Spent the weekend about two hours from London at Chewton Glen in Hampshire with a friend. We were self-scheduled perfectly: coffee in the mornings on our terrace, driving on the left in our tiny rental car, time in the hydrotherapy pools (think Roman bath with seven different types of water jets), tea on the terrace, tennis on the indoor courts (ready, Wimbledon!), canter through the shire on Merlin and Jeopardy, walk down to the beach, and champagne and port in the bar with Oasis. Oh yes, the band Oasis was staying here as well. Of course, we only noticed a group of men wearing jeans and wrinkles with terribly shaggy hair hanging at the bar. The waiter clued us in. Feeling rather fancy since we sat next to Salman Rushdie at dinner on Thursday night. Star circuit?
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