Tatler Magazine

The seaside has always been magical. In the 18th century, high society sought the British shore for its healing qualities. Physicians would prescribe aristocrats a month’s leisure languishing by the coast with lashings of sea air to ward off anything from melancholia to a tumour. Meanwhile today, harried metropolitan types dream merely of stealing a reviving weekend from the noise and bustle of the city. The smart ones find themselves, as I did, aboard the Friday evening train from Paddington to Penzance – hurtling towards the craggy and blue Cornish south coast.

The Nare is a gem of an archetypal old English boutique hotel, set jauntily on a cliff edge with vast views of the ocean. Here, there’s a trim and a tassel in every room and plenty of rich mahogany, too. It’s delightful, luxurious, award-winning chintz: all the tea and china you could wish for served daily in the drawing room, along with scones heaped high with jam and Cornish clotted cream.

It is also one of the few British luxury hotels to allow dogs, surrounded as it is by a warren of picturesque coastal walking routes, which meant my husband and I could take our scoundrel of a puppy along with us, a Collie-Lab cross called Mervyn who, upon arrival, charged delightedly into the hotel, ran through the bar and into the restaurant as I bolted quickly after him. The staff were endlessly sweet and understanding, batting away my flurry of apologies as I corralled our charge up to the room...