NETJETS EU VOLUME 15 2021

ON LOCATION
THIS IS THE GREEN and pleasant England of
dreams: a patchwork of small fields crossstitched
with hedgerows of hawthorn and hazel,
rinsed by Bristol Channel mists and mizzle. The
land rises and falls gently, tucks around the lap
and bosomy shelf of the Mendips that spreads
from Somerset’s great city, Bath, in the north, to
the newly popular, pretty hotspots of Frome and
Bruton in the southeast, then rolling westward
to the Quantocks, to Exeter and Exmoor beyond.
These newly christened honeypot-towns have old
bones, ancient even in the Domesday Book of
1086. For the many poets, artists and writers who
have been drawn to, and put down roots here, in
Somerset, including TS Eliot and John Steinbeck,
that palpable sense of the past and peace – “a real
thing, thick as stone, and feelable,” wrote Steinbeck
– as well as the ideal of pastoral life, embedded in
community and landscape, is an important lure.
Married to this sense of layered history is a
quality of peace, manna from heaven for restless
millennials and lockdown-weary Londoners.
Simultaneously, five-star hotels have sprung
up, with kitchen gardens attached or allotments
that impart the kind of kudos formerly reserved
for infinity pools or spas. Once derelict pubs in
this cheese and cider county are repurposed
as polished guesthouses and inns, farm shops
proliferate with skinny almond lattes and
cavolo nero ago-go, to soothe, and attract, a
new crowd of urban sophisticates to the sticks.
WHERE TO SLEEP, EAT, DRINK
AND BE MERRY
It has long vanished, that quaint insularity of
Somerset. What was once a forgotten corner
of the country, bypassed by holidaymakers
and second-home owners racing down to
Cornwall, is today a unique nexus of creative
and cosmopolitan talent. And there is no better
showcase for this talent than Number One Bruton
(numberonebruton.com), a hotel which opened
just before the first lockdown, formerly a hardware
store and blacksmith’s beloved by Steinbeck. Now
owned by a Somerset family of diplomats and
literati, it is an atmospheric jumble of rooms. One
wing, the old Forge, dates back to the 12th century
when it was part of an inn for pilgrims en route
to Glastonbury Tor. The communal rooms are
decorated with mementos gifted to the family by
some of Somerset’s celebrated residents; there are
photographs, landscapes of the nearby Levels by
Don McCullin, installations by Candace Bahouth, a
staircase mural painted as a gift by Kaffe Fassett and
a crazy, rainbow-coloured armchair upholstered by
celebrated leather-man Bill Amberg and jeweller to
the stars Solange Azagury – who prowls the high
street with a beady eye for overlooked “finds”.
© THE NEWT IN SOMERSET
ISTOCK
© NUMBER ONE BRUTON
54 NetJets