There is a trend among the Hollywood glamourati to build or buy a holiday villa within an existing resort (usually in the Caribbean) so they can enjoy total seclusion but with all the benefits of a hotel on hand (top flight yoga teacher, world class wine cellar, spa).
Abergavenny, for all its snow-blanketed charms, cannot compete with the Turks and Caicos, but I'm hoping the Lodge pulls off a more simple version of this privacy-with-luxury combo. It stands next to the ruins of Abergavenny Castle but is owned and operated by the Angel Hotel, two minutes away. The nightly rate for this two-bedroom house includes breakfast at the hotel, whose restaurant has an AA rosette.
We check in at the hotel reception, then drive around to the rear, left into a narrow lane, and there is our stone cottage behind iron gates (which we must lock at night), in the snowy grounds of the castle ruins. How dramatic.
The guy from reception has slid across in his polished shoes with the keys. Brrr, bit nippy inside, perhaps the heating's only just come on. The downstairs bathroom and loo are serviceable rather than stylish, but there is a stack of thick towels and White Company toiletries. "Hey, look at all these teas," says my bloke opening a boxed selection in the kitchen (sink, fridge, cooker, kettle, but no pans or plates, this isn't about self-catering it's about being catered for).
"Let's have afternoon tea in the hotel - by the time we get back it should have warmed up," I say. Settled on big sofas in the hotel's sitting room, we help ourselves to delicate sandwiches and fresh cream cakes, sipping assam from bone china. This is the life.
It's a three-minute crunch across snow back to our hideout, now in darkness and behind locked gates. Total seclusion.
It's still not what I'd call warm, though. I reckon cold air from the chimney (the fireplace is not in use) is cooling what would otherwise be a cosy little sitting room. Upstairs the bedroom radiators are barely on. "Need bleeding," says my bloke while I peer out of leaded-glass gothic windows.
We're spoiled for choice for dinner - the famous Walnut Tree, Matt Tebutt's Foxhunter, the Bell at Skenfrith, all close - but I've spotted a good-looking inn outside town. "Let's live dangerously," I say.
The Hardwick, we discover, is owned by Stephen Terry. Michelin stars, working with Marco, he's done it all, and now cooks unpretentious but sublime meals in this foodie corner of Wales. We've landed spectacularly on our feet.
Things have warmed up in the bedroom, thanks to a heater from the hotel. "It's not how you'd like it though - Mediterranean," says my bloke. I like the yellow roses in a vase but there is a single bedside light between two of us, and two flat sheets, not a cover, encase the duvet. Strange, considering a night here costs more than a hotel room.
We start the day with a snowball fight among the ruins, all ours until the gates are officially unlocked about nine-ish, then slither down a footpath to the Castle Meadows and join the dog-walkers along the river Usk, huge snow clouds over the Blorenge mountain. Then it's back into the hotel's warm and stylish embrace for breakfast. We really like this concept, just as long as The Lodge can deliver the same comfort level as the hotel.
Best for: a romantic getaway - but passion-killer nightwear is advisable in February.
• Angel Hotel, 15 Cross St, Abergavenny (01873 857121, angelhotelabergavenny.com). Double occupancy at the Lodge, £150 per night B&B, or £240 when four share. Afternoon tea: £10.90pp. The Hardwick, Old Raglan Rd, Abergavenny (01873 854220, thehardwick.co.uk).
