For various personal reasons I had decided that I needed another weekend in a spa hotel. There are a lot of spa hotels out there offering a bewildering array of luxury, food, grounds, house style and prices. Simple budgets forced a first cut leaving a choice from Nairne (near Inverness), St Margret's Bay (near Dover) and The Lythe Hill Hotel and Spa (near Godalming, the site of Bulldog Drummond's first ripping adventure), we settled on the latter. It suited me very nicely not least because it is close to London and I wanted the weekend to relax, not to sleep or sit on a train for hours on end.

Getting to the establishment was the work of a taxi ride from Haslemere station. Although I could see technically how to walk to the hotel, it was across country in a big way with some reasonable hills to hike over. There was nothing too hard about it on the map, but it would have meant extra walking shoes and this would mean extra carrying for the two or three miles to the remote section of Sussex in which my destination was located.

So my glorious companion and I arrived in style having spent no more than about 5 quid getting there (on top of the train fare which was pretty reasonable too) to find out we had been allocated a room in the 15 century main manor house. I had asked for a nice large bed and that was the building with the room with their largest bed. Unfortunately it also had the lowest ceilings (the ceilings were lower than the bed was long, so they must have had fun getting it up the windy stairs and into the room).

Of the many good things about our room, including the uneven floors, exposed beams (which also exposed our heads to the risk of bumps), odd shaped spaces, windows that didn't really even close and an extraordinarily quirky staircase to get in, was that the dining room was right beneath us.

It took us a while to use the dining room (we had an extended weekend due to previous weekends at work) because the room service menu was really good. Using room service, you could get the best burgers, chips or proper, full-on salads etc for £8 each. Essentially their spa menu was also the room service menu, so it was complete, competitively priced and heartily recommendable. And, because we were in the same building as the cooks, it was also hot.

Against our continued desire to move as little as possible away from the direct lines between the pool, our room and the croquet lawn (don't ask) was the fact that the AA had awarded the restaurant 2 rosettes. Faced with such food quality on site, we had to try it even if only for completeness. So we paused our nightly scoffing of the room service with some reluctance to somewhere that it certainly was not cheaper and where we couldn't watch telly with our mouths full (which we can never do at home).

We always dress for dinner at these locations, so after donning the gear we descended the stairs in great style, making sure we didn't trip on an eccentrically placed 15 Century step. The dining room was dark wood panelled in a baronial style with the 2 metre diameter big cast iron hoop hanging from the ceiling forming the central source of illumination. The fire place on the long wall was in proportion as was the massive long table down the middle of the room (there were lots of smaller tables closer to the walls).

We were sat opposite each other at the long table (on the short sides, fortunately, so we didn't have to shout to each other).

To eat, my glamorous companion elected to sample a chicken dish while I opted for a tofu Asian concoction with crunchy bits on top. One of the dishes was lovely and the other was a horrible mash of tasteless wet glop with some well made crunchy bits on top. It was quite odd.

One thing that I have learnt over the years of drinking wine and eating food, is that bad things are rarely borderline. You can pretty much tell from the moment a cork comes out if the wine is off (sometimes on the first taste you realise that it has gone fizzy) and you never have to guess. The problems with my bowl of mush weren't about preference: all tofu should be silky and vegetables should have flavour. My preferences about the selection and flavour highlights may differ from the cook's, but here the flavours had gone AWOL (as had the texture). No question.

Well, one question … Should it go back? I haven't ever really sent anything back before (except a nearly uncooked pizza that was clearly a mistake). I couldn't tell. My companion who manages regularly to combine stunning good looks and a fabulous dress style with razor sharp decision making prowess made it clear that it should.

I raised my hand tentatively and the waiter, who was a pro of the best sort, had my dinner off the table and a menu in front of me in seconds with a clear offer to choose absolutely anything. I went for the snapper and the waiter came back to tell me the chef (who had had the night off) had descended upon the kitchen and it would all be going smoothly from now on.

If I may say so the difference between relief cook's efforts and chef's were noticeable. The fish was perfectly done and the vegetables that formed the bed upon which it lay were crisp and flavourful. I presume they were from the same supplier but cooked with a slightly different level of care and skill.

I mentioned earlier that our room was above the dining room. Well half of it was. The other half was above the kitchen. The talk we could hear in that the other half went on for some time after we had retired back upstairs.

Getting There: Head down the B2131 from Haslemere but don't get hit.

Who should eat there: Hotels guests, and that's it really.

Dining Style: Vaguely European.

Price £25 with wine.

QualityHits are hits and misses are very missy.

Would I go Back: I wouldn't make an effort.

Phoenician Trader

15.08.11 Front Page

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