Plumber is old school, it pays no heed to passing fashions, it just gets on with doing what it does so well – looking after guests, pouring fine libations, serving delicious food. It is suitably lost in Dorset’s mazy lanes, a fine old pile of golden stone that dates to 1650. It sits in a couple of acres of green and pleasant land with the river Divelish flanking one side. Outside, there’s a terrace for afternoon tea with beautiful magnolias on show in summer. Inside, a pair of labradors rule the roost. There’s an open fire in the sitting-room bar, fresh flowers, old clocks, a snug in cherry red. The first-floor landing has an enormous sofa, a gallery of family portraits, a grand piano for good measure. Bedrooms are split between the main house and converted barns; the latter are big and welcome dogs. Décor is dated – 1980s florals – as are bathrooms, though several now sparkle in travertine splendour. A family triumvirate oversee it all: Brian in the kitchen, Richard behind the bar, Alison everywhere. Hearty food waits, perhaps crab mousseline, rack of lamb, lemon meringue pie.