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I have been lucky enough to stay at The White Hart in Leonard Stanley with my fiancé, his family, and my own. I wanted to share how our days unfolded, the reasons we all love this house, and some of the memories we have created here over the years.
As you may know, The White Hart is part of Arlington & Row's portfolio, which means I am usually at the property in a work capacity. I notice the practical things. Are all the light bulbs working? Is the hot tub hot enough? Are the remote controls where they should be?
The truth is that I do this everywhere. Even when staying in someone else's holiday home as a guest, I find myself mentally taking notes. This kitchen could be better equipped. That's a clever use of space. I like that idea, although I might have done it differently. It is part of the job, and if you ask my fiancé, probably quite exhausting to live with.
Switching off doesn't come naturally to me. My mind is usually moving on to the next task, the next guest, the next thing that needs attention.
The White Hart is one of the very few places where I can turn that off.
Our gifted stays are typically two nights long. While most guest bookings at The White Hart are for three nights or more, two nights gives us enough time to experience the house as guests, properly switch off, and understand what makes a stay here so memorable.
When I first walk into The White Hart, Joe and I usually have the first evening to ourselves before the rest of the family arrives the following day.
We carry in our bags, unpack the food and drinks, and settle in. I always seem to head straight for the kitchen, admiring the flowers, fresh milk, cheese and crackers kindly left by the owner. It's a thoughtful welcome that never goes unnoticed.
Meanwhile, Joe heads directly to the bar. The beers are put away, a bottle of red wine is opened, and before long, I am sitting on a barstool while he stands behind the counter, chatting about our day. Somehow, an hour always disappears remarkably quickly.
Only then do we wander through the house and decide which bedroom we will claim for the weekend. Daphne is our personal favourite.
We then usually book a taxi and head to The Royal Oak in North Woodchester. It's close enough that it doesn't take too much time away from The White Hart, but far enough to feel like a little outing.
After dinner, we return to the house, choose a film from the collection in the TV room, and settle into a sofa so comfortable it seems to swallow you whole.
The evening often ends in the hot tub. Fairy lights twinkle overhead, the village falls quiet around us, and the night sky stretches out above. Afterwards, we head upstairs, take a quick shower, and sink into a bed so comfortable that a full night's sleep feels almost inevitable.
The slow morning starts; we wake up later than usual (which is always welcome), and one of us makes the coffee. Joe usually finds his way back into the hot tub almost immediately ("when do I ever get to do this?"), while I sit in bed with my coffee, look out of the window and listen to the birds.
As we slowly get ready, family begins to arrive in dribs and drabs. There are no strict arrival times here; whatever works, goes. As people walk through the door, they naturally begin exploring the house and choosing their rooms. The children, of course, race around excitedly, discovering hiding places and claiming favourite corners before the adults have even unpacked.
Lunch soon appears on the large dining tables, usually in the form of several generously stocked charcuterie boards shared between us all.
If time allows, some of us might head into Stroud to browse the market and collect local ingredients for dinner, while others stay behind. The village park is only a short walk away and is often occupied by both children and adults, proving that swings and climbing frames don't lose their appeal quite as quickly as we like to pretend.
One of the things I love most about The White Hart is how relaxed the days feel, yet how quickly they seem to pass. Nobody is rushing, there is rarely a plan, and yet somehow the afternoon quietly slips into early evening before anyone really notices.
As the day unfolds, everyone settles into their own rhythm. Children move effortlessly between the garden, the hot tub and whichever game has captured their attention that day. Some of the adults gather in the bar with a glass of wine, chatting and playing games, while others find a quieter corner of the house.
Little Violet can often be found at the chalkboard wall in the bar, completely absorbed in her latest masterpiece. On one stay, I sat beside her reading The Twits by Roald Dahl while she drew, both of us equally content with our chosen activity.
Elsewhere, Sam, my sister, and my niece Eliza became fiercely competitive over a game of dominoes while my dad and step mum, Lindsey, watched from the sofa with the fire crackling beside them.
My brother-in-law Nathan spent much of one afternoon chatting with Joe's brother and sister-in-law, only to discover a surprising number of mutual friends. Nathan's home-brewed beer helped keep the conversation going.
Meanwhile, Joe and I start preparing dinner. The kitchen seems to invite people in, so although we're technically cooking, we're never alone for long. Someone helps chop vegetables, someone else lays the table, and conversations drift in and out as dinner slowly comes together.
Before long, those who have been reading emerge from quiet corners, the children return from the garden, and somehow another afternoon has slipped away.
One of my favourite memories at The White Hart is carrying a large curry through to a dining table filled with both of our families. Dish after dish was carried through to the long dining table where both of our families were gathered together. Joe spent most of the meal insisting he had somehow ruined it, while everybody else enthusiastically reassured him that it was excellent.
Once dinner was finished, my step mum's homemade cheesecake made an appearance. It was every bit as good as we had all hoped and disappeared remarkably quickly.
The rest of the evening unfolded in the way it always seems to at The White Hart. Some people headed off to bed, while others settled into the living room to chat over Nathan's home-brewed beer. My sister and the children claimed the hot tub for themselves, while my dad, Joe and I disappeared into the TV room.
For years, my dad had been trying to persuade Joe to watch Rocky III. Somehow, The White Hart finally provided the opportunity. While the rest of the house gradually grew quieter around us, the three of us sat together watching it, my dad delighted that he had finally succeeded in his mission.
Day Two begins much as the first ended: slowly.
People wake up in their own time and gradually make their way downstairs, still in their pyjamas, in search of coffee. Meanwhile, my sister is somehow already dressed and fully functioning, preparing a full English breakfast for everyone (thank you, Sam!).
We gather around the kitchen table, still slightly bleary-eyed, mugs warming our hands as the house slowly comes to life. Conversation inevitably turns to the house itself. Everyone remarks on how comfortable they slept, how thoughtfully equipped everything is, and how much care has clearly gone into creating the space.
Without fail, somebody comments that The White Hart is far bigger than they expected from the outside. The question that usually follows is, "How much does it cost to stay here?" closely followed by, "Perhaps we should book it ourselves next year."
As breakfast stretches into mid-morning, nobody seems particularly eager to acknowledge that our final few hours at The White Hart have arrived. Coffee cups are refilled, conversations continue, and people linger a little longer than they otherwise might.
Some of us take the opportunity to enjoy one final walkaround Leonard Stanley and the surrounding countryside, while others begin the less exciting task of packing bags and loading cars.
One thing we haven't yet managed to do as a family is visit the Saxon Barn market together. I've been myself and thoroughly enjoyed it, and every time we stay, I find myself saying that we should make time for it on our next visit.
As departure time approaches, the pace of the house changes. Bedrooms are checked, forgotten phone chargers are retrieved, and final cups of coffee are finished. Comments are written in the guest book, hugs are exchanged, and goodbyes are said.
Then, one by one, cars begin to leave the driveway until the house falls quiet once more.
Nothing of monumental historical importance happens during our weekends at The White Hart.
There are no grand adventures, no life-changing revelations and no dramatic stories to tell. Instead, there are shared meals, long conversations, walks through the village, films watched together, books quietly enjoyed, and children making memories with their cousins.
Perhaps that's why these weekends stay with us. Nothing extraordinary happens, yet somehow, they become the memories we talk about most.
What The White Hart does so brilliantly is create the space for those moments to happen naturally. Bonds are strengthened, stories are shared, and two families continue getting to know one another a little better each time we stay.
For me, that is perhaps the highest compliment I can give a holiday home.
When I visit for work, I'm in work mode. When I stay as a guest, something shifts. Conversations last longer. Mornings feel unhurried. People drift between the kitchen, the garden, the hot tub and the bar without any real plan for the day.
As someone who spends much of her life thinking about holiday homes, I rarely stop analysing them. The White Hart is one of the very few places where I have permission to stop. Instead, I simply enjoy being there.