I woke before John - before dawn, in fact - at 5:45, when it was still pitch black outside. But with the clocks changing overnight, it felt like 6:45, and, being an early riser, I began to fidget under the sheets - the down duvet crinkling around me like a weightless cloud of feathers.
It was dark, sure, but as I tiptoed to our room's window facing Lime Wood's grand drive and peered out onto the scenic lawn, I contemplated going out for a walk - by myself - in the nearby woods. A thought which surprised me since, just a few years ago, you couldn't convince me to put on a pair of hiking boots, let alone go for a walk in a muddy wood on my own.
But 24 hours at Lime Wood had already placed a strange hold over me: call it magic, but I longed for a walk in the cold, bracing air to clear my head, after embarking on one shortly after our arrival the day before. I wanted to see the magical New Forest ponies once again, who - like a line of chorus dancers - eyed us curiously, before trotting past in a semi-choreographed line of their own accord, tossing their manes as they did so.
When John opened his eyes, I was hovering over him like a crazed stalker: "Can we go for a walk now?" I asked, practically lacing up my boots already. He rubbed his eyes and smiled at my new-found enthusiasm for convening with nature. "Sure."
But just then, there was a knock at the door, and a uniformed man bearing a large and heavy tray cluttered with fresh pots of tea, fruit juices, homemade granola, New Forest yogurt, and a basket full of warm pastries deposited the said tray onto our bed and we sat, tucked up in the duvet once again, watching the sun rise while dropping crumbs on the pillows.
Satiated, we finally embarked on that walk: sneaking down the staircase before other guests had risen like a pair of teens creeping out to make mischief, making our way through the boot room which held a rainbow-hued collection of Hunter wellies neatly stacked under a reclaimed wooden table, and unlocking the gate to the woodland - my boots making squelchy sounds from the mud underfoot.
Back at the hotel, sheepishly returned with muddy boots in hand and wasted no time in slinking directly to Herb House spa, where we indulged in hour-long Bamford massage treatments before soaking in the hydrotherapy pool as powerful jets of water pummelled our aching shoulders; the soles of our feet. At one point, I sat flipping through a water-damaged issue of Grazia that someone had left behind, warming my feet and seat on the long, U-shaped heated marble bench, and declared, "I'm happy," to John, who had thrown a towel over his shoulder en route to the steam room.
"Good," he said, and disappeared into the mist.
Later that afternoon, we peeked into every drawing room and discovered the library: a cozy little snug with a large bay window and working fireplace (which John set to lighting straight away, after asking permission) filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves heaving with art books. We ordered spicy Bloody Marys and refreshing herb-infused lemonades, nibbling on peanuts and speaking only to mutter exclamations over enticing holidays advertised in the paper we both shared.
The food, though highly anticipated, erred on the side of disappointment for us. As huge fans of Angela Hartnett's Murano in London, we expected to be similarly excited by the fare served at Hartnett Holder & Co, Lime Wood's main restaurant (the other restaurant, Raw & Cured, offers a healthy, raw-food-focused menu at Herb House spa). But our crab linguine was overseasoned yet lacking in flavor; the chicken schnitzel nothing to write home about; and the seaweed-encrusted duck a strange (and unnervingly sweet) concoction. However: the crispy bacon sandwich at breakfast was out-of-this-world delicious and the charcuterie board deserved the highest praise.
Despite this, I'd happily return to Lime Wood - again and again. The rooms, the service, the activities - that spa - make it the ultimate treat for adults (although it was lovely to see that children were welcome too).
We're already plotting our next trip there - magical ponies and all.
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