Competition does keep a place on its toes. In the small town of Tenterden, in the pretty bit of Kent, two ancient hostelries face each other across the handsome high street. The 15th-century Woolpack had a nip and a tuck just over a year ago; the White Lion then followed suit, and reopened recently.
Our plans for sightseeing cut short by an apocalyptic downpour, we drive straight to the pub. This turns out to be a good call. The bar has a "just done-up" look, but is cheery and welcoming, with a fire in the grate, beamed ceilings and plenty of nooks where you could sit and work your way through the range of Kentish ales – this is hop country, after all.
Where are all the people? Manager Roger Norris tells us they're over the road in the "Woollie", watching the rugby (a point to the Woolpack if you like rugby; a point to the White Lion if, like me, you don't) but he's expecting a full house that night. He pours a jug of fresh milk and leads us up to "Bodiam", a large and light family room with high ceilings and sash windows overlooking the high street. There are 14 individually decorated bedrooms. Ours is "shabby chic" – faux-vintage furniture, distressed wooden mirror, chandelier – but some elements, the suede sofabed and upholstered headboard, whisper "dated" rather than "vintage". In the small bathroom, the door needs a shove to close it, the toilet roll holder falls to the floor at the lightest touch and the fan sounds like a helicopter. But the soft, white bed linen, White Company toiletries and homemade shortbread compensate.
Roger was right about the place filling up. When we come down for dinner, the bar and restaurant are buzzing, many of whom are tucking into pizzas cooked in a huge wood-fired oven. The menu makes a song and dance about its steaks so I order the fillet, my boyfriend the rib-eye, and much lip-smacking ensues. It's one of the best I've eaten. Ditto the chips and tempura-like, poppy-seed onion rings. Roger is proud of his wine list and steers us towards a soft Lebanese red from the Bekaa valley, which slips down indecently well.
Some noise from the bar and patio drifts up to our bedroom but it stops at midnight and I sleep deeply until the church bells across the road start clanging. I wake up starving (what's that all about?) and go through the charade of considering a continental breakfast before opting for the full fry-up. It's a good 'un. A breakfast to set up you up for a day of hiking the Downs. If only the rain would stop …
• Accommodation was provided by The White Lion
