Wash up at the White Hart and mix with the locals drawn by the lovely lived-in farmhouse feel and the big, beamy bar. The ales are good too: Oakham Jeffrey Hudson, Tim Taylors, Grainstore’s Red Kite. Farmers gather on Fridays, the cricket team drops by on Sundays; in summer life spills onto the terrace. Flags, floorboards and a crackling fire continue the rustic feel; railway signs, wooden pitch forks and hanging station lamps add colour. You can eat simply or more grandly, anything from a ploughman’s to a three-course feast, with memorably good Sunday roasts full of flavour. Walk through rooms with lovely scrubbed tables to the orangery, a glass-gabled restaurant furnished with Lloyd Loom chairs. Bedrooms (some above the bar; the rest across the way) are simple and spotless, with crisp white linen and feather pillows, free WiFi and an honest price. One is airy and lovely, with period lounge chairs and views across the fields to the church; another has a four-poster bed. This forgotten slip of England – Stamford is five miles – is prettier than most imagine.