Escape to the Country
January in the Cotswolds is quiet in a way that makes you notice everything, from the frost on the hedgerows to the sharp bite of the air. The Christmas rush is gone. Shops are shuttered. Even the village seems to sigh, relieved to be left alone. So it was decided, a weekend in Chipping Campden.
We wrap up in layers, putting on our thick coats, chunky scarves and gloves that make our hands just warm enough to hold a warm cup of coffee. The air is cold and every step through the winding lanes feels like a shared adventure. The honey-colored cottages and misty fields are a world paused just for us. Perfect for a morning walk.
By midday, we find the Eight Bells Inn tucked into a village corner. Its wooden beams and low ceilings promise warmth before we’ve even opened the door. Inside, the fire crackles and the comforting smell of baked bread mingles with the aroma of hearty dishes being served. We settle at a window table and watch the frost patterns on the glass. You order the classic beef roast dinner and I opt for a mushroom wellington, the warmth of the pub wrapping around us as we settle in.
The food fills us and the fire warms us but the thought of returning to our cottage lingers. Soon enough we are back indoors and shedding our coats and scarves and lingering over playful conversation about our lunch. You smirk, teasing me about choosing the mushroom wellington over the hearty beef roast, and I laugh, defending my perfectly indulgent choice. The cottage is quiet, welcoming and entirely ours.
We settle in front of the fire, blankets draped around our shoulders and a cheeseboard between us. Flames dance across polished logs, warming our skin as we nibble cheese and crackers and sip red wine. Outside, the night sky twinkles, stars scattered like diamonds across the velvet dark. Every glance, every smile and every shared bite feels intimate and indulgent.
Later, the night grows colder and we move to the terrace, slipping into the hot tub. Steam curls into the crisp air with the warmth of the water wrapping around us like a secret. Glasses clink and fingers trail across skin. The firelight from inside flickers across the water’s surface, casting us in golden reflections. The countryside stretches silent around us, unaware of our laughter, our whispers and the slow indulgence of being together in the quietest month of the year.
No crowds and no schedule. Just the soft heat of water, the bite of winter air and the delicious thrill of a slow Sunday to ourselves. In the Cotswolds, January doesn’t feel cold it feels like a secret we’re meant to share.