Brits are a nation of country folk.

Our myths are rural.

Our idylls bucolic.

Our solace amongst the oaks and the ivy.

Once mesmerised by the grit and gumption of the city, we have collectively been forced to refocus on our dreams of escape.

Ashlack Hall provides a space that is blissfully rustic. Swimming in lakes, wolfing down a seemingly inexhaustible supply of freshly grown delights, witnessing the abundant curiosity and joy of the land.

And when the days draw short and the darkness rises, we sit amongst the sloes and hawthorne. Something bubbling away on the Aga. The crackling of an open fire. The feeling of arriving home.

It is this that we wish to share.

The slow-paced, reflective, romantic freedom of a country life.