September was not an easy month for me. Actually, it was horrible. My father is very ill, and I was worrying about that. Then I sold my house without - oh dear - finding a replacement, and suddenly my entire world was required to shrink to the size of the boot of my car. Plus, I'd been working hard: jumping on planes, running up hillsides.
I was starting to feel just a little bit frayed around the edges, like an old woollen sweater. One last yank - a tax bill, perhaps, or a too-tight deadline - and it seemed perfectly possible that I might finally At this point, several of my girlfriends suggested that I check myself into a spa, seaweed wraps and detox programmes being the 21st-century answer to everything. I love my girlfriends dearly, but what they tend to forget about me is that I come from stout northern stock. Deprivation, even if accompanied by Diptique candles, is just not my bag.
When I am worn out, I never find myself craving a glass of carrot juice, or even a deep-tissue massage. What I usually need is good food lots of it , fine wine ditto and a vast, firm bed in which to languish after I have finished overindulging. Oh, go on then: I'll walk to the nearest bar. The chateau, which is owned by Lady Helen Hamlyn, widow of the publishing magnate Lord Hamlyn it was once her home , and managed by Rocco Forte Hotels, was recommended to me by a male friend who has seen the remarkable effect a good dinner can have on my spirits.
It is one of the nicest places I have ever stayed. Magnificent yet understated, grand yet intimate, it has so many things to commend it, I hardly know where to start. So let me begin with the most important: should you be in the mood, you can have foie gras with everything. We flew to Lyon, and then took a taxi to Bagnols; the drive takes about 40 minutes. The chateau, which dates from the 13th century, is built of honey-coloured stone and has a moat and drawbridge.
It sits on a hill surrounded by vineyards and a formal garden with a circular swimming pool. It was dark by the time we arrived, but I fell in love immediately. Impossible not to. My room, which lay behind a green baize door at the end of a long, stone staircase, was in the old chapel, and on its walls were ancient frescoes depicting the life of St Hieronymus.
