So here is a kind of paradise; tranquil yet busy; blackbird, chaffinch, wren; an unconcerned great spotted woodpecker — splash of black and white; dot of red — running errands on the lawn.
White willow, cow parsley, purslane, hogweed, white goosefoot. Names given by the plants themselves to country people long ago who understood their intrinsic powers.
Tunnel of shade beneath crab apple and hazel, gnarled and twisted; love-lies-bleeding and red campion waiting like a leis garland to greet you on exit.
A clump of nettles ornate with butterflies; cotoneaster so full of bees, it buzzes like a high-voltage cable.
Pile of cut trunks greened with paint-by-numbers algae, lichens and moss. (Within their darkened criss-cross networks, who knows which secret creatures are scurrying.)
Outsize stalks of rhubarb; clump of stork’s-bill; red-leaved rose.
Then cobbled path to the drawing room, where peony and giant allium, purple aconite, lavender, columbine and lily of the valley gather, as if waiting to be let in.
This is peace.
‘Can I come?’ Ian asks.
I’ve tried to establish a calm and predictable routine, provide a safe and comfortable space, and gradually desensitise him to being alone. Regular exercise, mental stimulation, and positive reinforcement are crucial.
‘No,’ I say.
The dog — who also suffers from separation anxiety — looks equally alarmed.
I’ve never been on a retreat like this before, and I’m excited. Also slightly nervous. Will it become obvious at any point (not sure why it would, but you know) that my underwear is Primark? What if we do yoga, and the local fire brigade has to undo me from a Gordian knot? (My grandmother was still doing headstands in her mid-60s. What happened to those genes, hmm?) What if I wake myself up with a snort during a meditation? (I’m not prepared to go into why I consider this a possibility.)
But I’m so reassured by the questionnaire I’m sent, which — unlike anything I’ve ever received from HMRC — exudes a sense of care.
‘Do you have a favourite tipple?’ it queries, alongside the necessaries.
‘What are you most looking forward to experiencing during your stay?’
I give Ian and the dog a hard stare.
So I drive to Bisley and follow the what3words directions — which is great; because Ian is the maps man. After bumping along a glorious mile-long chestnut-lined drive, I end up at a gorgeous, generations-old farmhouse… then suddenly remember that there were written instructions, too. I’ve come to the wrong place!
So I turn back round to the moment where the road forked, divided by an ancient tree; and take the other route, over the cattle-grid, following the barely-a-road through a gentle herd of Welsh Black cattle, who gaze on me with munching curiosity.
And I arrive at exactly the same farmhouse.
My phone beeps.
'So lonely', Ian texts.
And ‘baby’ is an apposite word. She has three of them: children of nine, six and one-and-a-half.
For 20 years, she worked in the city: ‘high-achiever’ might be one description; she leans towards ‘stress’. ‘For the last couple of years, I was really struggling. I went a couple of times to a really nice spa hotel: you can go for a night, a couple of nights, but it’s never long enough to switch off; and it’s always filled with couples or kids.’
So she conceived a vision of her own ideal away-from-it-all: ‘Not a hotel; a home-from-home restorative experience.’
For?
‘A modern, burned-out woman. Busy family; busy life.’
So am I too old?
‘Anybody, any age, any background.’
There will be yoga on offer — amongst other activities: ‘But we’re not asking people to get up at 6am for sunrise yoga and then drink juice for a week. Our ethos is that you couldn’t want for anything — really spoilt and looked after. Just about taking care of people who are really at their wits’ end.’
Each retreat will have its own programme, all included: core activities; group activities; workshops.
‘Things that maybe people with really busy lives would love to have tried but never had time to do it. Or things they did before children but have never had time to go back to.’
Modern-brush calligraphy, for example. ‘So I’d been wanting to try it for ages. It wasn’t until I stopped work last August that I managed to go on this workshop that we’re now offering here. And it was like, ‘Gosh! I wish I’d done this before!’ Because, much like sewing or making, it’s a really lovely thing to relax with.’
(Obviously, you only participate in the activities you fancy — all or none; but I love it when people tell me what to do; otherwise, I can’t settle: the choice is too confuddling.)
And my bedroom — with Art-Deco bathroom (‘I wasn’t sure about the pink bath, but it’s original’); and Jacobean-origin four-poster (so high I have steps up to it), ornate with carved dark-wood figures that look fiercely determined I should enjoy my stay. (Note to self: Don’t mention to Ian there’s room for me, him, the dog and various other people in the bed alone.)
Outside, we meander round the steam room, sauna and pools; the tennis court; the utterly restful gardens bursting with blooms.
As other guests arrive, we sit down to lunch prepared by chef Ian Ballantyne: flat-bread flavoured with foraged wild garlic. Salads of pea, mint and feta; radish and cucumber, dill and sumac; heritage tomatoes; green beans, blood orange and toasted almonds; asparagus with Parmesan and lemon. And a delicious frittata.
All washed down with a light, fresh rosé from Kingsthorne at nearby Flaxley.
If you want a cliché, I’ll give you one… except that it’s true. As we women — who have never met before — sit round the table, we click. And it’s not just the wine; not even the wine. There’s something about this space that allows us to open up; to share.
Later, as I climb the stairs into my Wembley Stadium-sized bed (the oaken figures clearly disapproving of my nightwear), Jane — one of my fellow guests — WhatsApps me a ghost emoji.
Who needs friends.
Face-reader?
‘People are really curious: My gosh, what is that? We might think of Tarot reading, palm reading, psychic reading. This is slightly different.’
Once upon a time — for it’s a Chinese art as ancient as acupuncture — respectful diviners would use it to analyse the health of the Emperor, whose eminence forbade more intimate examinations.
‘I’m looking at personality traits; your drives and motivations; but also at lines, indentations, markings.’
(Plenty of fodder in my case.)
So why would I choose this over other types of readings?
‘It’s incredibly validating and affirming. Especially for women, there are lots of parts of our face we’re not quite happy with; we don’t look like the standard. I tell them it’s their super power.’
It’s an interesting concept when you think about it: we know other people’s faces. We instinctively identify (or so we think) cruel mouths; kind eyes.
We are all face-readers — just not our own.
So Sarah begins (having already studied close-up photos that Fliss, with my permission, took of me earlier.)
‘The first thing I noticed is your nose stood out.’
(It’s not a shy, retiring nose, for sure.)
‘It’s a beautiful nose.’
(I’ll take it; but this could be stretching the definition.)
‘The nose represents your lung energy. This is an element of the metal — our ability to work hard, strive, value ourselves, put ourselves out into the world to be seen.
‘I noticed it sticks off the face a little bit; that tells me you’re a bit of a trail-blazer; a pioneer; you want to put your flag in the ground: This is me! I’m here! Look at what I’m doing!
‘That’s a really good quality.’
Does it not make me sound obnoxious?
‘We have a lot of judgement about how we should be but I think that’s your super power.’
There’s much more — about my curiosity; my slightly receding chin (‘which tells me that you champion others less fortunate’). My ears pinned back make me a good listener.
And my eyes indicate wisdom.
‘Is that something you know about yourself?’
Well, I explain, my children always say they’d like me beside them in any emergency: ‘Because whatever you instinctively do, mum, we’d know to do the opposite’.
A kind of wisdom, I guess.
Sarah sees some tiredness; some nervousness around trust issues; limiting beliefs.
It’s a fascinating experience.
Later, before dinner (another delicious meal, eaten outdoors around the pool), we meet for ‘somatic therapy’ meditation in the barn, led by Stina Richardson. Again, it’s like nothing I’ve experienced before. We lie on mats, under the eaves of this ancient building — stunningly converted — as Stina conjures visions, complemented by a wall of sound from the bowls she uses. Like wineglasses during a tipsy dinner, she runs (in this case) a stick around them, their vibrations — lower or higher, according to bowl-size — filling your every atom with their resonance. A strange, incremental, whirling feeling that energises and quietens the soul.
Actually wonderful.
‘I may touch your feet at the end,’ Stina says.
Slightly worrying. I’ve been padding round in the same socks all day.
‘We’ll never forget the sweaty-footed snorter we shared our retreat with,’ one of my new-found friends whispers, touchingly.
For once, it’s not Jane.
And, when I get back home, Ian and the dog are still speaking.
• For the next retreat — in September — contact Fliss: contact@papiliohouse.com; 01452 452405; or visit papiliohouse.com
Meet the chef…
One of the many joys of Papilio House is the food, cooked by Ian Ballantyne of The Family Meal.
In his past life, with his business partner, he ran a restaurant in London, an event company, and managed a venue as well. When he and wife, Kat, had children, they realised they needed to slow down.
‘We managed to sell the restaurant the week before our second child was born. I remember walking Dylan in a pushchair, a few days old, talking to Kat, worrying, ‘Is the money going to come through?’ And then Felix — who was three-and-a-half — disappeared. We lived right next to the park, and everybody was looking for him.
‘Finally, I said, ‘I’m just going to check home’. And he was sat on the doorstep! So many things going on.’
And we’ve all been there.
Ian’s idea of simplifying life might not be everyone’s: he caters for events at Copsegrove Farm, Bisley (it’s available for hire; plus there are ticketed feast nights in the barn); alongside other outside catering events, from big weddings to intimate dinners.
He also teaches for the NHS, helping people with health issues to make simple, life-altering changes to their diets.
‘I love cooking for people; looking after them. I love those magic moments when I produce something they weren’t expecting. It could be as simple as vegetables with a little herb sauce.
‘With the teaching class as well: ‘Try this; now a squeeze of lemon; a touch of salt; a little bit of olive oil.’
‘To be able to transform any veg into something delicious.’
He’s a big champion of local food: edible flowers from his own garden; beef from Copsegrove Farm and Stancombe Beech Farm Shop, both in Bisley; salads and veg from Good Small Farms over towards Painswick; Ruskin Mill Trout in Nailsworth.
In September, he and the team even did a one-mile feast at the Copsegrove barn, trying to get as much as possible from that tiny radius.
‘It was really difficult but a lot of fun. Oats from the farm which we milled down; we tried to make rape seed oil but that didn’t work. We milked the cows, which was quite an experience because they’re not dairy cows!
‘I think it was something like 85-90 percent that we managed.’
Kudos.
• thefamilymeal.co.uk
• copsegrovefarm.com
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