Mr & Mrs Smith

‘I’ve printed out a few pages from the Arundel website, the castle looks fab’, says a heavily pregnant and slightly confused Mrs Smith. ‘But darling, as I think I’ve mentioned once or twice before, it’s Oundle we’re going to this weekend, not Arundel. That’s in Sussex – we’re off to Cambridgeshire. And I’m afraid there’s no castle.’ Such false hopes can lead to disappointment. I’m nervous. Blessedly, the moment we pulled up at Oundle Mill, with its lockside setting, thick stone walls and welcoming air, all such thoughts whoosh away like the waters careering through the turbine below the neon-lit glass-floored reception.

There’s been a flour mill here on the banks of the River Nene, next to the Upper Barnwell Lock, since Saxon times, with the current limestone-built building dating back to the 17th century. Oundle Mill has been a restaurant since the Sixties, reopening under new ownership in August 2008 after a three-year refurb. For such a tall building it is slightly surprising to discover that this hip hotel has only two bedrooms: now that is boutique. The first two floors are given over to dining and an open kitchen, so it’s more restaurant with rooms than traditional guesthouse. Both bedrooms are on the top floor, the biggest of which, the Mill room, has double-storey beamed ceilings, huge velvet bed base, and a double-ended Castello stone bath bedside under its eaves. We are staying in the much smaller Lucom room, but what it lacks in size it makes up for in character.

A small timber cabin jutting out from the top of the stone building, with tiny casement windows on three sides is in fact our boudoir. The original mill pulleys still hang over the under-lit bed, which itself seems suspended over a deep red carpet. Mrs Smith doesn’t quite process how precarious this perch is until I point out Lucom from below. Fortunately vertigo is not one of her pregnancy symptoms. Once in our room, she is swiftly soothed by the Jo Malone toiletries and striped Missoni bathrobes, which she is more than a little tempted to sneak away with, magpie-like. She is in nest-feathering mode after all. Complimentary sloe gin, milk and freshly squeezed orange juice in the fridge is another considerate touch.

After a quick glass of champagne on the low-slung sofas by the high-top bar we are led through the busy restaurant towards our table. Peering out the low-slung window to have a look at the lock, I am brought resoundingly back to my senses with a thunderous crack on the head from an unforgiving beam. As we sit down, my head is spinning like a fly caught in one of the many spiders webs we could see around the turbines through the glass panel in the floor below. I distract myself with a menu that leans towards jazzed-up gastropub and the mega-portions are obviously popular with the loyal local clientele. We plump for a daily set menu at a decent £25 for three courses An unctuously melting pork belly is its centrepiece for me, with Japanese influences appealing to Mrs Smith. A tad limp tempura of asparagus with poached egg is followed by a delicious home-cured mackerel with crushed potato and pickled sweet beetroot.

Head chef and GM of the hotel, Jeremy Medley, pops out to welcome us at the end of the meal and shares the secret of his fish dish: his marinade is the same that Nobu use for their legendary black cod. A jovial chap, he takes great delight in our obvious enthusiasm for food, rubbing his belly confessing he is more than a little fond of it himself. Having casually asked for some recommendations to see, eat and do in the surrounding area, we are very pleasantly surprised when a bespoke dossier lands on the table with coffee.

The following morning is a beautiful autumn day and our best-laid plans are put on ice after a large full English which has divine old-spot sausages as headline acts. A few hours of watching the narrowboats go by while lounging with the papers on the banks of the River Nene are ample activity for us. We had planned on a five-mile hike around the adjoining lakes, as popular with fishermen as ramblers, but instead we hop into the car for a 20-minute drive to the glorious Burghley House, on the outskirts of Stamford. Famous for three-day eventing, with parkland laid out by Capability Brown, recent additions to the grounds of this Elizabethan stately home are worth a look. There’s an incongruity to some of the shiny industrial metal sculptures on display but Rick Kirby’s giant disintegrating, and slowly rusting, faces peering out of the undergrowth are captivating. So too are the Victoriana gardens of surprise, with myriad water features, complete with mirrors, smokes and lights.

Stamford itself is a gorgeous old market town that grew up as a staging post on the London to Edinburgh carriage route. The George was an old coaching inn in those days and today hails as one of the best restaurants in Lincolnshire. Specialising in seafood, we enjoy a tasty lobster tagliatelle, preceded by oysters and retro prawn, crayfish and avocado, unashamedly doused in cocktail sauce. After that, it is back t’mill where ambitious plans of sampling the DVD menu are quickly shelved in favour of collapsing into a dreamless sleep, high above the lock. We never did make it to any castles. But then – we didn't need to – we were given royal enough treatment at Oundle Mill.