Shouldham village green is bathed in sunlight when I arrive, turning through a stone gateway to park between flowerbeds and a couple of smart wooden sheds. Farm Shop, Gallery, and Open, say painted signs. Across the car park is a Victorian schoolhouse, and in front of that is another sign, with an arrow in felt-tip pen, and the word Bar.
This is Chalk and Cheese, creation of Bridget and Andrew Archibald. Here's Andrew, in stripy apron, at the schoolhouse door. Inside, stained glass separates the hall from the kitchen (ooh, a woodfired oven). We cross what was once two classrooms but now resembles a village hall. On the day of an antiques fair.
Vintage lovers, prepare to be dazzled. Minimalists, look away. The bar is at one end, with stairs to a mezzanine and two bedrooms at the other. Between are seating and eating areas and a cornucopia of collectibles. Noting them is like being on the Generation Game. Marble bust. William Morris wallpaper. Victorian fire screen. Rock Hudson picture. Stuffed bird. Tiffany lamp. Stained-glass screen. Indian wallhanging. Carriage clock. Oh, and a cuddly toy.
Upstairs, my room is surprisingly calming, uncluttered and light. The bathroom has a slipper bath and shower. Communal tea and coffee things are on the landing. Fine, I think, at budget level, but if leaving your room is essential, so is a bathrobe.
Noting Elgood's Golden Newt, Woodford Wherry and Adnams on the bar pumps, I wander outside just as Bridget pulls up in a van. Guess what? It's crammed. For the shop, she explains, and unloads a French horn. No, that's hers – it's practice tonight.
I almost mistake folk drifting across the car park for mums and dads at parents' evening. In the bar I sip dry white and try not to make a mess shelling monkey nuts. Dismissing anything on the lengthy menu not from the woodfired oven, I order garlic bread and an £8.95 pizza margherita. Mmm, both are light, crisp, hot, delicious, though fresh not dried basil would have been perfection. Ginger sponge with collapsing rhubarb transports me back to school dinners.
Not keen on Tupperware at breakfast next day, in a sun-filled orangery off the main hall. How great, though, that I can buy more of these delicious eggs and sausages at the farm shop. Now I get it. Chalk represents school, cheese the produce. They also stand for great fun, and welcome defiance in a world of boring chains. I know what I'd put on a school report. "Keep up the good work."
