Chequers, the prime ministerial retreat in Buckinghamshire, epitomises English country living, notes Alice Thomson in The Daily Telegraph. Hidden in a fold of the Chiltern Hills, just 40 miles from London, and built of russet brick with tall chimneys and a garden full of oaks and birches, its charm lies in its modesty.
Stanley Baldwin once said: "There are three classes that need sanctuary more than any others. Birds, wildflowers and prime ministers." Chequers, a 16th-century house given to the nation in 1917 by a Tory minister called Arthur Lee, is the prime minister's sanctuary and if anyone needs a sanctuary just now, it's Gordon Brown. Yet when he first took over from Tony Blair he vowed never to use the place. "Why would a Presbyterian Scot want an English stately home with butlers and cooks, floral valances, four-poster beds and Wedgwood china?"
Now, however, he is obsessed by Chequers. Sooner or later, every PM, Tory or Labour, falls under its spell and the Browns have come to feel at home there. They have used it for everything from birthday parties to "girlie sleepovers" (which Mrs Brown has paid for herself). Though her husband can't relax in Downing Street, where he eats bacon sandwiches at his desk, he does relax at Chequers, where his children play in the garden, and where he has entertained everyone from Posh and Becks to local dignitaries.
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Mrs Thatcher used to worry about the cost of the place now £1,738 a day even turning off the heating for the swimming pool, but Mr Brown has no such qualms. Perhaps, if he lasts long enough, he'll end up following the example of Ramsay Macdonald, another convert, who even ended up donning tweeds when walking round the 1,000-acre estate.
A priceless moment if only
I remarked a year ago that owning a boat is living proof of the trickle-down theory of wealth. Your money trickles down frighteningly fast into the hands of ships' chandlers, harbour-masters and the like. So at least you can console yourself with the belief that you're doing your bit for the maritime economy.
But if boat owning is a form of madness, it does have its moments. In Cornwall last week we went to the Scillies and on the return trip spotted a school of dolphins, playing round the boat. It was a warm morning and the children jumped into the sea and swam with them. This is what it's all about, I thought. How envious those folk on the beach would be if only they knew.
To celebrate I increased our speed as we motored to Penzance. The temperature gauge on the starboard engine began to rise. It was overheating. Oh dear... Yet another repair bill in prospect I wonder how much it will be this time...
