The Bell in Ticehurst

It’s on our second morning at the Bell that I first notice the hats dangling from the ceiling of the restaurant. Or rather Mr Smith spots them; lampshades that started out their lives as bowler hats. I’m not sure how I missed them. My only excuse is that there are so many other whimsical touches here to distract me, such as the tower of books stacked floor to ceiling in the centre of the room, giving the impression that the roof is held in place by a collection of sturdy tomes. Or the silver birch tree that appears to sprout from the first floor and stretch through the floorboards above.

We’ve booked a country escape and, taking advantage of the Bell’s proximity to Mr Smith’s sister, we’ve left our two young boys with her for the night. With its relaxed approach and a reputation for comfort and character, the Bell sounded suitably enticing.

Shortly after stepping through the low slung door, we get a sense of the quirky nature of this 16th century pub with rooms. Our suite, named ‘The Then and The Now’ is one of seven over the pub and its delightful oddities include a vintage dentist chair and a wardrobe door marked ‘Narnia’. There are an additional five oast house style lodges with log-burners on private patios. Our bedroom, with exposed beams and chandelier above the double bed, is on the mezzanine and set in the eaves. The lower level has a built-in sofa, made up to sleep two additional guests. Tonight however, the sheets will remain crisp and undisturbed; our sons won't appear until tomorrow.

While munching on the complimentary homemade chocolate chip and oat cookies, I catch sight of a white-painted statue of a woman outside in the garden. She is hanging, Mary Poppins-esque, from an umbrella attached to a wire. A second artwork, a statue of a man doing the same, is beside her. I learn that Czech artist Michal Trpak is behind the fun installation.

As dinner-time approaches we head to the main restaurant, which is made up of a warren of rooms. We’re here over a weekend but if your stay happens to fall on a Wednesday, you can enjoy a surprise five-course taster menu, paired with wine and bespoke cocktails, from the chef Mark Charker in The Stables.

Against the backdrop of a fluorescent sign, its pink script reading ‘I will always love you’, we dip Guinness bread into leek and potato soup and gobble cauliflower cheese croquettes (these should be compulsory on menus everywhere). The menu offers traditional English fare and Mr Smith takes my lead and orders the same dish; chicken with haggis bites. Despite claiming we’ve no room for pudding, we polish off an apple crumble and a sticky toffee pudding.

The culinary standards are just as high at breakfast the following morning. There’s no time for dilly-dallying, given it finishes at 9.45 on the weekend but for Mr Smith and I, who are used to imposters in the bed at 6am, it feels ridiculously late for a full English. We eat beside the bar. A mish mash of modern art and old oil paintings decorate the walls, which are covered in a ruby-red damask wallpaper.

The buffet table is small but perfectly formed, with miniature pastries, freshly squeezed juices, bowls of muesli, granola, fruit, fruit compote and yoghurt. The logs are crackling in the inglenook fireplace and we flick through the newspapers. We have almost forgotten about the children until I absent-mindedly check my phone and see a text from the relatives. “How are you getting on?”. There’s a photo of the boys in the playroom with their angelic looking cousins peering in. It appears as if every toy they own has been tipped out onto the floor. The subtext is ‘please come and relieve us of these renegades’. We linger over our coffee just a little longer and then hightail it to the in-laws’ home.

We have lunch with the relatives so there's no time for local excursions but the hotel has plenty of recommendations for local walks and for those with a thirst, there’s the Hush Heath Estate where you can enjoy award winning English sparkling wine. If you want to be pampered, Wild Iris Spa is a 10 minute drive away and there’s also Bedgebury National Pinetum and Forest and the Scotney Castle estate, a National Trust property.

Once the boys have been retrieved and spirited back to the pub, they threaten to ruin the peace that reigns. We take them upstairs, where I hide the replenished supplies of freshly baked chocolate chip and oat biscuits, ostensibly to avoid a sugar induced meltdown but mainly because I don’t particularly want to share.

Ahead of supper we go for a wander around Ticehurst, which straddles the Kent and East Sussex border and is close to Wadhurst station. A small pretty little village, it is a half hour drive from Tunbridge Wells, Rye and Hastings. Later, in The Bell’s garden, we share burgers and chips. The garden has a chilled holiday atmosphere, which nicely sums up our weekend. The in-laws might describe their weekend differently.