The Vineyard, A Not So Romantic Getaway.

December 29, 2007. A not too distant memory...

Robin and I celebrate our wedding anniversary at the beginning of December. Not ideal in the hospitality industry when Christmas parties are all the go and people are in the mood for festivities, something I had not taken into consideration when planning our wedding some eight years ago. I am also a firm believer (some say martyr) that if you cannot celebrate your anniversary on the exact day there's no point in celebrating it all, which is why it is often overlooked save for a bunch of flowers and a card. This year however Robin decided to treat me while we were away in the UK. He'd chosen The Vineyard at Stockcross in Newbury, Berkshire, and it was my first night ever away from both my children (and no, I'm not one of those overprotective mums with issues about being away from their kids I'd just never had the opportunity). I was over the moon and had planned some serious pampering but it was not to be.

The night before we were due to head to Stockcross, a two or so hour drive from Robin's parent's house, I was at the cinema with his mother and sister when I began to feel extremely unwell. Sparing you the details I ended up spending the next ten or so hours stuck in the bathroom with a gastro style bug, later termed the 'norovirus', which swept through London at an alarming rate infecting people in droves, several of whom were hospitalised. I emerged 5 kilos lighter (I am not joking) and managed a few hours sleep before Robin carefully enquired as to what time I wished to head off. Naturally I didn't but the room had been booked as had a degustation menu for two that evening at The Vineyard's 2 Michelin-starred restaurant under Chef John Campbell. Fighting back tears I attempted a shower before dressing in the most comfortable and warm clothing I could find that wouldn't offend the other guests at the luxurious five star country hotel.


The drive was horrendous as I attempted to not retch (vomiting was out of the question by this point as there was nothing left) but Radio One managed to keep me semi entertained as did the strained mood between Robin and myself - he was trying his hardest not to be cross with me as it was obvious it wasn't my fault I'd gotten sick but at the same time he was furious that our romantic night away was so obviously ruined.


For those of you that haven't been to The Vineyard (and I highly recommend that if you have the chance you go as it is just lovely) it was originally an 18th century hunting lodge for a very wealthy family by the name of Foley. History lesson aside, I saw it as a rather grand building with a top restaurant and boutique spa set in gorgeous lush surroundings (and that's given my poorly state of health so you know it's pretty darn special). We were greeted at check in and told of our room upgrade to a luxurious split-level Atrium Suite which took a good five minutes to walk to down a maze of hallways and upon entering I was far to green to notice the contemporary design, or Christmas tree that sparkled majestically outside our balcony window in the mist grey afternoon.

We were greeted by a plate of petit fours, vintage Dom Perignon on ice and a welcome letter from the Deputy General Manager. Immediately in the mood Robin made to open the bottle of champagne but my urgent pleas to wait until I was in better health won over and the bottle was returned to its ice bucket. The large bed beckoned and within seconds I was fast asleep, still wearing my winter coat and boots. Four hours later I awoke to find a very bored Robin poking me gently. 'Are you coming for dinner?' he asked, which was greeted by a moan and I promptly fell back to sleep. I stirred a while later as Robin placed yet another bottle of water beside me and I noted his suit and disappointed expression before sleep took over again.

Some time later a knocking at the door woke me and I was started when somebody entered the room, but not as much as the poor girl who was entering. 'I'm sorry,' she said, her fluent English carrying a heavy accent. 'Did you want a turn down service?' I shook my head no and ever so slowly sat up. The room was ridiculously hot and my mouth as dry as the driest dessert imaginable, so I started to peel of my layers and downed the water. I padded into the bathroom, not recognising the gaunt person who stared back at me from the mirror, before silently slipping into a pair of PJ's and back under the covers.

At some point Robin returned, a fact I'm certain of because when I eventually awoke he was beside me. I wouldn't say that I woke feeling great but I certainly felt a darn sight better than the day before and juice beckoned so I rummaged around through the bar fridge before deciding on apple. Flipping the lid and slurping it up I made my way back to the bathroom, sighing at the sight of the massive tub and Molton Brown products. I am a huge Molton Brown fan and would never normally let such a treat go to waste but even sitting in a bath seemed like to much effort.

Shortly after Robin woke, begging me to join him for breakfast. We dressed, and walked the five minute maze to the dining room where we were greeted by a buffet style breakfast with a la carte offerings. I decided upon the scrambled eggs and though I only managed about a third of my meal it was easily one of the nicest scrambled eggs I have ever had. Robin insisted I would have loved the evening's meal too, that it was very much my taste, but alas my stomach had had other ideas. Perhaps next time...

We managed a quick spa and sauna before heading back, Robin even ventured into the steam room but opening the door I nearly passed out so chose instead to return to the spa for one last bubble massage. Returning to our room we showered, dressed and pretty much checked out and though I didn't get to take full advantage of The Vineyard's many offerings it was by far the nicest place I've ever been able to recover at and easily the best sleep I've had since having my first child four years ago.

I do hope to return one day under better circumstances but who knows...