loch Dunvegan that became one of the most celebrated restaurants in Britain. The rooms, in the House Over-By, all look out to the sea.

Dine on langoustine and lobster caught within sight of the window. It is remote, romantic and quite unforgettable.

A former lighthouse tender moored in Leith, converted into a floating hotel of great Art Deco elegance by the people behind the Royal Yacht Britannia. Cabins are panelled in wood and polished like a Bentley dashboard.

Few hotels let one sleep on the water in such style. The Lighthouse Bar is a marvellous place for a sundowner.